In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(76)
“Case, I have to hand it to you, you weren’t kidding,” Houston says, standing and pulling his friend in for one of those manly handshake-hug combos. “This place is something. These people are here for you, man. For you!” Houston smacks him on the chest once for emphasis, and Casey pushes his hands in his pockets and lowers his head with a bashful smile.
“They’re here to drink expensive vodka and hook up, but yeah…maybe I get like one percent of the credit,” he says.
“What?” Paige says loudly, her brow bunched. “Are you…was that…did I just hear Casey Coffield be modest?”
“Ha ha, Paige. Yes, I can be modest,” he says, his cheek dimpled with his sarcastic smile.
“Can you? Because…and no offense,” she says, glancing around the table. Casey shuffles his feet and purses his lips, ready for her. “I’ve just never seen it. It’s usually kind of the me show around you.”
His mouth a rigid line, Casey looks at her for a beat before he blinks and opens his gaze back on me. My body beads with sweat instantly.
“Yeah, well…new Casey maybe,” he says, his eyes square on me, my body literally on fire. “Things aren’t always about my needs…I guess.”
It’s silent for about two seconds, but it feels like hours. In that time, Houston, Sam, and Paige all glance around the table and have silent WTF conversations before Casey breaks the awkwardness.
“I’ve gotta get up to the booth. I have some great stuff planned, though, so I hope you guys like the mix,” he says, his eyes catching mine as he turns to leave and his lips curved into that special smile he gets when he’s up to something.
Sam introduces herself to Paige, then climbs from the booth to sit on the other side of her so they can scope out each other’s shoes and hear better over the thumping taking over the rhythm of the room. I slide to the edge of the booth, but remain behind the table—my protective shield. I watch Casey work, and I wait for the special something he promised with that look until I recognize it.
It’s subtle at first—blended with a mix of house music and retro seventies disco. He gives everyone a taste, hooks them like a drug dealer with a dime bag, until their bodies adjust and crave more. My tablemates are lost in their own conversation, and they don’t know it’s coming. I won’t tell them, but I’m sure my voice is going to take over the room in five, four, three…
The heavy beat picks up and bodies jump in unison, their hands high in the air, their fingers free and begging for Casey to give it to them—to let this new melody take over and control everything to come.
My song.
He’s debuting it right here, and bodies are obeying his orders. I’m in awe as my voice echoes and beautiful women shake their heads, hair flying and hips moving to an anthem of their time. It’s powerful this way—the song so much bigger than it feels when it’s just my guitar and voice on a stool in the middle of a bar.
It’s f*cking beautiful.
“Murphy!” my friend squeals, her palms pressed flat on the table, her body lifted in the air and her eyes on me—glee filling every inch of her face as she points to Casey. “This is you! Oh my god! This is it!”
“Wait, this…you wrote this?” Paige says, her eyes wide. Houston taps her shoulder and cups her ear, whispering confirmation. I grin larger than I have in my entire life.
“Shit, girl!” Paige says with an enormous smile. “You can’t sit on your ass to your own song!”
Without hesitation, she wraps her fingers around my arm and pulls me all the way through the booth and out the other side, dragging me into the masses, my body bumped and slammed from all directions, but for the first time—maybe ever—I don’t care. I don’t care whose hand is touching me; I don’t care that a girl I just met is hugging me; I don’t care that Houston grabbed my hand and squeezed it and my best friend kissed me on the cheek.
I don’t care because “In Your Dreams, Johnnie Walker” is blasting in my ears and my soul feels warm and delicious. It pounds, and Casey lets it play pure and untouched—and I find his eyes waiting for mine through the forest of hands and arms waving and swaying to the beat. I stand still amid my tiny circle of friends and lock eyes with him, his proud smile simply spectacular.
And I cry.
I’ve heard people describe how bliss feels—the moment when something huge happens to you. Miracles. Reunions. Relief. Happy things so powerful that they induce tears. I could never understand such a phenomenon…until now. I cry hard, and I smile big and my song takes over an entire room filled with discerning ears—people who spend thousands of dollars on food and liquor just for the pleasure of falling in love on a dance floor to Casey’s magic. Only right this minute—for four and a half minutes, actually—it’s my potion they are getting drunk on.
I…can make…them feel anything. I. Want.
The moment my song ends, a new mix takes over, and Casey whispers something in the ear of the guy working with him at the booth. He hands over his headphones and weaves through exhausted bodies until he finds me in the very center of it all.
Steps away, his mouth tugs up to the right and that knowing dimple, dripping with confidence and pride and everything that makes my heart pound, touches his cheek. His left hand reaches up to pull his hat from his head and his right palm slides over my cheek, his fingers run through my hair, and in one swift motion he pulls me to him, his mouth on mine, his lips strong and his kiss potent as he walks me backward slowly, one arm around the small of my back and the other holding me to him—making sure I feel.