Page 37 of Juliet's Echo

Okay. He's got talent and taste. I wonder how hard Yahya would clown me for being a groupie tonight. Knowing her, she'd probably encourage it.

The talent began moving from the shadow and into the spotlight and I knew I was salivating like a hound dog — but mama was long overdue for a bite. Stride effortless, attention grabbing, guitar never missing a single beat as he made his wayto his wooden throne. And as his features came into focus under the spotlight, my stomach dropped clean through the floor.

Psalm Mitchel — in all his commanding, insufferable glory — sat on that small wooden stool at the center of the stage. Guitar in hand, controlling every mind in the room without a single ounce of visible effort. His head slightly bowed, eyes cast downward the way musicians did when they traveled somewhere the audience couldn't follow. Dark slacks, a fitted button down, matching the luxury of his shoes. He looked nothing like the sharp-tongued, perpetually unbothered man I shared Creative Writing with during the week.

The warmth in my body climbed another degree the moment I discovered who the mystery guitarist was — and I begged it to stop.

It did not stop.

I watched his left hand move along the neck of the guitar, the unhurried press of his fingers knowing exactly where to go. My thoughts betrayed me immediately. I found myself envisioning my body as his instrument. His grip on my neck, my back pressed into his chest, his other hand roaming freely — fingers finding every cord that would involuntarily send my body into celestial orbit. Pressure traveled to my ears from the tightening of my jaw.

Here I was, lusting after my arch nemesis while sitting across from a date I'd already mentally dismissed.

Get it together, Juliet.

Desperate for a distraction, I turned my chair back toward the table — toward Nazir and my medium rare steak with seasoned green beans and potatoes. I picked up my fork and realized I had absolutely no idea what to do with it. I set it back down.

Water. That's it. Water.

I took long gulps from my glass and the coolness of it returned a temporary sanity. Temporary — because the music from Mr.Mitchel began to move around my body from behind as if it knew where I was sitting. It curled around my ribs and found a new way in, and I wasn't even a little bit mad at it. This was wrong. So deeply wrong. And not because I was on a date — that ship had sailed. This was Psalm Mitchel. The man who challenged everything about my existence including my rite of passage to carry my own name. Who appeared at the worst possible moments and never left without making an impression I didn't ask for. This man was worse than my period — and there was absolutely no version of reality in which I was even slightly attracted to him.

A lie doesn't care who tells it.

I took another sip of water, cleared my throat and forced my eyes back to Nazir, who was apparently still talking — something about his interest in law and something about pledging. Had this man been talking the entire time my body was turned completely in the opposite direction? Did he think my hearing aids came with a superpower that allowed me to absorb conversation I wasn't even facing? Not really needing answers to either of those questions, I continued to semi-listen, nodding at the right moments and smiling whenever it seemed like he dropped a punchline.

Lord. I cannot look at that stage one more time. He's been up there about seven minutes. I can stay focused on my date and my food for the remaining fifty-three.

I looked at the stage four more times.

The set ended to a warm applause that I joined in on — bashfully.

"Thank you everyone. Thank you for allowing me to share this space and play for you tonight. By the sound and the smiles, I'm glad you enjoyed it. My name is Psalm and rock and roll is my muse. I think combining it with R&B is like loving on that specialsomeone, the one bad for your mental health — you know it's not supposed to blend, but damn if it doesn't feel good."

Was my vision as bad as my hearing? Did he just look directly at me when he said that? Nah. I'm bugging.

The crowd rose to their feet. Applause and whistles filled the room as he finished.

"Y'all were beautiful tonight — follow me across all platforms under The Psalmist. I'm not the most active but feel free to hit the email button for inquiries. Y'all be blessed."

He exited the stage — but not through the back the way most performers would. Instead, he swiftly packed his guitar into its case, trotted down the side steps and moved directly into the crowd. People shook his hand, stopped him for conversation and several women — mainly women — asked for selfies. It was just like his ass to look the way he did in those round gold glasses sitting perfectly on his beautiful brown face. A slight scar rested adoringly on the left side — more of an indent really, a scar that told a story of adolescent mischief rather than anything serious.

Damn, Juliet. Get out of that man's face.

He moved around the room, pausing at a few tables, scanning the crowd — until he seemingly found mine and stopped.

I gave him a slight smile but he didn't return it. His eyes moved from me to Nazir and the ease he'd carried on stage was completely gone. Psalm looked angry. I turned back to the table and picked up the dessert menu. If he was going to pretend he didn't see me, I would return the same energy.

"You alright?" Nazir asked.

"Fine." I set the menu down. "I'll have sweet potato pie — no ice cream, no whipped cream."

"That sounds good, Ju. You gonna let me get—" Nazir's attempt at flirting died mid-sentence because something had stolen his attention. I followed his eyes and there he was. Psalm. Standing at our table.

I pressed my lips together and said a silent prayer.Lord, please do not let this man get me started in here. You know Sunday is going to tell my daddy who is going to tell Echo and Nazir will be dead by the end of the week. Do you really want that on your conscience?

"Nazir." Psalm's voice was deep, calm and controlled. And somehow that scared me more than if he'd come over loud. "Didn't pick you for a jazz type of guy," he continued.

"Psalm, what's good? Funny — I definitely clocked you and them glasses as a guitar toting, lullaby writing type. What I didn't expect was for you to own an ensemble you couldn't get out of Hot Topic."