Page 187 of Powerhouse: Boxed Set
The cab pulled in front of Cyrus Bar.
The line of people on the sidewalk by the main doors was about as opposite to events in Bishop’s Landing as you could possibly get. Emo types in messy, torn t-shirts, black lace, and boots. They looked like fun people. Interesting people.
Real people, unlike the Constantines.
I strolled down the line in my stilettos. Tristan was waiting for me there, right by the main doors. He looked seriously damn good. Tight black jeans with a leather jacket over a fitted black tee, and his mahogany hair swept back from his forehead like a guy from the ’70s.
If Blue Hawk was in any way still wobbling over his sexuality status, then seeing Tristan Fields tonight would surely seal the deal.
He whistled when he saw me. “Hell, baby. You sure look fucking good.”
I gave him a twirl and grinned, because I felt it too. I felt really fucking good. It was a sensation I wasn’t all that used to.
I stayed quiet as Tristan waved us through security and past the entrance desk. Hell knows what he’d listed me as, but it sure wasn’t Elaine Constantine.
They barely even looked my way as I stepped on by.
I could already hear the opening act’s bass as we climbed the stairs, thumping right through the floor. Loud. It was loud. Loud and wild.
Wild and free.
Tristan took my hand and we stepped through to the main stage area, and it was intimate, just like he’d said it would be. There was a huddle of people on the dancefloor moving along to the music, and another huddle gathering at the bar, ordering drinks. We pushed our way through to join them, holding back in the crowd. That in itself was a novelty.
The Constantines never had to wait for anything, ever. I walked straight through a line wherever I saw one. I liked having to be patient without people staring at me wherever I went.
“What do you want to drink?” Tristan asked, right into my ear over the bass.
“Champagne,” I said, and he pulled a face at me.
“Champagne doesn’t really work in this place. How about a beer?”
I shrugged at him. “Sure, yeah. A beer. Whatever. Just make sure it’s got alcohol in it.”
I heard his sigh, even over the music. “You always want to get trashed, Lainey. Maybe one day you’ll break the mold and try having fun sober.”
Even amongst the weirdness, I never believed life would ever getthatweird. Sober and I didn’t really work well together. Even the thought made me churn inside. When I’m sober I have to think. I have to remember. I have to be sad, and I much prefer to laugh and be tipsy.
The music had swept me up in its grip by the time we made it to the front of the bar. The guitar was thrashing loud, and I could feel it, all the way through me. The guy’s vocals were savage, but filled with so much passion I couldn’t ignore it. I stared at him as Tristan ordered the drinks, and my heart did a strange flip as I saw how dark his features were—especially under the spotlights. He was tall, and broad, and his eyes were fierce. Deep, like burning ashes. His jaw was firm, and even though he looked like some kind of heavy metal pinup, there was something about him that excited me.
I took the beer from Tristan with athanks, but still I couldn’t stop looking at the singer from the opening act. Tristan noticed my interest as we made it to the edge of the dancefloor and gave me a nudge.
“Blue knows him, the singer. He told me.”
“Yeah? He’s got quite a voice.”
“Quite a body, too.” He paused. “His name is Stephen. He’s Australian.”
I could imagine his accent, and it gave me shivers and chills. That’s when it hit me—just where the fixation was coming from.
It was coming from Lucian Morelli. He reminded me of Lucian Morelli.
His darkness. His strength. His fierce eyes.
The rawness of Stephen’s voice reminded me of the malice in Lucian’s, just enough to make my tummy flutter, and the thought of his Australian accent was enough to make me tremble.
Yeah. This was about Lucian Morelli.
Tristan nudged me again. “You could talk to hot-guy-Stephen after the gig, maybe? I mean, you can’t touch him, but you can have a good time imagining it.”
