Unconditional

“Hey,” one of them calls over. “Is this the right place for that band night?”

“Yes!” I call back, relieved. “Right inside.”

“Awesome.” The guy turns to call across to the other car. “Call Jake and the guys, tell them we found it.”

They hustle out of their vehicles in a cluster of denim and date-night shirts. I direct them all inside, promising to send their friends straight along when they arrive. My nerves, which have been wound tight all day, finally start to relax. I was right all along: everything’s running according to plan. The flyers are up, I ran ads in all the local papers and nightlife listings online, and we’re even running a cut-price beer and burger deal to keep the bar tabs running during the performance. It all came together without a hitch.

Which means I have nothing to distract me from the only thing that’s really been consuming my mind.

Garrett.

I catch sight of him across the bar, pouring beers and laughing with the new arrivals. My heart shimmers just to look at him, but beneath the giddy rush of hormones, there’s an uneasy twist in my stomach.

I just can’t figure him out.

I thought it would be different after that night when he shared his darkest secret. I felt our connection grow, a bond of trust and compassion. I figured we would only grow closer, confide and share even more, but now…

Now it’s like nothing’s changed.

We’ve spent every night together this week, but not like before. I feel like Garrett is holding back again, keeping part of himself detached from me. Oh, he’s passionate and demanding, sending me to heaven and back with his body and wicked tongue, but it’s an urgent hunger, wild and breathless, not tender, the way he was that night. He snatches moments with me in the bar, pushing me up against the wall in the office, and whispering dirty talk through his shift, driving me so crazy that when we step through the door upstairs at night, we barely make it past the living room before we’re tearing each other’s clothes off and tumbling, panting to the floor, his body slick against mine, driving into me with a wild abandon that makes me scream for more.

I feel silly even thinking there’s a problem. A million women would kill to be in my place with mind-blowing sex on call, but still, I wonder what he’s holding back. Maybe the connection scared him, opening up like that. He just needs some time. But here we are, a week later, and I’m still as confused as ever. One minute, he’s talking dirty as a sailor, just about ready to tear my clothes off, the next, he’s casual as can be. But we’re not just a casual hook-up anymore, we can’t be—not after everything we’ve shared.

Flirting and banter may be fun, but it’s not enough for me, I realize with a heavy heart. I’ve seen all the way to his soul, I’ve shown him everything I have to give. I need more.

I need everything from him.

My heart lurches with fear, but I push the feeling back. Not tonight, I tell myself. You’ve got other things to worry about—like the fact it’s 8:15 and the star act hasn’t arrived.

When I can’t stand pacing back and forth outside the bar anymore, I head back inside and pull Garrett aside. “Do you have the guy’s number?” I ask, worried.

Now even Garrett’s dropped his casual act. He gives me a tense frown. “I already tried. No answer.”

“Who is this guy? We don’t even know where he’s from, or how to find him,” I realize with dawning horror. “All we have is that CD. Dex, isn’t that his name?”

“Don’t panic just yet,” Garrett says, but I can see his eyes darting back to the door every time it swings open. “He might just be running late. We’re not set to start until nine, remember?”

I give a tight nod, but as the crowd swells, I can’t help getting more and more tense. By nine, the bar is packed, a bigger crowd than I’ve ever seen here before. The waitresses are run off their feet, and even Brit is pitching in, serving drinks behind the bar with Garrett to keep up with demand.

It would count as a total success, but there’s still no sign of our star act—our only act.

My eyes meet Garrett’s across the bar. We share a look of panic. Then he hears something; he pulls his cellphone out of his pocket, pushing into the back hallway to answer. I hurry across the room, following him out back just in time to see a look of disappointment crash over his face.

“No, I get it, I’m sorry too. Don’t worry, you do what you’ve got to do.”

He hangs up.

“What is it?” I demand. “Was that him?”

“He’s not coming.” Garrett slumps back against the wall. “Family emergency, he’s real apologetic.”

“But what are we going to do?” I gasp, turning to look at the crowd in the main room.

“Tell them it’s off, I guess.” He looks downcast.

“We can’t do that,” I insist. “They’ll leave! And this is supposed to be the start of the regular event—if people bail now, they won’t come back. Do you know anyone who could step in, anyone at all? Brit, or Hunter or someone…”

I turn to look wildly around the room.

“No.” Garrett’s voice is defeated. “I can’t think of anyone. Except…” He stops.

“Who?” I whirl back to him. “Tell me, I don’t care if they can only play ‘Twinkle Twinkle’ on a ukelele, we need to give them something!”