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- Finn -
We finished our set at eleven because I wasn’t Bruce Springsteen, and no one had paid two hundred bucks to see me sweat through my shirt. Our grand finale was well received, though. Nothing like a few Strokes songs to get the crowd hopping.
I handed my nameless guitar to Jimmy when we finished and nodded for him to pack up. I used to name my guitars, but I no longer concerned myself with such frivolity. Besides, a guitar will never break your heart like things with names will.
I made my way to the short end of the long bar, surprised to find a woman in my usual seat. Even more surprising, when I occupied the stool next to her, she didn’t turn to tell me it was taken. In fact, she didn’t turn to look at me at all, which felt strange. I was used to women eyeing me, thinking I looked familiar, and then talking themselves out of it.
Brian set an open bottle of IPA in front of me while he listened to an order shouted from down the bar. I lifted it to my lips, savoring the first sip, which was always the best. Especially after a good set.
The woman beside me was drinking Scotch. Neat. Her feminine hands draped loosely around the glass like it was a toddler that might stumble away any minute if she didn’t keep an eye on it.
“Scotch drinker, huh?”
Her eyes only strayed as far as my drink, and she took her time answering. “Only on special occasions.”
Whatever the special occasion was, it didn’t seem to be a happy one. “So where’s the poor sap now?”
She turned her face all the way towards me this time. “Excuse me?”
Her beauty startled me when I saw her head on. Her shiny hair was pulled back a little too tight, but it was a rich shade of brown that matched her dark eyes, and her perfectly curved lips looked like they weren’t just for decoration. I hadn’t meant any offense, but there was a sharpness in her eyes that looked forced, as if her outward irritation was masking more delicate feelings. “I just meant I’m surprised to see you on your own.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re stunning.”
She stared into my blue eyes for a second before looking away again.
“You’re supposed to say thank you when someone gives you a compliment.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said. “I’ll try and remember that for the future.”
Damn, kitty’s got nails. What a relief. Feisty was good. Feisty was interesting. Feisty was knocking back her Scotch and standing off her stool.
“Stay,” I said, thinking I’d never bombed so fast. “Have a drink with me.”
Her eyes met mine. “I’m sure you can find someone else to entertain you.”
“I’m not asking you to entertain me,” I said. “I’m asking you to have a drink with me.”
She swallowed. “It’s not a good time.”
“I didn’t think so either until I sat down next to you.”
She considered my unshaven face, her eyes shamelessly studying my wavy hair before sweeping along my jawline to meet my gaze again. “One drink.” She sat back on her stool, as if she was somewhat wary of my intentions.
I raised a hand at Brian and pointed to her empty glass. “So,” I said, folding my arms on the bar. “I’d say come here often, but I already know you don’t.”
“You play here a lot then?”
“You were listening?”
She shrugged. “Preferred it to the thoughts I was having.”
Brian set a drink down in front of her, and I lifted a hand before she reached for her purse.
“Is this man bothering you?” he asked her, not doing me any favors.
