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.”

“A double problem?”

He laughed lightly, rubbing the palm of his hand against his jawline. “A double problem is when you have one of something you really love, so you go out and get the same thing, just in case the first one breaks or something. When she married my dad, she was in love with the idea of taking his last name. So I guess it was just fitting that I was the double to the last name she loved.”

I was still as a stone as I watched his lips form words, and curiosity rocked my being. I wanted to know more. More about the double problem. More about his parents. More about him. I wanted to know anything and everything about the stranger who played music that had the power to make me feel good for a few moments.

I wanted to know more about the stranger whose lyrics had wrapped me up and yanked me away from sadness. His mysterious approach drew me in, and his friendly nature kept me there and focused on him.

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” I said, eyeing the missing sleeve.

“It’s just a shirt,” he smiled.

Yet I knew it was much more than that.

A silence came again, and my eyes shot down to my water, where I stared at the lemon for the longest time. When I looked up again, he was still smiling, and I racked my brain for anything to say, anything to make me not appear like a nineteen-year old sitting in a bar.

“Where did you get your band’s name from?” I questioned.