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Sean. One of the three women standing in front of the bar shifted her weight to her other foot and he caught a glimpse of the man seated on the bar stool. Sean was gorgeous tonight. His dark T-shirt clung to him, straining at the biceps. His thick brown hair was styled, spiked with a casual negligence. Sean saw Corey at almost the same moment, his expression morphing from polite interest to enthused pleasure.
    Corey’s heart was already pounding but it still leapt a little when Sean smiled at him. He carefully pushed his way through the crowd, trying not to flinch when someone innocently bumped him. He took a deep breath when he reached Sean.
    “Hey, you made it.” Sean’s eyes sparkled as he continued to smile up at Corey.
    “Yeah, I made it.” Corey buried his hands in his front pockets.
    “Ladies, this is my good friend Corey,” Sean introduced him to the three women. He quickly rattled off their names but Corey didn’t catch any of them. “Hey, we’ll talk again on my next break, okay?”
    Sean was polite but it was clearly a dismissal. The three women all looked surprised and confused but they complied, returning to their drink-laden table right in front of the small stage.
    “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Corey said awkwardly.
    “Oh, you didn’t interrupt anything.” Sean rolled his eyes. “Those three have been hanging on me all night. I have to be polite and humor them, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.” He turned to the bartender and gestured toward Corey. “My friend needs a drink.”
    Linda appeared beside the other bartender, smiling at Corey. “Jack with a beer back, right?”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Corey grinned at her, impressed she’d remembered.
    “It’s on me,” Linda said. “As a thank you for earlier this week.”
    Sean polished off his beer and stood up. “Here, take my seat,” he told Corey. “I gotta get back to work. I get another fifteen minute break at midnight.”
    Corey settled onto the barstool Sean had vacated and thanked Linda for his drinks. He watched Sean step up onto the stage, slide a guitar strap over his head and shoulder, and perch on the edge of a stool behind a microphone. When he strummed the strings, the bar filled with the sound and the crowd grew quiet. Corey was suddenly nervous. He wanted Sean to be good and he had no idea if he was or not.
    He recognized the song just a few notes in. It was one he liked, written and recorded by a current band that used a lot of guitar and real drum kits. Sean’s single acoustic guitar gave the song a different feel, but he played well and it sounded good. When Sean started to sing, Corey’s eyes went wide and his breath caught in his chest. Sean’s voice was smooth and clear, each note—each word—crisp and precise.
    Sean had a mesmerizing stage presence. He glanced all around the room, making and holding eye contact. Corey wanted to think Sean looked at him more often, held his gaze a little longer, but it had to be wishful thinking.
    With a flourish of fingers, Sean changed songs. This one was a harder song, somewhat angry and desperate. Sean’s voice changed in pitch and tenor, taking on a rougher edge and gaining a touch of vibrato.
    If Corey wasn’t already frighteningly attracted to Sean, he would be now. Christ, how he loved a man who was good at something and performed that task with confidence.
    Several songs later, Sean paused to talk to the audience. “If you guys would indulge me for a few minutes, I’d like to try out some new material on you.” His laugh was self-deprecating. “Yes, I’m an aspiring song writer. Be honest with me. If something’s good, let me know. If it sucks, don’t spare my feelings.” Sean’s smile was blinding.
    As Corey listened to Sean sing his own words, his heart broke. It was a breakup song. Lovers having a final argument inside of a car, pulling to the side of the road, slamming doors, and finally speaking the sad truth to each other. Corey’s pulse pounded