Snack 5

HER:

I’m still breathless from the first song.

The crowd is chanting for more, loud and hungry.

When he turns to me, flushed, grinning, and catching his breath, he tosses out the name of my favorite blues song. I can feel eyebrows shoot up on my face. Something in me flares.

That song is dangerous in the right hands.

I step forward slowly, and the blues chords start to purr through his fingers. “Oh no…. I am in deep trouble,” I think, already feeling the spell curl around us.

The first notes land, and the crowd starts to give us some “uh huhs” and some callbacks, the way they do in blues, or in the south, when the whole room is one large amoeba of energy. 

Every so often, he lifts his eyes from the strings, and catches mine. I think it’s random at first, and then I start to notice it’s on all the lyrics that are really, really… well… it’s like he wants to see my face when I say those words.

I feel myself blush, but it feels a little like a dare. And even though he’s a stranger, I don’t want to hide with him.

So I start to really let them roll out… let them land… really think about what I’m saying…
Oh my god, this song is a lot hotter than I’ve ever noticed…

He looks at me like he could devour me when I reach the end of the second chorus.
And it almost undoes me.

Heat flickers between my legs.
A zing shoots up my spine.

But all I can feel is the energy pulsing between us… raw, intimate, unspoken.

Final run of his fingers. Final chord.
Mic down.

And then the room erupts.

Applause.
Shouting.
Laughter.

Someone yells, “Get a room!”
Another, “Don’t stop now!”

I’m high.
On adrenaline.
On music.
On you.

And on whatever we just created here - the “us” that is only alive because you and I happened to be in the same place, at the same time, and these random open-mic rules that said you needed another “something” from inside this bar.

The lights shift and the room falls into affable chaos. 

People are swarming us. Shaking our hands, congratulating us. 

“You good?” I ask.

He blinks like he’s just come back into his body.
Then he smiles… that slow, spreading smile that’s already wrecking me.

“Yeah,” he says. “Better than good.”

I let the moment stretch.
Let it hang between us.

“Need a ride?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Was planning to drive a little further tonight. I need to walk off this beer though - I’m a little too tipsy to drive.”

I raise an eyebrow, knowing full-well he only had one beer, but don’t want to admit to my earlier stalking behavior. “Want to walk it off while you get a guided insider’s tour of the thriving metropolis that is Winslow, AZ?”

He nods, eyes locked on mine. “Only if you’re the tour guide.”

I laugh and link my arm through his. “Come, young padawan.”

As we push open the door and step into the warm desert night, I see the bartender catch his eye, and give a little thumbs-up behind my back. 

And I pretend not to notice the grin that spreads across his face.