“Well, that’s not bad for a busboy, I have to give it to you,” she says, pocketing her cash.
“Give it to me how?” I ask as I untie the apron and take it off. “You’re letting me out of the bet?”
“Pfft! No way,” she says.
German comes up behind us.
“You two betta be good,” he says. “An’ none o’that rap stuff or dem fancy new-age songs.” He snaps his fingers rapidly as if he’s trying to name an example, but then he just gives up. “This ain’t no ’Merican Idol.”
“Understood,” Camryn says with that sweet smile of hers.
German, with a big dopey grin on his face, snaps out of her spell, and as he walks away he snarls at me as he passes. It’s better than him looking at me the way he looks at Camryn, so I’m not complaining.
I turn to Camryn. “Don’t be nervous.” I take her hands into mine. “Like I said, you’re going to kick ass out there.”
She nods nervously. Then she lets a quick burst of air move through her little rounded lips and inhales a deep breath.
“I’ll run out and get the guitar while you get ready,” I say.
“All right,” she says.
I kiss her on the lips and head outside to the car where the electric guitar she bought me for my birthday is hiding in the trunk. “Edge of Seventeen” may be her solo, but the guitar riff itself is so well-known that I’m almost as nervous as she is about performing it. OK, maybe not so much as nervous—it’s a fairly easy song to play. What has me a little on edge is screwing it up for her. She’s the only reason I feel any kind of pressure about tonight’s performance.
I walk up onto the stage to find the drummer, Leif, who we met yesterday, getting set up. “Thanks for doing this, man,” I say to him.
“Hey, no problem,” Leif says. “I’ve played this song a number of times at a bar in Georgia I used to work at a few years ago.”
Camryn was happy to find a drummer who knows the song. She was prepared for it to be just the two of us, knowing it wouldn’t sound the same without the drums, too. But when we met Leif yesterday during her waitress training and he agreed to play with us tonight, I think Camryn’s confidence level shot up a few notches.
I slip the guitar strap over my shoulder just as Camryn steps onto the stage.
She walks right up to me, and I lean in toward her ear and say, “You look hot.”
She blushes and looks down at her clothes. She changed out of that cute black top she was wearing and replaced it with another black silky top that hangs low in the back, exposing her skin almost to her waist. The necklace I bought for her dangles in the front, shining against the black. And she let her hair down. I love the braid she always wears, but I have to say, she’s a whole other level of sexy with that long, soft blonde hair falling all about her shoulders.
The voices in the bar carry through the large space, loud even over Leif messing around with the bass drum behind us. All of the tables on the floor are full, as well as the booths lining the back wall. My four “girlfriends” are still here and have migrated from their booth to a table closer to the stage. They seem intrigued that I went from busboy to guitar player. Normally, I would be scanning the audience for my “victim” of the night by now, but tonight is different and there won’t be any of that from either one of us. Camryn’s too nervous and focused to try pulling off our usual.
After we finally get set up and are ready to begin, Camryn holds her breath for a moment and looks over at me.
I wait for her to give me the go, and when I see her nod I start to play, and all eyes in the room turn to us. That guitar riff always manages to turn heads in a crowded room. And Camryn, the second she starts to sing, she does like I always do and becomes someone completely different, so much so that it stuns me. She owns it. It’s so unlike how she has been during every one of our practices together. Confidence and sexiness exudes from every line in the song and every movement she makes and my entire body reacts to it.
“Ooo, baby, ooo, ooo!” I join in with the chorus.
But everybody’s looking at her, even my four girlfriends, who I know at first moved closer to check me out. No, they now belong to Camryn for the most part, and it makes me proud.
Before the first verse is even over, the dance floor is packed with bodies. The power and sex in Camryn’s voice mixed with the fascination everyone has for her performance sends me over the edge, and I hammer out that riff with more devotion than before.
“Ooo, baby, ooo, ooo!”
Every few seconds I hear a voice scream in the background: “Wooooo!” and again, each time Camryn hits a moving note.
And I can’t get enough.
I sing my heart out along with her to the next two choruses, and I know the fourth verse that she always got tripped up on is next. I look over, still moving my pick fast over the strings, my back arched, and I don’t see a nervous muscle in her face. She’s got this; I can tell by looking at her that there’s no way she’s going to screw it up.
And then the words come and go so fast and flawlessly from her lips that I feel my face stretched to its limits with a smile as I follow loudly into the next chorus line with her.
Damn, my baby owns this song. Look out, Stevie Nicks!
Passing the middle of the song, Camryn sings: Oooo! And her voice fades in that ominous part of the song which allows her voice a short rest.
But the guitar riff goes on and on. It’s exhausting, but my fingers never stop, never miss a beat.
Camryn and I look at each other and share a moment. Then she starts singing again, and I join in where I’m supposed to.