Music

I look out over the bar from a small stage in the corner, taking in the vibe. The house lights are turned up just enough for me to clock the faces in the audience. I’m nearing the end of my set, and the atmosphere is relaxed. Intimate. Perfect.

I notice a server–lean, lithe, and limber, with long, black hair pulled back in a loose knot, and freckles across their sharp, tawny cheekbones–threading their way through the tables. Placing one hand on a patrons shoulder, they lean in and set a drink on the table. The hand on the shoulder trails down the patron’s arm as they move on, and the hair on mine stands on end.

The air vibrates as the attractive server makes contact with another patron, and my pulse quickens along with my strumming as I watch the server’s eyes flash silver. My fingers dance across guitar strings as theirs dance across a patron’s forearm. Their aura, palid and thin, merges with those of the audience members, swelling around them as energy transfers from patron to staff. My lips part in a visceral cry as I bring the song to its crescendo.

They catch my gaze, and drop one eyelid in a wink.