Ignoring social convention, this girl gripped the edge of the bar and leapt over it as if it were a pommel horse. The closer she got to us, the shorter she looked. She was a good foot shorter than me, putting her around 5’3”, but her smile and fierce indigo eyes made up for the difference in an instant. She wore a short-sleeved red plaid shirt tied at the waist, which was perfectly positioned to show off a silver belly button ring, and short jean shorts with frayed threads hanging from the hem.
As she jumped into CJ’s arms and wrapped her arms around his neck, I noticed the boots. Black combat boots with an inch or so of red and black striped socks peeking out from the top. I don’t know what struck me as most odd — that she was wearing all of that, or that she pulled it off like she could never wear anything else. CJ swung her around once before setting her down.
“How the hell have you been?” she asked as he patted her head like she was his little sister. A diamond stud in her nose caught the light as her face pulled back into a bigger smile.
“Better, now. Georgia, this is my cousin, Regan. Regan, this is Georgia Hall.” I swear to you he was blushing.
Georgia.
The name CJ scoffed at when I’d asked if he’d slept with her. Given that reaction, I’d assumed she was ... something other than this intriguing girl with amazing curves standing in front of me.
I stuck out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Georgia.”
Looking me head-to-toe once with an intense look in her eyes, she finally stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Regan. I gotta get back to the bar.” Turning on her heels we were left to follow her to the deep mahogany bar. It was then that I caught a black keyhole tattoo behind her right ear.
Interesting.
Just as we gave Georgia our drink orders, the phone rang at the far end of the bar, and she had to answer it.
“So ... Georgia...” I turned to CJ as he continuously drummed his hands on the bar. He never stopped.
“Yep. Pretty hot, huh? How about that ass?” Blushing CJ left, and vile CJ returned with a mock ass-slapping gesture.
I rolled my eyes. “Classy. So, what gives?”
CJ looked genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve known her a long time, she’s pretty good looking ... and you’ve never?”
“Nah, it’s ... complicated. Her mom got sick and left her dad, and then Georgia moved out here ... it’s not important. We’re just friends.” He nodded toward the middle of the bar, signaling Georgia’s return.
“Here you go, boys.” She leaned forward and set our pints of Guinness in front of us.
As she pulled her hand away I noticed a tattoo on the thumb side of her left index finger, running the length of it. I’d assumed the first tattoo I’d noticed was a one-off. A dare. A flight of fancy. More than one tattoo, though, takes guts. Judging by the type and location of the two on Georgia, though, I was betting she had more.
I wanted to know where they were.
I didn’t look long enough to read what it said, because I got distracted. I can’t be sure, but it looked like she’d unbuttoned an extra button on her shirt. Either way, there was a lot of cleavage staring CJ and me in the face. He wasn’t even looking, which made me uncomfortable since he was the pervert, and I was the one who couldn’t look away. I shouldn’t have been looking. Though, I suppose the fact that I wanted to was a good sign of some sort of moving forward.
Or, it was just cleavage.
“Thanks, G. What’s the matter? You look pissed.” CJ took a large gulp of his dark beer, never taking his gaze from her eyes.
“Fuckers,” she muttered. “We had Celtic Cross lined up to play tonight and they bailed. Their drummer can’t hold his liquor, apparently, and is too hung over.”
“Lightweight.” CJ chuckled, drinking more of his beer.
“Anyway — hey,” Georgia stopped her train of thought as her beautiful eyes widened, “you still play, don’t you?”
“Won’t ever stop.” He smirked.
“Come. Tonight. I’ll try to get some other people in here. You can pull something off, can’t you? It’s going to be packed in here tonight and they need music. Please?” She batted her short, dark eyelashes and he caved.
CJ nodded in my direction. “Regan plays the fiddle. Not just plays ... owns. I bet we could get Bo and Ember to come along too. They play guitar, sing…”
Georgia smiled brightly and looked right at me. “Oh, so those gorgeous eyes of yours can read more than just my breasts?”
CJ spit some of his beer back into his glass. “Burn, dude.”
“I ... uh...” I looked down immediately, vowing to never look back up.
Georgia leaned in so close I could feel her breath on my neck. “It’s okay,” was all she said before she turned away and took care of some patrons at the other end of the bar.
“Let’s get out of here before you embarrass yourself some more.” CJ slapped my back and hopped off his stool.
“I don’t even think that’s possible,” I grumbled as I followed him toward the exit.
CJ shouted across the bar as we reached the door. “See you tonight, G. Is nine o’clock okay?”
“You got it, Ceej. Nice meeting you, Regan.” Her voice brightened at the end of her sentence as if she were mocking me.
Kill me now.
“Bye.” I waved without turning around.
There was no way I’d be playing at E’s now.
Georgia
“You sure that tall drink of water is coming back tonight, G?” Lissa snatched my vampire-red lipstick from my fingers, as we got ready for the night’s shift.
It didn’t look right on her, but it made her feel right. In the end, that’s everything.
I snatched the lipstick back. It looked and felt right. Tonight would be a gold mine. I felt it.
“Did you say tall drink of water?” I chuckled without smiling, my mouth formed in an O as I finished my second coat of a sure thing. “Yeah, he’ll be back. CJ’s never turned down a gig as long as I’ve known him.”
“No, I mean that guy he was with.”
I grinned, recalling those hazel eyes on me. “That’s his cousin, Regan. I don’t know anything about him.”
Lissa finished spiking her jet-black pixie cut and closed the cap of her hair wax. “What about CJ? Is he fair game?” She pulled down the neckline of her spaghetti-strap tank top.
“Knock your socks off, Liss.” CJ was a sure thing. He’d always been.
Not with me, though. With us it was ... different. He was safe, and so was I. I gazed in the mirror, remembering our joint conquests in high school. Teaming up to find the hottest people in the bar my dad owned became a game. A game we both got damn good at in no time.
Lissa whistled to get my attention. “What’s that look? You want CJ? You can have him. That Regan guy looks like he’d be a good time.”
“Have them both, for all I care. I’ve got tips to make and I’m not counting on my old high school friend.” After applying eggplant-colored eyeliner on my top and bottom lids, I hiked the hem of my dress as far up as it would go and still be considered a dress. The unwritten rule with nighttime attire was to take more risks than daytime.
So were we.
“Jesus, Georgia,” Lissa laughed as she headed for the bathroom door, “anyone listening in on this conversation might think we were getting ready for a night of street walking, not bartending.”
“Some nights there’s no difference, really.” I arched an eyebrow and she smiled in response as we headed back behind the busy bar.
Even with my heels, I was still a couple of inches shorter than Lissa. She was waif-ish, with a dash of untreated Anorexia. Our differences in appearance worked to our advantage. It was easy to spot within a few seconds which patrons were eyeing whom, and we used that, to the delight of our wallets.
I’d been counting on Celtic Cross to draw a huge crowd, which would translate into great tips. Their last minute cancellation had me panicking un
til CJ walked in this afternoon. It was almost like it was a few years ago; the last time we saw each other in person. Almost.
I hadn’t done a very good job of keeping in touch over the last few years, but he’d done his part and kept quiet about my reasons for leaving Massachusetts.
“I love when you wear your hair down, you should do it more often.” Lissa was counting her drawer and I was counting mine.
“I guess.” My reverse bob was an easy choice for looking good tied up or left down. Mostly, I favored it up in a bandana. I looked to the clock and to the crowd. CJ better show.
Lissa pulled out the cutting board and a bin of limes. I grabbed a small knife and stood next to her, carving out perfect wedges the customers would barely notice. She elbowed me playfully. “When are you going to stop slumming it with us and finally open that bakery?”
I let my head hang as I sighed. “I’m not opening—”
Lissa cut me off as she rolled her eyes. “I don’t want your excuses, sister.”
“My hours are too irregular to successfully operate it. I’m here till three, at least, then I’m tired, Liss. I just want to go to bed.” I tied my apron around my waist and smoothed out the front as my lie prepared to wrinkle up the truth.
Just before I got sucked into another “get the hell out of here” conversation with Lissa, CJ burst ceremoniously through the door and walked straight toward me. To onlookers, he might be intimidating. He was probably 6’3” but his shoulders were so wide it made him look like a brick wall. His dark hair was shaggier than it used to be, but it looked good on him.
“Hey, gorgeous, do you ... wanna wear some clothes behind that bar?” He lifted his pierced eyebrow as he tossed his drumsticks on the bar.
“Are you suggesting I put on more clothes?” I leaned back and grabbed the Jack Daniels, mixing CJ’s drink before he ordered. It was always the same, and, sometimes, same was nice.
He looked up and pensively ran the barbell in his tongue across his lips. “No. What was I thinking?” He stuck out his tongue and I smacked his shoulder. Sex addict.
“Do not stick your tongue out at me, Ceej. Lord knows where that thing’s been since we last saw each other.” I slid his drink to him. “So ... where the hell are your friends?”
CJ looked over his shoulder, and as if choreographed for film, Regan strolled through the door with a violin case slung over his shoulder with a red strap. His loose jeans were tattered at the knees and pockets. I couldn’t tell if that was from a lot of wear, or if he’d spent too much money and purchased them that way. He was wearing a white long-sleeved button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Black converse sneakers and his hair tied back away from his neck in a messy ponytail completed his homage to carelessness.
Regan nodded to me and CJ as his long legs carried him to the bar. Before I could say hi, he was followed in by a god and goddess.
I shit you not.
The guy was a couple of inches over six-feet with thick hair as black as Lissa’s. It was styled to look messy but he didn’t look like he tried very hard. I was annoyed already. He held hands with what was easily the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Her long auburn hair had beach waves I just knew she was born with, and I felt my shoulders stretching back and my spine lengthening, as I stood straighter. I hated her. The effortless perfection of others got under my skin. Like God was mocking me.
“Thanks for waiting for us, Ceej.” The girl rolled her eyes and she and the guy set down heavy-looking guitar cases I’d totally missed them carrying in, what with all the good-looking air hovering around them.
“I’ll always wait for you, sweets.” CJ stuck out that goddamn tongue ring, and she flipped him off as Regan and the other guy laughed.
It seemed she was well acquainted with CJ, and thankfully for her, hadn’t slept with him. I cleared my throat and shot a snooty look to CJ, encouraging his social skills to make an appearance.
CJ whipped his head around. “Sorry, G. You met Regan earlier today...”
Regan nodded but would barely meet my eyes. He must have still been uncomfortable from staring at my breasts earlier. Given I had a hell of a lot more than cleavage showing tonight, I doubted he’d be able to look at me at all.
“Hi Regan,” I teased. Sometimes it was so easy to make a man blush. He murmured his hello and then grumbled something about heading backstage or outside to tune. As if E’s had a backstage.
CJ ignored the awkward exchange and gestured to the dynamic duo of attraction. “And, these are my friends who live up in Mission Bay. Bo and November.”
Naturally, they smiled in unison. Bo took my hand, and I was instantly filled with the need to make his mouth mine. Given he seemed pretty tight with CJ, though, I decided against it.
“Nice to meet you, Georgia. CJ told us a lot about you on the way over here.” The way his voice wrapped itself around my guts told me he was a singer.
I forced a smile. “Good to meet you.”
On habit I snapped my gum, then immediately cursed myself for the classless noise. The urge to fit in with them was overwhelming. I snapped my gum one more time to remind myself that those feelings could fuck right off in the direction from where they came.
I held my hand out to the girl. “November?”
She smiled all the way to her Cheshire cat green eyes. “You can call me Ember.”
Of course I can...
“Nice to meet you, November.”
But I won’t.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Regan, don’t get your panties in a wad,” CJ groaned as I forced myself to break my gaze from Ember. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place from where.
“Problem, boys?” I took a deep breath and leaned my elbows onto the bar.
“Prince Prodigy here needs to know where we can put our stuff.” CJ threw some air-quotes around the end to accent his juvenile state.
I stared at Regan until he looked me straight in the eyes. The hazel eyes I remembered from earlier in the afternoon had taken on more of a yellow edge. Fierce. Humming with agitation of some sort. I decided not to play any more games with him for the time being.
“We don’t really have a separate backstage area, but you guys can head over there and set up whatever you need to. You’re on in ten, okay?”
“Thanks, G.” CJ swallowed the rest of his Jack and Coke in one gulp and picked up his sticks as he slid from the stool.
Bo, Ember, and Regan had already made their way to the stage.
“Hey,” I stopped CJ just before he left the bar, “what’s wrong with your cousin? Did he sit on one of your drumsticks or something?
“I’ll tell you if you tell me where the fuck your accent went.” He scrunched up his forehead as he nodded his chin in my direction.
“I didn’t—” As my face heated, CJ smiled.
“I’m just giving you shit, kid. I teased Regan about losing his, too, when he went away to that preppy fuckin’ high school with all of those band geeks.”
Despite being the same age as me, CJ sometimes called me kid. He didn’t seem to have rhyme or reason to when he did it, but hearing it was like going home. To the good stuff.
Grateful that I wouldn’t have to enter into a discussion of the parts of me I’d given up during my move to San Diego, I breathed a sigh of relief. “I miss hearing it sometimes, though, so don’t go losing yours, too.”
CJ waved his hand. “Don’t worry about Regan. He’s just bent out of shape because he can’t find a place to live and is itchin’ like hell to get out of Bo and Ember’s palace of love.” CJ thrust his hips a few times for effect.
“Nice, Ceej. Just get the hell up there and keep people happy ... and drinking.”
A few minutes later, I headed toward the stage to announce the group. “Hey, guys. You’ve got about three minutes. When I announce you ... what do I call you?”
“The Fucking Lunatics!” CJ sounded serious as he fist-pumped the air.
“Okaaay ... any other suggestions
?” I scanned the group. Thankfully, Regan let out a laugh.
“Just say we’re a sub-set of the San Diego Six. We’re recording with them this winter. Well, minus CJ.” Regan nodded to Bo and Ember.
Then, it clicked. I darted my eyes to Ember. “That’s where I’ve seen your picture. You’re Raven and Ashby’s daughter, right?”
Ember nodded and smiled. I don’t think she’d stopped smiling since she walked in the bar, actually. “I am. You listen?”
I’d been a fan of the Six since I moved to San Diego a few years ago, but demanded of myself that I keep that fangirl shit under wraps.
“I do. They’re good. Good for you guys for getting to record with them.”
Regan smiled as I talked with Ember. The way one eye squinted a little more than the other when he smiled made me uncomfortable, as if he was studying me under an invisible microscope. I was determined to keep him at arm’s length since he couldn’t keep his eyes off of me. He seemed nice and I wanted to leave him that way. So, just before I turned on the mic, I leaned in and perched my lips about half an inch from his ear.
“The Six is good, Regan. Real good. Can you keep up with them?” I challenged.
He shrugged, an unreadable look taking over his face. “They seem to think so.”
I hadn’t heard a single note come from his fiddle, despite his earlier insistence that he get to the stage. For all I knew, he could be a complete fraud dressed up in David Garrett clothing.
“Well,” I whispered with a smile on my lips, “prove it.”
“Prove it?” He tilted his head almost incredulously, a cocky grin forming at the corner of his mouth.
“You heard me. Make a believer out of me with that thing.” I touched the edge of his fiddle, and he pulled it back slightly. My eyes shot to his and I found him looking at his instrument possessively.
Ok, then.
With a quick lick of my lips, I looked at the microphone. “E’s is happy to present ... Last Call.”
I headed back to the bar without looking back, but heard CJ’s excited “Fuck yeah! Last Call!” as I situated myself for the night.
Lissa shouldered up next to me as I went back to my end of the bar. “What was that?” she shouted in my ear as the musicians did one final round of tuning.
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