The Rocker's Muse

As expected, the guys were mobbed at Tim’s Bar, but Atticus and Ronan seemed to soak it up as they always did. Tristan’s bandmates had been photographed all over town lately, causing a frenzy at Shady Hills establishments and flirting with the locals.

The bar was soon packed for karaoke night. I wasn’t sure if it was always this way in the middle of the week, or if people were calling their friends to come down once they realized Delirious Jones was here.

When it was Tristan’s turn to take the stage, the crowd went wild.

He spoke seductively into the mic. “Anything in particular you want me to sing?”

I could practically feel panties melting all over the room as the screams rang out.

“It can’t be one of my songs,” he said. “Something vintage…”

“Song about robbing the cradle?” a drunk Ronan heckled.

I pretended not to hear that. Dickhead.

The crowd’s chattering faded as Tristan began crooning Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.”

I wondered if choosing that song was intentional—or maybe subconscious. A small-town girl and boy searching for something more in life; maybe it reminded him of Jacob and all his hopes and dreams that never came to be.

I was certain these patrons had never seen such heart and soul poured into a performance at this little old place. Imagine going to a karaoke bar and getting a free concert with Tristan Daltrey.

As he belted out the song, I hung on every word, every note. I missed watching him perform live. And maybe it was the break from touring, but his voice didn’t crack at all.

As the song ended, Tristan was met with thunderous applause. When he returned to the table, I got the sudden urge to wrap my arms around him, smell his hair…kiss him. I missed touching him. He was so close lately, yet so far away.

Almost immediately after he sat down, another set of arms wrapped around him, though. They seemed to come out of nowhere. Long black hair covered his face as the woman went in for a kiss. “Surprise!” she said.

Nazarene.

His girlfriend.

A look of genuine shock crossed his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to surprise you.” She had a slight French accent. “Hope it was a good surprise?”

“How did you know I was here?” he asked.

“I texted Ronan. He told me where you would be.”

Maybe it was my imagination, but Tristan’s rigid body language said he wasn’t too thrilled at her sudden appearance. Or maybe that’s what I wanted to believe.

“Naz…” He turned to me. “This is Emily.”

“Emily. It’s so nice to meet you. Tristan has told me all about you.”

He has?

Tristan nodded. “I told her about your relationship to Jacob and how you had come on the tour to find me.”

Hardly all about me, then. Surely she wouldn’t be so nice if she knew the truth. “Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand.

With Tristan’s beautiful, tall girlfriend here, the tone shifted for the rest of the evening. I had to endure her sitting on his lap, basically all over him. His eyes wandered over to me at times, and he wasn’t really returning her affection. It continued to seem like he was uncomfortable or holding back for my sake.

The worst part was when Tristan went over to the bar to buy a round of drinks, and I was forced to make conversation with her. Apparently, Nazarene planned to stay in town for two weeks. She asked me all sorts of questions about my life. When I told her I had a boyfriend, she suggested that “the four of us” go out.

When Tristan returned to the table, Nazarene took the drink he’d brought her. “I was just telling Emily we should go to breakfast with her and her boyfriend sometime this week.”

Tristan nearly choked on his drink. “Oh yeah?”