42
Alina
It’s the first night of the three sold-out shows we’re performing at Rogers Place in Edmonton, Alberta. I’m standing onstage, and I’ve never felt more alive. I was meant to do this. I don’t know when along this tour I lost my inhibitions, but I don’t feel like hiding anymore. Stepping forward from my usual spot to the left and the back, I surprise even myself when I take a position right on the edge of the stage as I riff my guitar on my solo piece during our song, “Dream Catcher”.
“Edmontoooon! Let’s hear it for the incredibly talented Alina, slaying it on guitar!” Paisley shouts into the microphone, before belting out the next line: “’Cause you’ll only ever catch me in your dreams…”
The crowd goes crazy, cheering and singing along as my solo and Paisley’s smooth vocals blend and meld together. We stand back to back now, our faces turned towards the crowd. I can’t remember ever moving as far out of my comfort zone as I have tonight to engage the audience like this, but this show has been such a blast. I feel like this must be what the elusive cloud nine feels like.
“Keep that feeling, fight your feelings, ’cause you’ll only ever catch me in your dreams…” Paisley sings the next verse just as my final riff ends, and the crowd roars so loudly in appreciation it’s almost deafening. Siobhán quickly takes over, moving from the snare to the high-hats in a punchy attack and thumping away on the bass drum, the sound heavy at first before she pulls back, making way for Paisley once again. “How about that beat? Edmonton, my hockey-loving people, give it up for my girl, Shiv. And she’s ass-kissing tonight, folks. Check out that top!” Paisley shakes her head, and Rox and I share an audible laugh, seeing Siobhán now standing up behind her kit showing off her Edmonton Oilers T-shirt. “And, last but never least, give it up for Roxie playing bass…”
*
“…the earth.”
I sing the end of the verse on a low hum, strumming my guitar softly and working the combination until it’s my version of perfection. I pause then, continuing to gently stroke the guitar strings, before I belt the line out again. It sounds loud, but powerful, in the empty room. I’m working to make it punchy, wanting to reinforce the importance of the line.
After tonight’s show, I felt like writing. I felt both exhilarated and reflective. I had the best show of my career tonight, and it’s left me feeling a little raw and a whole bunch overwhelmed. Experiencing this level of accomplishment, this high, the satisfaction of having fun and being able to let loose after all my time on lockdown is taking a bit of a toll on my emotions. I’ve let Her run my life for far too long, but now with Slater, the girls, and this crazy adventure, I now realize that I have the ability to tackle any obstacle which might stand in front of me.
Letting out a deep sigh, I’m content. Knowing most of my secrets are out and in the hands of the people I trust is a good feeling. And tonight, although we rocked the stage, I needed some me time afterwards. But now that the fan meet-and-greet is over, I find myself sitting in the greenroom amongst some crates of equipment and instruments, singing and playing one of my favourite songs, rather than writing a new one as I’d planned.
“…swimmm.” I hold the last note again, moved as always by the beautiful lyrics about fighting and keeping your head above water.
“You’ve got an incredible voice, Shadow.”
I look up, startled to see Slater sitting on a rickety stool just inside the door.
“How long have you been there?” I ask, my voice breathy from the weight of his copper eyes boring into mine. God, he’s handsome. In worn blue jeans and a fitted army-green shirt, his eyes seem to shine in the dim light. My eyes linger on his forearms where his shirt’s rolled up, giving me quite the view of his corded muscles, and vibrant skin.
“Long enough to realize how talented my girl is. What song is that? I don’t think I’ve heard it before,” he asks, shifting on the stool, positioning his black boots up on the rungs.
“It’s called ‘Swim’ by Jack’s Mannequin. The words, they’re special to me. It’s a song about staying afloat. I guess it’s my fight song,” I shrug, placing my guitar beside me on the couch, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Absentmindedly, I start rubbing my inner wrist.
“I’ll have to listen to it, I don’t think I’ve heard of them. Or maybe one day you’ll sing it for me.” He cocks his head to one side, his eyes not wavering from mine.
Opening his knees wider in invitation, Slater says, “Come here, Shadow.” His voice is firm, deep, and so intoxicating that I stand without hesitation, my body moving of its own volition. Always drawn to him like a magnet.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, taking a tentative step forward then stopping in place.
“Came looking for you. Wanted to be near you. Saw your show. I’m fucking proud of you. You did amazing. I saw tonight what I knew was there all along. You owned it.” He smiles a brilliant smile, and it warms my chest. The air fills with electricity, and I feel my body reacting to his presence with the way he commands my attention in the small space. “So, you gonna stand there talking, or come see me, pretty girl?” Slater asks again, a teasing smile pulling across his full, firm lips. Lips I’ve driven myself crazy over, imagining how they’d feel against mine. I laugh nervously, realizing I’ve stopped moving again. “Come here, baby. Please?”
Biting my inner cheek, I nod, knowing there’s no way I could stay away if I tried. Tamping down my own negative comeback after hearing him calling me ‘pretty’, I work to not only accept it, but to actually believe it, letting Slater’s matter-of-fact tone appease my inner doubts. I allow the compliment he gives to settle over me. I know he means it. I believe he sees me in that light, because if I’ve learned anything over the last month, Slater Jenkins isn’t one to mince words. And what’s more, he makes me feel more than pretty, he makes me feel beautiful every second we’re together. So, I let it go. I accept and believe in his compliment. And without further hesitation, I find myself stepping in between his knees.
“Actually, I lied,” he says, tightening his legs, trapping me once I’m in his space. The air is thick, my senses on overload. I can feel him hardening against me, and my pulse races as his familiar scent comforts me, and turns me on.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, not taking my eyes off his gorgeous face, working to steady my voice and balance on my wobbly legs, my nerves kicking in.
“Yeah. You. Are. Exquisite.” He rests his forehead on mine. “You drive me crazy.” My breath constricts in my lungs. His strong arms slip around my waist; he pulls me in closer, and I let him. Our chests brush, and my nipples harden against the lace of my bra. I’ve never reacted to a man like this before, ever. Slater Jenkins owns me in this moment, and I don’t think I ever want to lose this feeling.
“You scare me sometimes, Ali,” Slater admits, running his nose along the side of my cheek and ear, and I let out a nervous giggle, wanting to ask if he’s been reading my mind. Goosebumps break out along both of my arms from the heat of his breath. Running his nose softly against my skin again and again, I feel my heart thumping in my chest with each pass and each second we sit in silence, both of us letting his words linger.
Finally, I find my voice and respond, “Good. Because sometimes you petrify me.” Feeling brave and needing to be closer, I move my arms around his neck, my fingers immediately running over the short stubble at the base of his neck, and before I can change my mind, I say, “I kind of like the feeling you give me. It’s a good scary. Exciting,” I whisper into his ear, eliciting a groan.
Before I can overthink it, my hands come loose from around his neck, and move down to rest against his chest. I rub, feeling his tight muscles under my fingertips, his deep intake of breath letting me know he likes it. Gripping his shirt, I tug him into me. His eyes go wide as I pull him in as close as I can get before lifting my heels off the floor and brushing my lips ever so gently against his. He tastes like mint, he feels like safety, and I crave more.
Slater reacts tentatively at first, waiting to see if I freak out. Our first kiss is sweet, a little unsure, but I can feel him allowing me to lead. He’s so soft and gentle as we connect for the first time, the feel of his touch utter perfection. I shudder and let out a moan, which spurs him into action.
Flicking his tongue out and ghosting it over the seam of my lips, he coaxes me to respond, to let his tongue in to meet with mine. And I oblige. When I open my mouth, Slater’s tongue begins to dance with mine, and soon it’s no longer sweet, gentle, or disciplined. We’re quickly becoming an inferno, as our tongues twist and move around each other’s. His hands drop down to grip my ass, squeezing, and I can feel my panties getting wet, my need for this man reaching a peak. I can’t get enough.
“Yes, god, yes,” I say, when he breaks the kiss and nudges his face in between my neck and collarbone.
My head is tilted back, and Slater runs his nose along my skin, inhaling me, telling me, “You smell so fucking perfect, always so sweet and good. Fuck, Ali,” as he kisses and licks down along my throat, before his lips are back demanding mine in return.
We stay like this, kissing and holding onto each other for what feels like forever, Slater never pushing my boundaries, his hands never leaving my ass. It isn’t until Fife and Siobhán walk in to ask us if we want to head to the Red Star Pub with them for a few late night drinks and a bite to eat that we pull away from each other, reluctantly.
“What is it about you?” I ask Slater, once those two leave, telling us we have five minutes before they announce to everyone that they caught us making out like dry-humping teens.
“Not sure, but whatever it is, I’ll be sure to keep doing it,” Slater says, placing a sweet kiss on my nose before he hops down off the stool. Lacing his hand with mine, he leads us out to join our friends.
You. Are. Exquisite…