String Theory

by Ashlyn Kane

  Bruce looked, which was when Jax knew he had him. They were nice boots. And with the crowd lined up tonight—looked like about 70 percent women—Bruce’s cut of the tip jar was probably looking pretty good. He rolled his eyes and moved over to let Jax pass—not that he wouldn’t have anyway. He just liked to give Jax a hard time.

  But before Jax walked in, something caught his eye, something that didn’t quite fit—a shock of curly dark hair, broad shoulders with posture a little too good for casual standing in line to get into a bar. And a peacoat that looked like it cost more than Jax’s rent.

  Ari.

  Jax clapped Bruce on the shoulder. “Just one sec.”

  It only took him a few seconds to squeeze through the crowd. Technically speaking it wasn’t actually all that crowded, but a year of restricted public gatherings would change your perspective. When he closed his hand around Ari’s forearm, the man jumped.

  “Sorry,” Jax said. “Ari. Hey. Jax Hall, from last night.”

  Ari looked at him as though he might have lost his mind, which—yeah, okay, maybe last night hadn’t been that forgettable. Though it could, in his opinion, have been a lot more memorable. Or memorable for more fun reasons. “Hello.”

  “Hey,” Jax repeated, then immediately felt stupid. “Look, what’re you doing waiting here? Come on.” He let go of Ari’s arm, but he didn’t need to check if the man was following him. Jax had a way of getting people to do what he wanted.

  “He’s with me,” he told Bruce as he ushered Ari inside.

  The lineup suggested the bar was going to be busy tonight, and inside, everyone was busy preparing for it. The doors would open any moment, and Murph and Naomi were bustling behind the counter, so Jax led the way across the space.

  Ari took the seat at the end of the bar, the least desirable one, as it was outside the main traffic route.

  Before he left to start slinging drinks, Jax leaned in, his mouth close to Ari’s ear—the better to be heard, of course, even though no one was playing anything yet. “What can I get you?”

  Ari swallowed. “Ah, why don’t you pick for me?”

  Oh, what a delightful offer. Jax licked his lips. “Any allergies or dislikes I should avoid?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” After a quick deliberation, Jax settled on the most obvious choice. He slipped away and quickly mixed the necessary ingredients.

  A few minutes later, he slid a blood-orange drink across the bar top.

  “What is it?”

  “Coconut rum, orange liqueur, lime juice, grenadine, 7-Up, lemon and lime, with a splash of Irish cream.”

  Ari lifted an eyebrow and took a cautious sip. “It’s good.” He licked his lips. “Surprisingly good.” He drank some more.

  Jax grinned, rapped the bar, and stepped back. “Doors’re opening, so I’ve got other people to serve. But don’t go too far, yeah?” Hope bubbled in his belly. He really wanted an opportunity to see where things might go.

  Jax made the rounds with a few stacks of coasters as the patrons came in, but then he got back behind the bar to fill orders. Table three needed beer, and then he took a large order from an adorable hipster with pigtails, thick-rimmed glasses, a toque, and a too-big flannel. Jax kind of wanted to take her home and snuggle her. Any other night, he probably would have leaned in and offered to help her finish off her drinks. But her allure didn’t hold a candle to Ari at the end of the bar, quietly sipping from his glass.

  Jax licked his lips. He knew himself pretty well, and he doubted he’d be looking at anyone else anytime soon.

  As soon as he was able, he slid back down the bar and leaned in. “Still enjoying that drink?”

  “Hm.” Ari took another sip, which Jax took as an affirmative. “So, I owe you something.” He pulled a folded paper out of his pocket and handed it over.

  Jax snatched it, lips quirking. “Are you passing notes? Will I have to check yes or no?”

  “It’s a check,” Ari said dryly. “For your… services the other day.”

  Jax grinned and slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks. Not necessary, but thanks.”

  “I told you—”

  Jax waved that off. “That you always pay your musicians. So thanks.”

  Ari licked his lips—an unconscious echo of Jax’s deliberate flirtation?—and leaned forward. “I was wondering—why did you become a bartender?”

  Not a surprising question. Everybody always wanted to know that, especially once they learned more about him.

  “Well,” Jax drawled. He crossed his arms conspiratorially on the bar top, and Ari did likewise. “Years ago, a small baby was left in a basket on the back steps of this very bar.” He tipped his head toward the back door. “Poor Murph—scared the living daylights out of him when he found it in the morning. What could he do but take the child in and raise it as his own?” Ari narrowed his eyes, and Jax grinned. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, that child was me, and now I help out around the place in repayment.”

  Ari gave Jax the flattest of looks. “It’s truly amazing. First, that Murph was running a bar at the age of twelve or thirteen.” Jax’s grin grew. “Second, that I never noticed you in all the years I worked here.”

  “Did I mention that I’m very good at keeping a low profile?”

  “Now that,” Ari said, an actual smile threatening the corners of his mouth if Jax was not mistaken, “is the most blatant lie I have ever heard. And I just heard you mythologize yourself as a barkeep’s Moses.”

  Jax laughed and threw one hand over his heart. “A direct hit.”

  The smile did come out now, and it was every bit as devastating on Ari’s sharp features as Jax had suspected. Despite his stiffness and formality, Ari had a rather expressive face. “I bet.”

  “More seriously,” Jax said with a shrug, “I like making people happy, giving them what they want.”

  Ari nodded and, to his credit, accepted the rather vague answer. Thank God, because the truth was embarrassing and frankly no one’s business but Jax’s.

  Still. Jax smiled and fluttered his lashes. All things considered, his seduction of Ari was going very well indeed.

  ARI’S PULSE jumped as Jax leaned into his space. His startlingly blue eyes shone with interest, and when he lowered his lashes, shadows played across his sharp cheekbones. Ari wanted to caress those shadows.

  “What about you?” Jax asked. “Why music?”

  Ari took another sip of his drink as he pondered how best to answer. “I like making people happy.”

  “Touché,” Jax murmured with a pleased little half smile. Ari’s heart skipped a beat.

  Before Ari could figure out what to say next, Jax ducked away to pour another customer a drink.

  Ari’s seat provided an excellent view of Jax as he worked, and it was a magnificent one. Not least because he was so frequently afforded a very favorable view of Jax’s not inconsiderable ass.

  Said viewing was interrupted by Murph, who was apparently taking a break from pouring beers.

  “G’day. Been a while since you were here for a drink.” He eyed the cocktail glass. “Not exactly your usual fare.”

  True. It was a far cry from a gin and tonic. “I decided to live dangerously and let the bartender pick for me.”

  Murph hummed and gave the half-finished drink a closer look. “Is that rum, orange, and 7-Up?”

  Ari tipped his head. “Among other things. It’s actually not as terrible as it sounds.”

  “I bet it’s not,” Murph laughed. “That there is Sex with the Bartender.”

  Ari nearly choked. “I’m sorry?”

  “The name of the drink.” His eyes were dancing, and he did nothing to hide his grin. “Not very subtle of Jax, but then again, subtle has never been his métier.”

  No, that much was obvious. Ari had to admit there was a certain refreshing charm in being pursued so boldly, even if it was outside his realm of experience. He opened his mouth to ask about him—how long Murph had known Jax, what h
e was doing here—before he realized that would be invasive. He’d already asked Jax. If Jax wanted him to know the truth, he would tell Ari himself.

  In the meantime he shouldn’t pry.

  “Show’s about to start,” Murph commented, nodding toward the stage. “Oi! Jax!” He swatted at him with a bar towel. “You’re up.”

  Jax ripped off a lazy salute, unslung his own towel from his shoulder, and leaned forward with his elbow on the bar to drop a paper umbrella in a patron’s cocktail. “That’s my cue.”

  A general cheer went up as the house lights went down until only the stage was illuminated.

  Naomi stepped up to the stage first, wearing heeled cowboy boots, jeans, a white top, and a red guitar slung over her shoulder. As she was plugging in her patch cord, Kayla, the redheaded drummer, stepped up behind the kit and twirled a stick in her fingers.

  Jax jogged up last. Ari let himself appreciate the view of his lanky body and broad shoulders, the way his jeans clung to the curve of his ass—who could blame them?—and long legs. The second the spotlight hit him, he seemed to grow three inches taller. He pushed up the sleeves of his Henley and grinned at the crowd as he made his way to the piano on the left.

  His eyes met Naomi’s across the stage. She rolled hers, and Jax grinned wider.

  “How’s it going, London!” Naomi half shouted into the microphone. Ari winced. He knew she had to hype up the crowd—he’d taken his share of turns doing the same when he worked here. He’d just always hated it.

  The crowd cheered in response. Sometimes it was difficult to get much energy out of them so early in the evening, before the music had actually started and the alcohol flowed more freely.

  “Unless I miss my guess, half of you are first-timers.” Naomi plucked out a few bendy notes. “So I’m Naomi, and that’s Kayla on the drums.”

  Kayla hammered out a quick solo and ended with a cymbal crash. “Hey.”

  “And if you’re here because of last night’s viral video sensation, you probably recognize Jax Hall tickling the ivories.”

  Jax picked out a quick, light melody that sounded suspiciously like “Strangers in the Night.”

  Naomi huffed a laugh at him, but fondness seeped into her feigned exasperation. “Jax’s a man of many talents, the most obvious being his ability to flirt with an entire room of people at the same time.”

  Jax inclined his head in acknowledgment of her glowing praise.

  “Since we’ve got some newcomers tonight, I’ll give you the 411. This”—she picked up the request jar from Jax’s piano; it already held several slips of paper and five-dollar bills—“is where you put your requests. You can find the slips on your tables or at the bar if you run out. Keep in mind this is a lighthearted entertainment set, and bored people don’t buy alcohol, so if you request Leonard Cohen you’re probably gonna be disappointed. We’ve got a couple more musicians who’ll rotate in over the course of the evening. Happy hour starts at nine.” She glanced at Kayla. “Did I forget anything?”

  “Guitar pick?”

  “Got it.”

  “Sound check.”

  “Done it.”

  “Ritual shaming of Jax.”

  Naomi turned from Kayla to Jax, then shook her head. “Well, I tried.”

  Kayla grinned. “Reminder to tip your bartenders?”

  Naomi pointed at her. “Yes. That.” Then she returned her attention to Jax. “Anything to add?”

  Jax played a quiet F chord and a B flat. Then he settled his hands against the keyboard and leaned into his mic. “Welcome to the Rock!”

  After this expert buildup by Naomi, the cheers came even louder. The act had chemistry. Ari, who normally kept himself carefully reserved when he watched other musicians lest he accidentally betray anything that might be interpreted as condescension, found himself clapping in encouragement.

  When the noise quieted, Jax nodded to Naomi, who adjusted her capo and then glanced at Kayla for the count.

  The guitar part came in first, a cheerful riff of twanging strings that seemed familiar. Ari knew this song. So did everyone else in the bar, apparently. But he couldn’t place it until Jax licked his lips and leaned into the mic again.

  Oh my God.

  “‘Party in the USA’?” Ari said, glancing down the bar at Murph, who had taken over. A third bartender had brought up another keg and was installing it under the bar. Henry—Ari remembered him from his own days working here.

  Murph shrugged. “What can I say? B’y enjoys flouting expectations.”

  Another understatement, Ari thought, and he shook his head as Jax bounced out the chords, singing his heart out and apparently having the time of his life. “That he does.”

  Ari quickly realized he ought to have taken a seat closer to the stage. But he also realized he would not be safe there. Jax’s sheer magnetism drew him from across the room. Ari wouldn’t trust himself within ten feet of the man when he was playing.

  He was so different from Ari—lively, unrestrained, almost wild with enjoyment. In just a few moments, his cheeks flushed with exertion.

  It was… captivating.

  In only a few songs, Ari’s fingers itched for an instrument of his own. But he didn’t want to play along with Jax right now. He wanted to capture Jax in song the way Jax had captured him—the fluidity of his movements, the way his lips twitched as he skipped past a mistake, throwing out a wink in case someone in the audience had noticed. The way he drew the other musicians into his orbit and played off them and they him. If Ari could encapsulate that energy, that movement….

  Hastily he shook himself out of his trance and glanced at his drink. He’d finished it at some point while he was watching.

  Sex with the Bartender. If Naomi were to be believed, this was likely a perfectly serious overture, but one Ari was not going to respond to tonight. Instead he slipped out his wallet, left a twenty on the bar, and nodded to Murph as he slid off the stool.

  Ari tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove and hummed along with the beat. Once finally inside his loft, he tossed his wallet and keys without seeing where they landed and beelined for the piano. He played the bars running through his head. No, not quite right. He shifted into a suspended fourth. Better, but… maybe the key should be G instead?

  Hours later several pages of sheet music were covered in scribbles and Ari was rubbing bleary eyes. He stood from the piano and shuffled into the bedroom, where he undressed, quickly passed his toothbrush over his teeth, fell into bed, and passed out hard.

  Chapter Four

  JAX PULLED out of warrior’s pose and into mountain. He pressed his palms together and breathed deeply, enjoying the moment to just feel the warmth in his muscles.

  He was still cooling down with his bottle of lemon water when the doorbell rang.

  “Surprise!”

  “Sam!” His sister stood on his doorstep, her husband, George, behind her, holding Alice. “You’re early.”

  “We are. We were able to get away earlier than expected.” She stepped close and wrapped her arms around Jax in a tight hug.

  God, it had been well over a year since he’d last felt her arms holding him, and the smell of her perfume made his eyes sting. He squeezed her tighter. Memories of their childhood overtook him—his small hand in hers as she brought him to school for the first time, a giantess of nine years to his four; Sam at fifteen gently cleaning his scraped hands, knees, and face after he’d been in a fight; resting his head on her shoulder and asking if she still loved him even though she’d found him kissing a boy—and Jax pressed his face into her neck and inhaled.

  “Not to break up the moment,” George said, “but I need to pee.”

  Jax stepped back with a choked laugh and ushered them into the house. “Come in, come in.”

  Sam took baby Alice from her husband’s arms and pressed her into Jax’s as Jax directed George to the bathroom. Then, his hosting duties discharged, he curled his arms around the baby and stared at her beauti
ful face. Alice stared back.

  “Hi, Alice.”

  “Jax?”

  “Yeah, I’m your Uncle Jax.”

  “Jax!” Grinning, Alice pressed forward and touched his face with her tiny hands. “My Jax.” She stroked his face and wrinkled her nose to feel two days’ worth of growth.

  His eyes prickled, and he pressed his face into her soft baby curls. “Yes, your Jax.” Their frequent FaceTimes had been a poor replacement for getting to hold this precious baby girl. Alice squirmed, and Jax loosened his grip so she could lean back to see his face again.

  George returned from the bathroom, and Jax shook himself out of his reverie. “Sorry. Come, sit.” He brought them into the living room. Jax and Alice kept their eyes locked on each other. He wasn’t sure how many minutes were lost to their stare down, but Jax never wanted to take his eyes off her again.

  Though when Sam suggested Alice was in a need of a diaper change, Jax gladly handed her over to her dad.

  “You’re looking good, Jax.” Sam shifted closer on the couch.

  “You too.”

  She touched his hair as though she couldn’t help it—it was getting long, but he’d gotten out of the habit of regular cuts. “How are you doing? Really.” Her eyes were searching. Jax doubted that she missed the premature gray in his beard—plague stress. “Please tell me you’ve taken a proper rest now that your big brain isn’t needed to analyze an international crisis.”

  He exhaled shakily. “I’m trying.”

  “Good. Still working at the bar?”

  “Yeah. It’s nice.”

  “I bet.” Her lips twitched with a smile, but her blue eyes stayed grave. “Getting to show off. You used to love playing piano for Mom’s guests.”

  “I can’t say that’s a lie.”

  “Attention whore.”

  “Maybe.”

  They smiled at each other, and for a moment, Jax enjoyed the silence and the weight of her presence. His big sister was here.

  “What about your PhD?”

  Jax pressed his lips together and looked away.