Listen To Me (Fusion #1)(6)

“You’re welcome.”

Michelle leaves, happily staring at her phone, and I return to my seat.

“That wasn’t too painful,” I say and take another bite of bacon.

“It is a shame,” Chris says.

“Don’t start, C.” I toss the bacon on my plate and push it away.

“All I’m saying is—”

“The same thing you’ve been saying for years. I don’t want to live a public life anymore. It just f*cks things up.”

“You don’t have to live a public life to play music.” She shakes her head, cutting me off when I would speak. “Just listen. Kevin took me to a new restaurant the other night. It’s awesome.” She leans in, her brown eyes shining with excitement. “It’s sexy.”

“The restaurant is sexy?”

“Yes, and it’s amazing. So, these women have opened this place in downtown Portland called Seduction. There are aphrodisiacs on the menu, sexy music and atmosphere, amazing wine cellar. Did you know that asparagus is an aphrodisiac?”

“I had no idea.”

“Me either! Until we went there. It’s so great for couples, and it looks like it’s making quite a name for itself.”

“What the f*ck does it have to do with me?” I ask mildly and sip more coffee.

“There was a sign in the window advertising for a weekend musician.”

I stare at her, blinking.

“So?”

“So you should go apply!”

She slaps her hand on the table and leans back with a satisfied smile, proud of herself.

“Fuck no.”

“Why not?”

“Jake Knox doesn’t perform anymore.”

“Jake Keller could.”

I tilt my head, suddenly intrigued.

“You don’t have to go in there and be a rock star, you know. You could just go in with your guitar and play music. You don’t have to do the old Hard Knox stuff, unless you want to try some acoustic arrangements. You could just do covers, if that’s what you wanted. Or new stuff you’re writing.”

Suddenly the yearning in my gut is so intense I can barely breathe. I love producing and writing music. Hell, I spent a month up in Seattle last fall cowriting and producing with Leo Nash, an old friend of mine, for his band’s new album. It’s fulfilling.

But f*ck me, how I miss performing. And it’s really not about the screaming women, the lights, the louder-than-f*ck music.

It’s just the music itself. Performing and watching the crowd sing along.

There’s just nothing like it. And the other night, when I sat on that stage and sang, it was like visiting an old friend.

But I gave it up on a rainy night five years ago when Christina was almost killed and lost her leg, all because of me.

I shake my head and clench my jaw. “No.”

“God, you’re so f*cking stubborn,” she growls and clenches her tiny fist. “I don’t expect you to never perform again because of something stupid that happened long ago.”

“That’s not it.”

“Cut the bullshit.” She leans in and narrows her eyes at me. “My accident wasn’t your fault, J. I don’t know how many times I have to say it before you’ll believe it.”

“If we hadn’t fought—”

“I’m going to beat you up. Hard.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see you try with your one leg.” I smirk, but my chest hurts at the words. “I don’t know what I would ever do without you, C.”

“Then do me a favor and go apply for this job. I want to watch you sing again. I miss it. And the one song the other night wasn’t enough. I know it wasn’t.”

“I’ll bring my guitar over tonight.”

She smirks and shakes her head. “Just go apply. They might not hire you. Maybe you suck now.”

I smirk. “Baby, I’ve never sucked at music.”

“So prove it.”

“God, you’re a pain in my ass.”

She laughs. “I know. I have to go to the doctor now.” She scrunches up her nose and sighs. “I swear, all of Portland has seen my hoo-haw.”

“Your what?” I ask, raising a brow. “Are you eight?”

She throws an orange wedge at me. “This whole pregnancy thing needs to resolve itself. Lying with your feet in stirrups is not sexy or fun.”

“Do you find out today if it worked?” Christina and her husband, Kevin, have been trying to get pregnant for three years. They want this more than anything in the world, and it’s just another thing that the accident has robbed her of.

Another thing that I’ve robbed her of.

“Yes,” she says with a smile. “So cross your fingers.”

“And my toes.”

“CAN I HELP you?” A young woman greets me as I enter Seduction, nestled in the heart of the Pearl District, one of the trendiest areas of Portland. From the outside, it looks like an old warehouse.

On the inside, it’s pure sex. But not the kind of seedy sex that you’ll find in any of the many sex or strip clubs in the city. This is classy sex.

“I’d like to speak with your manager, please.”

“That’s Addison,” she replies with a bright smile. “I believe she’s in the bar.” She points to the back of the house. I nod and walk through a sea of black tables with wide-backed, plush gray chairs and teal blue table linens. Along the back wall are inviting booths, giving a feel of privacy with pretty gray curtains hanging at the side of each booth.