The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood Book 2)

by Nikki Sloane

  I trailed off, cocking my head to the side as I listened to the sound filling the room. Blanche’s was two stories, plus a rooftop bar, and although there was also a stage on this floor, it was empty tonight. The music from the band that had just started playing downstairs was piped through the sound system, and I stared at an advertisement for Jack Daniels as I evaluated the music.

  The balance was off. The lead guitar was so loud, it overpowered the drums, and the moment it began, I’d written the performance off. A rookie mistake that didn’t bode well for the group.

  But then the vocals came in, and my thoughts derailed.

  That tone.

  The male voice was rich smoke and filled my body with heat.

  The band was covering Chris Stapleton’s Midnight Train to Memphis, and the singer mimicked the same bluesy gravel, but there were hints his range was much wider.

  “You okay?” Lauren asked.

  I motioned toward the speakers. “Who is this?”

  I’d been in the business long enough I knew most of the acts around town, but this one I’d never heard before.

  Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It was supposed to be Kicking Fences, but Kevin’s got laryngitis. It’s some new guy from the standby list with Kicking Fences’ band backing him.” She eyed me as she took a swig of her beer. “Why? You like him?”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  In fact, I liked what I was hearing enough that when I finished with Lauren, I’d likely stay and watch the rest of the show.

  We discussed a few more things and set up a time for me to call and check in with her late next week, but the entire time we talked, I had one ear focused on the sound coming from the main stage. The guy was too close to the mic and probably new, but there was so much talent there, it made up for it.

  After we said goodbye, I hurried down the dark stairwell lined with photos of past acts that had gone on to make it big. I hoped the guy with the great vocals also had the ‘it’ factor. It was a good sign the crowd was into the performance because I could hear them shuffling along with the beat, plus the occasional catcall.

  I turned the corner and blinked against the bright stage lights.

  During Lauren’s performance, the bargoers had been subdued, but now the floor was mostly full. People swayed to the rhythm and a few held up their beer bottles to pay respect to the band. Energy vibrated through the crowd, making the atmosphere as electric as the guitar the singer strummed.

  It was a hot, dirty Nashville sound filling the space that was all sticky floors and neon beer signs.

  I was thrilled the guy could sing and play decently, and for a moment, I was distracted by his practiced fingers on the fretboard. But awareness tingled the hairs at the back of my neck. Something was off. No, not off . . .

  Familiar.

  With his powerful, throaty voice, I’d expected to find a man in his forties or fifties with a flannel shirt, a beard hanging down to touch his belly, and a cowboy hat. And while he had on a blue plaid shirt, it was fitted snuggly to his tight frame, and the sleeves rolled back to the elbows to show off his forearms. A swath of leather cuffed his wrist. It gave him an edgy, youthful vibe, just a little too punk rock to be pure country.

  Not that he needed help looking young—he was only twenty-four.

  Sound faded from my ears, so the only thing that registered was the thump of the bass drum and the pounding of my heart. Each beat slammed into my chest as I stared up at Troy’s handsome face.

  SEVEN

  Erika

  It was as if someone had struck a match and lit a fuse inside me. Excitement buzzed through my bloodstream as I stared at the boy on stage while he cradled his Fender and leaned into the microphone to sing about barbed-wire fences. Either the lights or the pressure of performing had Troy already sweating. A thin gloss sheened his face.

  But he didn’t look uncomfortable.

  Just like the intimate performance he’d given me, he had an easy swagger on the stage. He wasn’t stiff or tight like most inexperienced performers could be. His shoulders were relaxed, and his stance solid, so he could both sing and play to the best of his ability.

  It was the opposite for me. Every muscle inside my body was corded tightly with awe and excitement. He could sing. How the fuck did I not know this? Why had Jenna never mentioned it to me?

  The manager and agent side of my mind was focused on the details. He had presence, but it could be packaged even better. It was difficult to see if he was enjoying himself because concentration lined his face. He was a man determined to hit each note perfectly, who hadn’t yet learned to focus on the experience instead of his execution. As his manager, I could help him with that.

  But the side of me that wasn’t focused on her job, the one that was simply a woman, struggled to breathe. I’d seen him stark naked and thought he couldn’t possibly have looked better, but seeing him bathed in the warm stage light with a guitar strap slung over a shoulder threatened to melt my insides. His music seeped into my body, making me smolder.

  I was rooted to the floor, mesmerized by him, and it wasn’t until the song was over that I could move again. I went to the darkest corner at the back of the bar, sat on a stool with a cracked vinyl top, and watched the remainder of his short show.

  It’d been thrown together last minute, and they stuck to a setlist of tried-and-true favorites to keep the crowd engaged, all until the final number. The rest of the band exited as Troy switched out to an acoustic guitar and then settled at center stage.

  I couldn’t place the song after the first sets of chords, but when he belted out the first line of the lyrics, my mouth dropped open. It was U2’s “Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” but he’d put a country spin on it, filling his voice with twang.

  The song showed off his impressive vocal range. The high notes were packed with power, and the low notes soft and beautiful. It was up-tempo, but the audience was frozen. Like me, they were riveted in place. Troy had us all in the palm of his hand as he sang a stripped-down version of a song about elusive love.

  I couldn’t stop the sensation creeping along my nerve endings or the thought from storming into my head.

  I wanted to be what he was looking for.

  His performance gripped me until the final chord, and it wasn’t until the applause and cheers began to die off that I came out of my stupor. I lusted after him, both professionally and as a woman who was twenty years too old for him. And I was jealous of the younger girls in the audience who smiled up at this gorgeous singer and probably dreamed of going home with him.

  Perhaps one of them would, but I hoped not.

  There was a swallow’s worth of beer left in the bottom of my glass, but I ignored it. Troy hopped down off the stage and had a brief chat with the band members there, and at the end of it, the drummer slapped a wad of cash into his hands. It had to be Troy’s cut of the tips for the evening.

  His Fender was retrieved from the bassist, and by the time he pushed through the side door, I was on my feet to hurry after him. A mixture of emotions swirled inside, including irritation. He was inexperienced, but still too good for this to have been his first-ever performance. Plus, I knew how Blanche’s entertainment worked. He’d either auditioned or performed elsewhere to make it onto their standby list.

  So, why the hell didn’t I know how talented he was? The only thing that made sense was that it had been kept from me. But why?

  Blanche’s Honky Tonk had a cozy, dive-like atmosphere, but it was manufactured. The décor was fabricated to look aged and the seating worn, but it was actually new beneath. The building itself was old, but had been renovated recently, keeping its charm, while hiding the newer upgrades.

  But not in the ‘staff only’ area of the bar. The hallway was grimy and ancient, with a light overhead that could barely illuminate my path as I wove around boxes of liquor and broken equipment. I’d been back here enough times and could find my way through. The guy who ran the place was a friend of Ardy�
��s, and I’d helped schedule Lauren’s standing gigs with him.

  I loved this section of the building. It was real.

  The white walls had been graffitied by past performers and staff. Cables for the sound systems ran in a jumbled mess along the wall and were strewn across the ceiling, leading toward a rack of electronics in the corner. Set lists had been tacked up to a cork board, along with employee shifts for the week.

  Behind the manager’s office and an employee break area was the green room. It wasn’t big—only enough space for an old sofa, a mini fridge, and a desk perched in front of a lighted mirror. More than anything, it was a place for the talent to store their gear, tune, and mentally prepare for the stage. It was where Troy was, zipping his guitar up in its padded case on the couch as I stepped inside.

  When I shut the door, he snapped upright in surprise. “Ms. Graham?”

  I ignored the urge to correct him on my name, or the fact he looked both excited and nervous to see me. Instead, I demanded, “How long have you been doing this?”

  He glanced quickly around the room, confused by what I was asking, and searched for the answer like it was written on the walls somewhere.

  “How long,” I clarified, “have you been performing?”

  His gaze returned to me and the confusion dissipated. “Two years, I guess?” He let out a tight breath. “I started doing shows when I was in Chicago.”

  Meaning, when he was in college. It made a little more sense now why I hadn’t seen him before. The last thing I had wanted to do during my long divorce was hang out in bars alone, on the off chance I’d scout some talent.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  I wasn’t sure if he meant in this room or the bar. “You know what I do, right?” Surely Jenna had told him I was an agent and manager, or at least in the business. “Lauren—the act before yours—she’s one of my clients.”

  It wasn’t news to him, that much was clear. His lips parted to say something, but nothing came out. I shifted my weight and put my hands on my hips.

  “Why didn’t your mom tell me you were performing? She knew I was going to be at Blanche’s tonight.”

  He lifted a noncommittal shoulder. “Because she doesn’t know I . . . Look, this is just something I do for fun.” He jammed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I’d appreciate if you, like, didn’t tell her about it.”

  I blinked against the enormous information he’d just lobbed at me. He didn’t do it for money, which wasn’t surprising. At most, he’d made an extra hundred bucks tonight. But I liked how Troy had climbed on that stage because there’d been an opportunity, and he enjoyed performing.

  Yet he wanted it kept a secret? “Why?”

  “Because she’ll tell me about all the people she knows who tried to make it and failed. That it’s a pipe dream, and I need to finally get serious about my life.”

  My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I knew Jenna well enough that I heard the conversation they’d had with perfect clarity in my head. The hardest thing was I was likely the shining example of failure my friend had used when she’d talked to him. I’d struggled for five years before realizing my big break wasn’t coming, and it was never going to happen for me.

  I wondered if the thing I most exceled at was failure.

  “I know she’s right,” he said softly. “That’s why I only do it when they need someone to fill in.”

  “She’s not right,” I said automatically, before tempering myself.

  Nothing was known in the entertainment business, and I wasn’t going to stand in front of this kid and tell him I could make him a star. I didn’t exaggerate or make promises I couldn’t keep. But I’d seen something in him that was too strong to ignore, and the least I could offer him was the truth.

  “You’re talented, Troy. I see lots of potential.” He gazed at me with deep skepticism, making me continue. “You think I’m joking? I’m not.”

  It was like he didn’t want to believe me, but hope was a powerful thing. “Potential,” he repeated.

  “My boss represents Stella.” I quirked an eyebrow at his surprised reaction. “Yes, that Stella. She’s going to be holding auditions for the opening act of her final show here in town. I think you should try out with that U2 cover you just did.”

  He shifted back like the information had knocked him sideways. “What?” His gaze went unfocused, and his chest moved rapidly with his hurried breath. “I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can, Troy. You should.” I took a step toward him, forcing his gaze to sharpen on me. “She wants to find that diamond in the rough, an artist to pay it forward with. You are exactly what she’s looking for.”

  He stared at me for a long moment, before breaking it off and glancing at his guitar. “Yeah, right.”

  “You liked playing tonight, and that was for maybe a hundred people. Imagine ten thousand. Don’t you want that chance?”

  “Sure. But it’s never going to happen.” He raked a hand through his hair, and I forced myself to focus on the line of buttons on his plaid shirt, instead of how sexy that action made him look.

  I was too in the moment to think about consequences. Too blinded by how good he could be. “Maybe you don’t believe me, but you don’t have to. I can believe in you enough for both of us.”

  God, his eyes were stunning when they filled with surprise, and my statement unlocked whatever restraint had been holding him back. “If I try, then I’m going to want it.”

  “I get it.” I understood what he meant with every fiber of my being. I allowed myself to be raw and exposed with him. “I used to be where you are, so I know how scary it can be to put yourself out there. To want something so bad and how it can crush you when it doesn’t happen. But not trying? Not going for it? Shit, I promise you, Troy, that’s so much worse.”

  My truth filled the space between us like a bridge, allowing me to reach him.

  His voice was uneven. “When I fail—it’ll prove her right.”

  I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. “Then, you don’t tell her.” He jolted at my unexpected statement, but I kept going. “You’re already keeping your performances separate from her, so this audition . . . could just be an extension of that.”

  His broad chest rose as he took in a deep breath and considered.

  “It doesn’t have to stay a secret,” I added softly. “You can tell her after we land you that opening slot.”

  “You really think I have a chance?”

  I delivered the most serious look I possessed. “Yes. I do.”

  “So,” his voice thickened a single degree, but I felt the weight of it, “we’re keeping this a secret too, then?”

  My breath caught in my lungs, and my heart stumbled, but the rest of my body flooded with steam. “No, I was going to tell her about—”

  Gone was the hopeful boy from a moment ago as he advanced toward me. My affirmation had replaced him with the confident man I’d seen before on the stage and in the sweltering heat of my pool house.

  “Tell her what? That I saw you naked? That it got me so hot you caught me jerking off?” A faint smile teased his lips, and the air in the room abandoned us as he closed in. “And then we both got naked, and I came while I watched you play with your pussy?”

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered. The heat from the memory caused a deep ache between my legs.

  “You think she’s going to be cool with that? Or us working together, once she finds out?”

  No, she wouldn’t be. Not in a million years. But he also brought up an excellent point. “What we did,” I said between shallow breaths, “is not exactly how I like to start a professional relationship with a client.”

  “Hmm,” he mocked in agreement, as he finished invading my space, moving so we were toe-to-toe. He was only a few inches taller than I was, but his presence was overwhelming. It derailed my thoughts on why it would be a good idea to put up boundaries. He was closer than we’d ever been, just inches fro
m my lips. “You seemed to like it okay.”

  I stared up at his handsome face. He had long lashes feathered around his blue eyes, and as he blinked, I felt the sweep of his lust across my skin. It was powerful and addictive, promising to fulfill the craving I’d had for years.

  “Troy,” I whispered, although I had no idea if my plea was for him to stop or to act on the longing he’d created inside me.

  “Isn’t that what you came back here for?” He laced seduction into his words. “So I could give you a private performance?”

  My shaky voice wouldn’t even convince myself. “We can’t.”

  “Sure, we can.” And then he echoed back nearly the same phrase I’d given him. “We should.”

  Damn him and his fucking amazing voice. It was impossible to resist.

  We hadn’t touched when we’d been in the pool house together, but everything was different this time. He was far more in control than I was.

  It was why I didn’t move as he lifted a hand and cupped the back of my head, angling my face up so he could gaze down at me with hooded eyes. His warm breath wafted over my lips, threatening his kiss. I swallowed so hard he must have heard the click of my throat. It didn’t stop him from his goal, though.

  The strands of my long auburn hair shifted beneath his palm as he gently urged me forward, pulling me into him until his mouth closed over mine. The moment our lips touched, I went weightless. It was like leaping off a stage into the waiting hands of the crowd, yet never landing. Falling forever.

  His mouth was the same as his singing voice. Gentle one second and full of commanding power the next. I softened beneath him, and I wasn’t aware I’d moved until I found my fingers laced together behind his neck.

  It didn’t matter that it’d been a long time since I’d been kissed, because I’d never been kissed like this. Troy’s lips moved against mine, urging me to mirror his angle and match his pressure. My pulse throbbed in my neck, banging like a furious drum as we tasted each other.

  If he had a flavor, it was just like his music. Sinfully rich and hot.