Read Online Beauty from Surrender by Georgia Cates - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Georgia Cates
Ads: Link
explodes. These people love them.
He picks out a sound on his guitar that I don't recognize and announces, "Ladies always go first and our lovely Paige is gonna start us out with one from our new album called 'Let It Go.'"
Her name is Laurelyn. Not Paige.
My beautiful girl closes her eyes and I remember that as her signal—she's getting ready to sing. It's her way of shutting out the world and going to that place where she uses music and lyrics to tell her story.
Music is what feelings sound like. Isn't that what she says?
I'm sitting on the edge of my seat. I confess I'm a desperate man only holding on by a thin, thin thread. All I've been able to hear in my head for months are the words I wish I'd told her. But I'm here with her now and this is my chance to prove to her how good we are together.
She told me she loved me once and I pray that hasn't changed.
She leans into her microphone as she sings of memories and goodbyes and I know her voice is the only one my heart recognizes. My core lures her sound into my chest and wraps it around the dead walls of my heart so it will have the desire to beat again.
She opens her eyes when she starts the chorus. Like always. I don't like hearing her sing these lyrics about letting go. I know she chooses songs that speak from her heart and the thought of her singing those words with us in mind kills me. Maybe it means she's still thinking of me. Loving me. Holding out hope that I'll come for her.
The crowd bursts into cheer and praise when she finishes her song, as they should. She's a fan-fucking-tastic performer. I already knew that but I don't think I realized the degree until this moment.
The other singer steps up to his mic. "That girl can tear it up, right?"
The crowd answers with louder yelling and clapping. "This next one we're gonna do is called 'Win You Over.'" He looks at my girl and smiles as he gives her a wink. What the fuck is that about? The guy is looking at Laurelyn as he sings about winning a girl's heart after it's been broken. He's watching her eyes as he sings and that's when it strikes me—the motherfucker isn't singing for the crowd. He's singing to my girl.
Son of a bitch!
Don't look at him, Laurelyn. Don't fall for that shit—his seductive grin, his smooth voice, his deep dimples. I know those moves and it's all bullshit so he can fuck you.
I'm grasping the armrests of my seat so hard, I think I might crush them. What if I'm too late and she's already with this jerkoff? It's a real possibility. She wouldn't have a reason not to be. She has no idea how much I love her or the lengths I've gone to to find her. I'm certain she thinks I've moved on to my next companion. Why wouldn't she?
And then I think of the woman I almost made number fourteen. She gladly went up to a hotel room with me, a complete stranger, only minutes after meeting. She was going to let me fuck her because the man she loved didn't return her affections. She wanted him out of her head that badly, if only for as long as it took to get off. That's who I could be to Laurelyn—the man she needs out of her head so badly, she'd let this guy fuck her to erase me.
This is bad. Very bad.
I consider leaving my seat and walking toward the stage so she might see me and know I've come for her. I want to see her reaction. I need to look into her eyes so I'll know if I'm still the one she loves. Or if it's him now.
I get up but my feet are frozen in place. They won't obey the commands being sent by my brain. They're smarter than my head or my heart. As much as I want her to know I'm here, I can't because I'm certain security would stop me from moving closer to the stage.
The eye-fucker finishes his song and Laurelyn trades her guitar for another instrument—maybe a mandolin. She never told me she played anything but the piano and guitar, so I'm suddenly jealous that these blokes know something about her that I don't.
They begin the next song, a duet called "Tell Me What I Want to
He picks out a sound on his guitar that I don't recognize and announces, "Ladies always go first and our lovely Paige is gonna start us out with one from our new album called 'Let It Go.'"
Her name is Laurelyn. Not Paige.
My beautiful girl closes her eyes and I remember that as her signal—she's getting ready to sing. It's her way of shutting out the world and going to that place where she uses music and lyrics to tell her story.
Music is what feelings sound like. Isn't that what she says?
I'm sitting on the edge of my seat. I confess I'm a desperate man only holding on by a thin, thin thread. All I've been able to hear in my head for months are the words I wish I'd told her. But I'm here with her now and this is my chance to prove to her how good we are together.
She told me she loved me once and I pray that hasn't changed.
She leans into her microphone as she sings of memories and goodbyes and I know her voice is the only one my heart recognizes. My core lures her sound into my chest and wraps it around the dead walls of my heart so it will have the desire to beat again.
She opens her eyes when she starts the chorus. Like always. I don't like hearing her sing these lyrics about letting go. I know she chooses songs that speak from her heart and the thought of her singing those words with us in mind kills me. Maybe it means she's still thinking of me. Loving me. Holding out hope that I'll come for her.
The crowd bursts into cheer and praise when she finishes her song, as they should. She's a fan-fucking-tastic performer. I already knew that but I don't think I realized the degree until this moment.
The other singer steps up to his mic. "That girl can tear it up, right?"
The crowd answers with louder yelling and clapping. "This next one we're gonna do is called 'Win You Over.'" He looks at my girl and smiles as he gives her a wink. What the fuck is that about? The guy is looking at Laurelyn as he sings about winning a girl's heart after it's been broken. He's watching her eyes as he sings and that's when it strikes me—the motherfucker isn't singing for the crowd. He's singing to my girl.
Son of a bitch!
Don't look at him, Laurelyn. Don't fall for that shit—his seductive grin, his smooth voice, his deep dimples. I know those moves and it's all bullshit so he can fuck you.
I'm grasping the armrests of my seat so hard, I think I might crush them. What if I'm too late and she's already with this jerkoff? It's a real possibility. She wouldn't have a reason not to be. She has no idea how much I love her or the lengths I've gone to to find her. I'm certain she thinks I've moved on to my next companion. Why wouldn't she?
And then I think of the woman I almost made number fourteen. She gladly went up to a hotel room with me, a complete stranger, only minutes after meeting. She was going to let me fuck her because the man she loved didn't return her affections. She wanted him out of her head that badly, if only for as long as it took to get off. That's who I could be to Laurelyn—the man she needs out of her head so badly, she'd let this guy fuck her to erase me.
This is bad. Very bad.
I consider leaving my seat and walking toward the stage so she might see me and know I've come for her. I want to see her reaction. I need to look into her eyes so I'll know if I'm still the one she loves. Or if it's him now.
I get up but my feet are frozen in place. They won't obey the commands being sent by my brain. They're smarter than my head or my heart. As much as I want her to know I'm here, I can't because I'm certain security would stop me from moving closer to the stage.
The eye-fucker finishes his song and Laurelyn trades her guitar for another instrument—maybe a mandolin. She never told me she played anything but the piano and guitar, so I'm suddenly jealous that these blokes know something about her that I don't.
They begin the next song, a duet called "Tell Me What I Want to
Similar Books
