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That’d be great!” Rob grinned, his eyes widening when he looked at me. He looked exactly like Katie had earlier tonight when Rob informed us we were getting all-access passes and I fought the urge to laugh out loud.
    The waitress led us through the crowd to a table right in front of the stage. The vibration of the music rolled through me, up my feet and legs, right into my pelvis, a rocking pulse. I pursed my lips against a smile while the waitress made introductions.
    “Uncle Joey, this is Rob Burns—from Trouble!” The blonde beamed, leaning in to yell the words. I couldn’t tell if her increased volume was because the music was so loud or because Uncle Joey was going deaf. An old man, his gray hair and mustache a subtle contrast to his dark skin, lifted a wrinkled hand at Rob and smiled, eyes bright.
    “ You’re Uncle Joey Winters!” Rob exclaimed, shaking the man’s hand so hard I worried about the old guy for a second. Rob slid into the chair next to him, still grasping his hand. “I can’t believe it! You’re Uncle Joey Winters!”
    I stood there, forgotten, grinning and hugging myself. Voss finished a song and the crowd cheered, whooping and hollering for more the way you can only do in a blues club. The waitress tried to get Rob ’s attention, asking if he wanted anything, but someone behind her called for a drink and she was forced to move away from our table.
    I slid into a chair next to Rob, smiling at the dark-skinned woman on my right. She smiled, but her attention was focused on the stage. Rob and Uncle Joey were able to talk more freely now that the music lulled. Voss tuned his guitar and he took a shot of what looked like whiskey from one of five full shot glasses sitting on a stool on stage.
    “ Yeah, I loved his stuff!” Rob clapped the old man on the shoulder. He must have felt me move in next to him, my thigh brushing his, because he turned to me, still grinning. “Sabrina! This is Uncle Joey Winters! This is the guy who single-handedly kept blues alive around here in the 70’s!”
    I laughed. “I live here, Rob. I know all about the jam sessions in the house on 29th Street.”
    “ Oh, right.” His face fell for a moment, and I squeezed his arm and winked.
    I reached over him to shake Uncle Joey’s hand. “I’ve seen you play. You’re amazing! It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sabrina.”
    Uncle Joey smiled and gave me a nod as Voss started another song. His guitar skills were legendary and his music was just Uncle Joey’s style, right out of Memphis in the 60’s. A lot of acts they’d had in here lately appealed to a younger crowd, less Delta blues and more blues-rock and blues-funk. From the corner of my eye, I saw Uncle Joey nodding and tapping his foot to the beat. Rob leaned back and watched Voss in amazement, his eyes on the guitar strings as if watching magic.
    Jimmy rolled with one of his tribute songs to his brother, Raymond. I liked rock concerts, but for me, blues clubs were so much more intimate and intense, the audience calling out in response to the music as it moved them. This was one of my favorites, and I whooped along. For me, the words were irrelevant—it didn ’t matter what they were singing, it was the rough sound of the voice, the sweet licks of the guitar, as if my body were being played along every riff.
    Blues music made me want to take my clothes off.
    I shrugged my jacket onto the chair and strung my purse over it, the song moving me in my seat. There was just no sitting still for music like this. It radiated a rhythmic kind of heat and Jimmy’s guitar was like dark lightning in a summer sky. I danced in my chair, eyes closed, arms raised above my head, letting the music move down the front of my body and seep into my hips, like thick honey. I felt Rob’s hand on my thigh and just smiled in response, not opening my eyes.
    When the song ended, I leaned back with a sigh, looking at Voss on the stage. He downed another shot, raising the glass as he