“For the tears,” he instructed. I stared at it for the longest time, and he sighed. He placed the edge of the sleeve between his thumb and pointer finger and stretched his arm closer to me. “I won’t touch you.”

Warily taking the sleeve from him, I wiped away my tears and listened to him sigh with relief.

We took in each other’s breaths, and he didn’t move until my breaths slowed down to the speed of his own. “You’re okay…” he repeated as he slid his hands into his jeans pockets. I could almost see his muscular build underneath his shirt. I could almost embrace his soul, which he was so willingly wearing on his sleeves that night.

Well…on one of his sleeves at least.

“I’m okay…” I replied, still feeling my knees wanting to buckle. I missed Gabby so much it hurt to stand. It hurt to cry. It hurt to be alive. I tried my best to avoid crying anymore, but when he looked at me and tilted his head to the left, narrowing his eyes, I felt a wave of emotion flying back to me.

“But it’s all right if you’re not okay,” he whispered.

I sobbed onto his t-shirt sleeve for quite a few minutes after that, losing myself in the sadness. He didn’t move. He didn’t get tired of my emotional breakdown. He just stood there, and for some reason, I felt a hug he never even delivered to me.

I pulled myself together.

I was okay. For now, at least. I shrugged my shoulders and blew my nose into the sleeve, making a very unattractive sound. He laughed lightly. I just felt silly.

“I have to get back…” he stated, sounding apologetic for having to depart, but I knew it was truly the perfect moment for him to disappear. “I’ll see you inside?” he asked.

He still wanted to see me inside? After this?!

One nod was all I could give him, and one nod was all he needed. Without hesitation, he rounded the corner and disappeared back into the bar, never looking back at me. My eyes followed him, silently thanking him for being the distant wall I’d needed to hold me up.

After a few minutes of pulling myself together, I reentered the building, made my way to the bar, and ordered water with lemon. The live music had already started, and from the sounds filling my ears, Mr. Beautiful Eyes hadn’t been wrong. I was going to enjoy it.

Glancing down, I saw their CDs resting on the bar counter. Lifting one, I turned to the bartender. “How much are these?”

“Ten bucks.”

I tossed the cash onto the bar and thanked the bartender for the drink and CD. It felt weird, being in a bar when I was under twenty-one. There was a bit of a rebellious feeling running through me, even with the black ink on my hand.

I turned and ventured toward the stage to watch the band perform, already falling in love with their vibe. Each and every one of the band members sounded at ease, in their comfort zone.

My eyes froze on the lead singer—my distant hug. There, like a freed bird, he sat on a stool and sang. He sang as if he would never sing again, with emotion in each note, feelings in every pause. The bar lights winked above him, and he closed his eyes, holding the microphone close to his lips. His eyes opened again and they had the love and gentleness of the shining stars.

He was beautiful up there. Not in the over-the-top handsome way, but in the quiet, whisper style. He was simple with his white t-shirt, which was semi-soaked with his perspiration—and missing a sleeve. He was wearing dark jeans, and a chain hung through his belt loop, which attached to the wallet that was resting in his back pocket. His arms had no tattoos, but the way he held the microphone so tight showcased his physique.

And those lips. Ohh those lips. My cheeks flushed when I stared at his mouth.

The music almost died away, but then it burst like a pent-up flood. The louder it grew, the steamier his voice became. He lived the words he sang, he adopted the rhymes the band crafted as if they were his own children, and he inspired me. His voice was as light as rain, yet I knew it could create a rapid storm if he powered it to.

He gripped the microphone in his large hands and cradled it like it was his lover, and when his eyes looked up into the audience, he found my stare. I didn’t look away, I couldn’t. He’d hypnotized me, leaving me in a daze. I was secretly one hundred percent okay with being locked away in those eyes.

I’ll be your best friend, darlin’, if you tell me your name.

I’ll be your sunshine when you grow tired of the rain.

The corners of his mouth turned up as he continued to sing. His smile alone made me grin. When was the last time I’d smiled? He nodded once at me, and as he finished the final words of the song, I felt as if he were giving me a private concert.

You can walk away and I’m sure I’ll be all right.

But just so you know, you’ll be in my dreams tonight…

My eyes moved away from him, my gaze falling to the ground. The pinkish tint attached to my cheeks caused a heavy amount of embarrassment. My eyes stayed glued to the ground for the next few songs, and I awkwardly tapped my foot along to the beat.

I could hear the smile in his voice as he thanked the audience after the sixth song. “We’re gonna take a fifteen-minute break. Thanks for hanging out with us tonight, and remember we have CDs for sale at the bar. Check them out, grab another drink or two, and stick around for the next set. We are Romeo’s Quest and we are so f**king stoked that each and every one of you badass, beautiful people are here tonight.”

Romeo’s Quest. How had they come up with that name? Who’d taught the band members how to play the instruments? How did the drummer make my heart smile with his skills?

And who in the world was the lead singer?

I smiled down to the CD in my hands and wandered to an abandoned booth in the back corner. From the ‘thank you’ section of the CD, it said that his name was Daniel Daniels, and I couldn’t help but smirk even wider at the idea of that.

“Oh God… Don’t tell me you actually bought one of those crappy CDs?” I looked up to see Daniel staring at me, and all I could do was stare back. He slid into the booth across from me with a beer in his hand. Like something fashioned in a dream, he smiled at me, and I hiccupped.

Suddenly overawed by a strange, vibrant shyness, I brushed my finger against my left earlobe. “Your name is Daniel Daniels?”

He smiled as easily as the sun shone and rested his arms across his body. “My father wanted to name me Jack, but Mom always worried he had a bad drinking problem. When it comes to my name, well… My mom always had a double problem.”