You'd Be Mine(56)

I’m senseless and bored and, to be honest, pretty blitzed. The goddamn pills burn a hole in my conscience. Lora’s condescension recycles round and round in my brain. Annie’s unassuming talent. And grace. And beauty. And everything about her is irritating me right now because I’m not good enough for any of it. I thought I could be Jefferson, but Jefferson doesn’t get record deals.

And it shouldn’t matter. We weren’t anything more than kissing on a beach. I got more action from Lora this summer.

But somehow, it does matter, and fuck if I know why.

When we invite Willows onstage to perform with us, I go off script. I don’t bother checking in with Fitz. I already know how he’s going to react. He’s soft over Kacey and thinks I’m a better person than I am. He’s hopeful I’m taking after Danny. That my demons are a phase I’m about to conquer.

They aren’t, and I’m not. Not tonight anyway.

“We’ve got the lovely ladies from Under the Willows here tonight.” I laugh. “And Jason. I guess he’s good-looking if you like drummers.” A few cheers erupt, and Jason narrows his eyes at me. “I’m sure you’ve all realized by now just how talented Ms. Mathers is, but did you know she could shake it, too? Come on, Annie. Turn around and give the crowd a little shake.”

Annie’s chin juts so quickly, her bemused brown eyes jumping to mine, that her hair yanks out of its clasp. Kacey freezes next to her. Fitz grabs a mic. “Aw, Clay. Let’s just get to the song.”

“We will, we will,” I reassure him, proud my words sound crisp, not slurred. “Come on, Annie. Have some fun with us.”

Annie recovers herself and pastes a good effort at a smile on her face. “Oh, I don’t think so. These folks are here to see Clay Coolidge shake it. I’m just here to sing.” She turns to me, her eyes steely as a knife’s edge, her tone cool. “So let’s sing.”

Fitz starts to count us off for “Some Guys Do” as previously discussed, but I cut in with my guitar. “We’re gonna sing one of my favorites from my debut. Is that all right?”

The crowd cheers as the opening chords start. Annie grimaces and leans in. “What the hell, Jefferson? I don’t know this one.”

I know I told her to use that name, but tonight, right now, the reminder rankles. “Then I guess you’ll just have to shake it instead,” I say on mic.

Her lips press together, and she’s mutinous and gorgeous, and I know she’s weighing the damage she’d cause by walking off the stage. She’s the consummate professional, though, so she stays.

I can see Fitz fuming out of the corner of my eye, lifting his bow and dragging it across the strings with a furious screech. Jason is glaring daggers at me as someone hands him some prop sticks. He says something to Annie, who shakes her head, her smile still hitched in place. I laugh humorlessly at how much I’ve rattled them all. I’m the star, after all. I get to choose, and I choose this.

The backbeat begins, and Annie claps along as though everything is fine. This is one of my more popular songs, but it’s super sexist so I rarely sing it anymore. It was my breakout hit, and once I had some say, I dropped it. I haven’t played it once this tour because of Annie, and for some reason I don’t feel like examining, that pisses me off.

I make it worse out of spite. Anger and alcohol race through my veins and fuel my adrenaline. The rush of self-destruction. I belt out lyrics about legs and hips and dropping low and feeling high and curves and bedroom eyes. Lips and little cutoffs and sexy boots and every awful word is made all the worse when I step close behind Annie and grind my hips into her back. She wiggles seductively for a second before turning to face me. The hurt in her eyes catches in my throat. She pushes me lightly, all showmanship gone and replaced with something else.

I’m furious. She wanted this. Earlier in the summer, she was throwing herself at me. All that kissing we did in dark places. I was plenty good enough for her in secret. Then she saw how damaged I was, and she decided I wasn’t worth it. Her career skyrocketed, and she left me behind. Now she has the nerve to look like I’ve disappointed her? I step back and finish the song as if nothing happened. The crowd loves the show. They think we’re acting, and I let them believe it. We wrap up with a slower song, and I exit the stage with a wave and flick of my guitar pick, following the rest of my bandmates.

Fitz doesn’t bother to wait for me. Annie is waiting backstage, standing next to Trina. She drags my arm and pulls me farther into darkened wings.

“What was that, Jefferson?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you don’t!” Annie has both of her small hands pressed to her temples.

“It’s one of my biggest hits, and I haven’t played it all summer,” I say.

Annie raises her eyes, searching mine for truth. “Maybe. But why would you set me up like that?”

“I don’t know what you think happened, Annie. I played one of my hits. It’s my tour; I can do that. If you can’t keep up—”

“Can’t keep up? Jefferson—”

I snap. “Don’t call me that.”

She looks like I’ve slapped her.

I feel like I’ve slapped her. I swallow it back. “What?”

I brush past her. I can’t look at her face right now. See the pain there. I don’t regret putting this distance between us. I don’t.