Free The Rider List: An Erotic Romance by J.T. Charles

was sporadic and fitful that night. I just kept running all those thoughts through my head and arriving at the same conclusion. I must have cried out every last tear in my body.
    I broke up with him the next day. The call was short. Wyatt was angry.
    He called again twice that week and we kept saying the same things over and over. I don’t know why I entertained the idea that he could rectify the situation.
    I guess I was hoping he would somehow magically make those hurtful comments disappear. But he didn’t. I finally told him I couldn’t do it anymore, that nothing he was saying would change my mind. We hung up, both of us angry.
    His mother had called me after she got news of the breakup. She wasn’t judgmental about my position on everything. She didn’t condemn his behavior either, though. And she said I should always remember that Wyatt truly loves me.
    I didn’t argue with that, even though I had come to believe differently. I’d never once questioned his love and commitment to me until he questioned mine and tried to guilt-trip me. Nobody who truly loves someone would do that to them.
    I hadn’t heard a word from Wyatt since that last phone call. That was almost six months ago. I had changed my number because I’d feared he would try to call and I just couldn’t take it. He knew our landline number at the house but he’d gone all these months without trying to contact me.
    Now he’s calling again? What’s this all about?
     

Chapter Eight
    Evan
     
    The main goal in coming here was to unwind, relax, take it easy, quiet my life down. But in the hours when Audrey isn’t around, I start to get easily bored. I check online for things going on locally and see there is a band called Three Figures playing at The Windjammer, which is a short walk from where I’m staying.
    Three Figures is a band from Savannah, Georgia, south of Charleston. They had opened for us a few times on some our dates in the south. I liked their music and the guys were always cool. I figure maybe it will do me some good to get out of this house and go do something, so I head down there about 9 p.m., an hour before Three Figures is supposed to take the stage.
    I go to the bar and take a seat at the end, facing the stage, and order a beer. The place is starting to fill up. No one recognizes me. Even people I make eye contact with don’t hold it for very long, which they would if they suspected that I look familiar. Perfect. Anonymity test completed, I can relax and enjoy the night.
    When the band comes on, the place is full. People are jammed into the large, open area in front of the stage. There’s a crowd three people deep around the bar.
    The music starts. The guys sound really good.
    There’s a gaggle of girls right in front of the stage, arms in the air, and I can hear their woooos and yeahs when the music quiets down.
    One girl in particular is standing right in front of the lead singer, a guy named Keenan who I don’t know all that well. He seems to be concentrating on her, looking down, almost like he’s singing to her.
    I’d never noticed it from this vantage point. I’d always been the one onstage. Not as the lead singer, but as the guitarist, and I’d often find a girl to flirt with. Get close to the edge of the stage, act like you’re playing just for her. It was showmanship. The crowd loved to see things like that. It’s interaction without having to physically interact.
    Watching the band perform and the crowd react, I find myself feeling nothing. No urge to get back up on the stage anytime soon. No desire to be in the spotlight again. I’d just be happy to have inspiration strike and be able to write a song or two again.
    At one point between songs, Keenan goes to the edge of the stage and gives that girl his guitar pick. She throws it back at him. He looks stunned, but picks it up, shrugs, says something to her that I can’t make out, and walks away from her.
    Impressed by how Three Figures sounds, I’m