Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(43)
The group of people cheered and three girls stood on their chairs in the back, pumping the air as they sang “Jessie’s Girl” back to him.
As if they’d been playing for years, Ginger Beard came up to the front and played the solo. Simon picked up the rhythm section of the song and brushed his lips against the microphone. Not his mic, but it did well enough, especially for a bar. He smiled broadly when Margo leaned in and shouted out the words to the song.
Simon leaned over to Ginger Beard and said the first Journey song that came to mind. The guy threw a startled look his way, but nodded.
He followed suit when the guy went for the long, distressing notes. Simon curled his fingers around the mic and as his voice cracked, he pulled his mouth away and held it out to the crowd. When the waitress came back, he wiggled his fingers at her for the bottle.
Margo gave him a look before she touched his arm.
He shrugged her off and uncapped the bottle as the bar sang the well-known lyrics to “Don’t Stop Believing” for him.
He didn’t want to look weak or incapable in front of this woman. Pouring every ounce of energy into hamming it up for the crowd, Simon strutted down the stage and then turned to find Margo in his space. Her expressive dark eyes searched his face.
When he crowded her space and curled his arm around her back, worry turned to heat. She lifted her bow again and he turned them in a circle.
Margo’s bow bounced and her gaze never left his. The classic rock song was so entrenched in his brain that he didn’t even have to think about the lyrics. They just fell out of his mouth.
Their feet moved together as if they’d done this forever. Too intense, too perfect—just another reminder of how good they were and how quickly she ran off.
He dragged his hand across her lower back and cupped her ass before he moved to the other side of the stage. The tickle in the back of his throat was back and he held up his arms for the crowd to sing.
Thank f*ck they were right there with him. He clapped against his arm, then fit the mic back into the stand and clapped for real. “You guys are awesome.”
They thundered to their feet and cheered, whooped, and hollered.
“I gotta go.”
The resounding no from the crowd made him smile and stack his hands over his heart. Another song and he’d crack for sure.
He scanned the crowd and spotted Nick at the back. “But I spy with my little eye someone who might like to take over.”
Nick’s arms fell to his sides. He mouthed, “You f*cker,” and waved. “Only if I don’t have to sing Journey.”
Ginger Beard waved him up. “Guys, Nick Crandall from Oblivion is here too.”
Nick trudged through the crowd and tried not to shrink away from all the people pawing at him. He had a black ball cap on that covered his blond hair, but he hadn’t bothered with that much else disguise-wise.
Simon lifted the guitar off his head and placed it around Nick’s neck.
“You prick.”
Unrepentant, Simon waggled his eyebrows. He downed half the bottle of water before burying his face in his elbow to cough.
“You aren’t getting sick, are you?”
Simon shook his head. “Just tried to reach too hard for the Steve Perry notes.”
“You and your stadium rock.”
Simon slapped his arm. “You love it. They don’t make guitar solos like that anymore.”
Nick lifted a shoulder. “True.” He turned to the mic and tipped his head. “You guys know how to rock?”
They screamed back an affirmative and Simon jumped off the stage.
Nick leaned away from the mic. “Where are you going?”
Simon turned around and mimed that he couldn’t hear him. His best friend’s eyes blazed fire and he held his arms out in the universal gesture of what the f*ck.
Simon did a thumbs up with each hand and Nick smiled weakly at the crowd. And because he didn’t have time to stress about it, the song took him over and Nick had the first verse of “Back in Black” pouring through the sound system before Simon escaped to the side exit.
* * *
Margo tucked her violin into her case and placed it under her chair at the back of the stage. She scanned the crowd, catching Simon heading outside.
The frustration in his eyes tugged at her. She’d only seen him struggle with his voice once, but there was no doubt it was happening again. He’d covered it well enough by making the crowd sing louder and longer, but she knew the signs.
She just wanted to make sure he was all right. Like any good musician would. Like any friend would.
Not that she could exactly call Simon a friend. A few good orgasms didn’t exactly put them on a friendly basis. Not when all they did was walk away from each other after said orgasms.
Fool.
She pushed through the door marked deliveries and found an alley. No sign of Simon. The door shut behind her before she could catch it. “Dammit.”
“Following me, Violin Girl?” The eerie blue of a phone lighting up cut the dark. Simon stood against the brick side of the building, his hawkish features and the shadows from the Fedora accentuated by the low light.
“I wanted to see if you were all right.”
“And why would you care?”
The zing of danger in his voice caught her off-guard. Simon was usually sarcastic and playful. He was the definition of the guy who had walked in the bar with his T-shirt slogan, *, the most expensive meal you’ll ever eat, emblazoned over his chest.