Free Wild Abandon by Jeannine Colette Page A

I get home, I’ll have a word or two with Naomi about setting me up with guys just because she thinks they’re hot.
    This is why I like to stick to my rules. Sure, Gavin was a total jerk, but at least he was a…yeah, I don’t have any excuses for him. Same goes for Colton and Jake.
    I take a seat, fully clothed, on the closed toilet. I lean forward and put my head in my hands. My hair dangles around my face, creating a shield, a private world where bad dates don’t exist. Letting out a huge breath of air from my lungs, I look up and around the beige stall. This is pretty damn pathetic, don’t ya think?
    Shaking my head at the bad luck I have with men, I pull up my Uber app and am about to secure a car when the sound of a bluegrass band echoes into the room. They sound really good, and I haven’t caught a good bluegrass band in years. Putting my phone in my bag, I stand and head back into the pub.
    The place is as packed as before with even more people walking through the front door. The table I was at with Dallas is now occupied by another couple. Luckily, I see a lone seat at the end of the bar. I take it and put my back to the cedar to watch the band.
    Unlike contemporary music, bluegrass is played on all acoustic instruments—a fiddle, banjo, guitar, mandolin, and a bass. First, the guitar comes in, and with the deep bom, bom, bom of the bass, my heart starts to beat in rhythm. The fiddler plucks away, and the sweet sound carries in a melody that causes my shoulders to jive while the mandolin’s rapid strokes cause my head to bob. Finally, the banjo’s plucked strings carry a fast-paced rhythm, and suddenly, I’m transported into a world of knee-slappin’, toe-tappin’ good times.
    Two-, three-, or even four-part vocals tell a story—sometimes about life but mostly about love and always about the soul. That makes bluegrass music, above all, an experience.
    And this band really kicks it up a notch because, instead of traditional bluegrass, they are playing contemporary music. Right now, they’re kicking out a Taylor Swift song, and it freaking rocks.
    I’m pretty swept up in the music coming from the stage when I feel a tap on my elbow. I look behind me to see a dark ale, similar to the one I never touched from my bad date, sitting on the bar. I look up, and Nate gives me a chin nod before walking away. Grabbing the beer, I turn back to the band as I decide to settle in and enjoy the night.
    See? Not as pathetic as I was a few minutes ago.
    The five-piece band, The Barge Poppers, keeps the crowd going. Some patrons get up to dance, but most keep to their seats and enjoy the great music. I sit and listen to more covers, including one by Maroon 5, Justin Bieber, and—I kid you not—Macklemore.
    After the sixth song, the lead singer asks the crowd how they’re feeling.
    We’re feeling good!
    I answer with the crowd, throwing my hands up in the air and clapping my hands.
    “This is the part of the show where we like to open it up to you. Who here wants to get on up here and sing a little something with us?” the banjo player asks.
    While some patrons seem to be volunteering their friends, no one stands.
    “Come on, guys, we’re all drunk here tonight.” He raises his own glass from a nearby stool and cheers the crowd, who clap and laugh. “No need to be embarrassed. We don’t even know what we’re doing up here half the time!”
    I look around the room and see no one is volunteering, so I raise my hand.
    “Looks like we have a victim, Justin,” the mandolin player says to the banjo player.
    “Jeez, I thought we were gonna get stood up. Well, come on. Get yourself on up here, darlin’.”
    I slide off my stool and walk up to the stage.
    “What’s your name?” he asks when I reach him.
    “Crystal,” I say into his microphone.
    “Whoa, you ain’t from around here. Where you from?” When I tell him where, he laughs. “They sing bluegrass in New York City?”
    “No, I don’t sing. But I can