Love Struck (Miss Match #2) (25 page)

Her spirits sunk further as she realized that the people who would care about her accomplishment had just walked out the door. Or, person, rather—Eli. She was a little surprised that he was the one she had first thought of squealing to when it happened.

He was the first person she thought about a lot though lately, if she were honest. But she’d had enough honesty tonight and didn’t want to think about things that were going to dampen her mood even more.

Jax ruffled her hair. “Encore tonight, Lacypants!”

The feelings swelled in her chest again at the acknowledgment. She should have known he’d notice. Well, actually, there was no way she could have known since he’d never said anything about her sets before, but she should have guessed. Folx would never miss acknowledging a friend’s triumph.

“I’m so excited, I can hardly stand it. Did you feel this way, the first time?” She smoothed her mussed curls back into place.

“Honestly? I still feel that way every time. It’s a drug, being loved. I’m addicted.”

It was a complete contradiction to his words earlier on the catwalk and she wondered if he was being sincere.

He smiled, though, and the corners of his eyes crinkled just a bit, enough for her to know he meant it. “Come on, we should celebrate. I’m calling in that rain check on the drink. If we hurry we can sneak out the back before any of the fans catch us.” He held out a hand, and pulled her to her feet.

His hand was warm, and strong, and she told herself that was just as exciting as the electricity she never stopped hoping would suddenly show up when they touched. Probably it was just the edge of disappointment at not doing a meet-and-greet on her biggest night yet. Because this
was
exciting. Jax was finally giving her some of what she had always known he was capable of. Folx and Love were going to go have a drink, and really get to know each other. She wondered if he suspected her true identity. Funny that she should think of her pen name as her true identity, but in so many ways it was.

Jax offered her his arm, and together they stepped out of The Dog House and into the humid Baltimore night. This was comfortable. This was nice. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. Lacy had assumed they’d stop in the first place they saw, but Jax seemed content to ramble past all the lit neons, crossing streets seemingly at random, occasionally checking his phone or typing things in. Texting someone, perhaps. Or tweeting. She was curious, but let him have his space.

This introspective side of him was new, at least new in person. Selfishly, she wondered if he was thinking about LoveCoda and regretting coming out with Lacy. She wondered if she should casually mention something about the forum, just to bait him a little. See if he brought her up in conversation.

At the thought of SoWriAn, though, she suddenly wondered if Jax would message her to say he couldn’t meet tonight, and if so, what his excuse would be. As if on cue, her phone pinged. She glanced at it.

Sorry to cancel. Have to meet with another singer tonight.

It was true she supposed, though she didn’t like the “have to” connotation. And why had it taken her so long to get the message? Jax had been on his phone but it had been several minutes ago now. Huh. Maybe the forum had a delay. She didn’t know how apps worked, anyway. Magic, as most technology seemed to be.

She shrugged and stuffed her phone in her purse, trying not to dwell on the Jax she knew online and instead focus on the Jax she was with. Finally, after several blocks of roaming, a set of stairs leading down to a basement-level dive bar caught his eye, and he held the heavy metal door open for her.

He ordered for them, a vodka rocks for himself and a G&T for Lacy. She was touched that he’d memorized her drink order from their day out on the town. She didn’t think he was paying that much attention. Which was good, since he wasn’t supposed to be paying attention to anyone but Love. She made a conscious effort not to consider Kat and the Groupie Clause.

Although Kat and the Groupie Clause would make an excellent band name.

“So. Me and you, alone at last,” Jax drawled, and took a large swallow from his drink. He winced a little as he swallowed. “First sip’s always a little rough. Mind if I?” Without waiting for an answer, he reached over and plucked the lime from her drink and added it to his own.

Actually, she did mind, but it was no big deal to reach across the bar and spear another wedge with a toothpick. Something he could have done himself. She squelched her irritation. Jax was the lead singer of a very popular band. It was probably second nature for him to expect people to bend over backward for him. It sure looked like his whole band did, anyway. A picture of Eli floated across her vision, and she waved it away.

“What are you waving at?”

“Oh. Just a gnat that flew by my face.” Lacy took a sip of her gin. “So, yeah, me and you. Are you happy with the tour so far?” His smile faltered just a little.

“Yeah, man. I’m pretty happy with the tour. The fans can be sweet. They can also be obnoxious. I like the pics and the free drinks, but enough with the autographs. I need my hand to be uncramped for performances.”

Though it wasn’t like he played an instrument onstage. So did it really matter if his hand cramped the night before? But she just smiled and nodded.

The nod encouraged Jax to say more. “We just keep getting bigger. That’s pretty cool. I mean, I always knew we were awesome, but now other people know we’re awesome too. You know?” He smiled again, and downed the rest of his drink.

As he signaled the waitress behind the bar to get him another, Lacy stared at him. She wondered if he was nervous. He had to be. Nervous to be alone with her like this. Because even though they were together, and guards should be down, he was still lapsing into Jax-mode, that rock-star act. That thing where he didn’t come off as the thoughtful intelligent guy she knew him to be.

Or … maybe he wasn’t the guy she thought he was at all. She’d decided he was Folx because she’d heard him singing Folx’s song. But that didn’t necessarily mean Jax had written it, even if he sang it like he did.

For the first time, it occurred to her to ask. “Jax, the songs you play—did you write them?”

“The band’s songs?” His eyes flicked around the bar. “Yeah. Totally.”

“Like, ‘Godric’s Hollow’? That’s yours?” She had to be certain.

He met her eyes, grinning with self-assurance. “I’m responsible for everything you hear, baby.”

Of course he was. He was Folx, like she’d thought. He just was also
not
Folx. Not on the outside, and she wasn’t sure how to change that.

She needed a plan to get him to loosen up a little. Or a lot. How did people usually get her to lower her defenses? Besides Folx and Eli, she could only think of one person who had really gotten to her recently.

Wedding planner Tim.

“Let’s do shots,” Lacy proposed.
Lots and lots of shots. I’ll hold back on the insults, though.

Jax grinned at her, and called the girl back over. “What are we doing?” he asked Lacy.

“Have you ever had a Christmas Wisemen?” He shook his head. “Jager, Rumple, and Hot Damn.”

“Sounds potent! I’m impressed. You aren’t who I thought you were.” His smile faded into a more intense look.

“And who did you think I was?” Lacy felt her heart rate speed up.

“Oh, I don’t know. No one, really.” He held up his shot and winked at her. “To new friends.”

“To new friends.”
No one? He thought I was no one? Sheesh kabobs.
Her thoughts overrode the burn of the liquor, and the liquor overrode the burn of the comment. Drinking was great.

Jax shook his head vigorously at the aftertaste. “Damn! Another, please, darlin’.”

The bartender winked at him and lined up a shot for herself as well. No one was immune to that man’s charms. Really, it didn’t bother her like it might have. Maybe she understood that Jax was a man to be shared.

Or maybe she was just numb from the liquor. Cause he wasn’t like a Groupie Clause. Haha. The third shot spread fuzzy warmth out from Lacy’s throat to her arms, and she grinned at Jax.

“I really like your music,” she told him, perfectly aware that she was only a couple of drinks away from telling him that “music” was code for “hot body.”

“Hey, thanks. I like yours too. I don’t normally dig chick singers, but you’ve got a whole thing going on that’s pretty cool. With all the, uh, hair, and guitar…”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve barely listened to my music, huh.”

He collapsed into giggles and signaled for another round.

“I watched you the first night, and I was impressed. Really. It’s just that I have my pre-show ritual, so I do that while you’re doing your set, you know?”

It occurred to her to be offended. But she let the idea pass. This was part of getting to know someone—working out the kinks, finding common ground. Music was totally their common ground. Jax just didn’t know it yet. And she had a pre-show ritual too. “
Red leather yellow leather
.” So much in common.

He slid one of the tiny chilled glasses toward her and raised it. “To your music.”

“To my goddamn music. It
is
good.” Lacy was growing in confidence with every tipsy moment. “What’s your pre-show ritual? I’m always curious how other singers warm up.”

“Oh, I don’t really warm up. I just get ready to be seen. So first I exfoliate. That’s really important. You know, you should probably be doing it too. Let’s see, I use lotion after that, it has a little bit of shimmer in it in case I take off my shirt onstage. Not, like,
glitter
, it’s a manly sort of shimmer. My hair only takes a few minutes, just a little product. Then I pretty much just spend some time with the mirror, stretching, a little yoga, some affirmations. Do you do affirmations? You should. I’ll give you some, and some scrub. I’m going to help you, Lacy. You could be really big.”

Lacy stared at him.

This time, it was she who flagged the bartender for more. God, Folx never talked like this. But then, when did they ever talk about the performance? They talked process, writing, the quiet private moments. Was this really what he needed to take him from that time to the public arena of the stage? Was it okay for such a smart guy to be so shallow?

And was her skin dull and really in need of a scrub?

“Thanks, Jax. I really appreciate your advice. But I’ll admit, I’m more interested in the process of actually making the music.”
Okay, if he figures out who I am, he figures it out. But I’m drunk already, and I don’t know how else to pull him out of his shell.

“For me, making music is kind of a collaboration.”
Finally!

“I always thought of it as pretty intensely personal, but I’m starting to understand the collaboration thing.” She winked at him. Well, she tried to wink, but both eyes closed, so really what she did was blink very hard at him.

“It’s like that feeling, when you know you’ve just nailed it?”

She nodded and smiled. Nodded because she did understand that feeling. Smiled because it would be a perfect time for one of Eli’s that’s-what-she-said jokes.

“God, I live for that feeling.” Jax leaned forward, clearly feeling as drunk as she was. “Do you know what I mean?” He put his hand on her thigh and squeezed. He used it to push himself back onto his own barstool before she had a chance to react.

There was some lingering warmth where his fingers had rested, but nothing that made her need to excuse herself for some alone time. Probably that was the alcohol numbing her nerve endings. She gave her arm an experimental pinch. It didn’t hurt. Definitely the booze.

“I do know what you mean. It’s like that song had always existed, and was just waiting for you to uncover it.” He stared at her like he hadn’t really seen her until just then.

“Damn, Lacypants. That’s really profound. For me, it’s like I just know—just
know
when it’s right, right here.” He gestured to himself.

“I literally cannot tell if you mean your gut or your crotch right now.” Lacy giggled. “Crotch” was a funny word.

“It’s a little bit of both. It’s just—
here.
” He gestured again, more expansively this time. The leather cuffs he always had on his wrists beneath the tattoos had slipped down a little, and Lacy’s breath stopped cold.

Because beneath the rock-star cuff on his right wrist was the unmistakable scar of a suicide attempt.

He was still talking, but she wasn’t listening. After a second, he followed her wide-eyed gaze. She had never seen Jax blush before, but he did as he straightened the strip of material. Her head was whirling, and it actually wasn’t the copious amounts of liquor. Folx had battled depression. This was why he understood her so well. This,
this
was the source of the disconnect between his anonymous self and his in-person personality. Suddenly all the pieces were clicking into place, showing her the picture of a much more complicated man than she’d even guessed.

“Jax—” she started.

“Lace—” he said at the same time.

“Jinx,” they said simultaneously, and the giggles broke some of the tension of the moment. That and the drink refills Lacy couldn’t remember either of them ordering. She took a fortifying sip. “You first.”

“I don’t really know what to say. I don’t talk about it with most people, they wouldn’t understand. The band sure never did, even though I tried to tell them…” He trailed off. It looked like he was having a hard time making eye contact, and she totally understood that. It had to be embarrassing and painful to relive.

“You don’t have to talk about it. But I understand. Really. My fiancé—he was like you. But he didn’t have music. You have
music.
Doesn’t that change everything?” She knew there were better ways to explain herself, but she couldn’t Word after this much to drink.

“It does. God, you really
get
me.” He pulled her into a hug that left her gasping for air, but also feeling profoundly grateful. She’d finally broken through. She finally understood what made FolxNotDead27 the man he was.