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“What’s the matter?” I’m thankful for the distraction.
“Pearls. Look.” Avery nods in the direction of the redhead, who is talking to the DJ. I gloat a smile as I watch her hand reach up to her tight bun and slip some hidden pins from the knot. Her hair cascades midway down her back.
“Told ya,” I crow victoriously.
Pearls turns out to be even better than I could have imagined. Apparently, her hair wasn’t the only thing the alcohol helped loosen. By the time she gets on the stage, her unbuttoned shirt reveals a healthy amount of cleavage and her skirt is hiked above her knees so she can move. And can the woman move. The slow rock of her hips as she sings the old Faith Hill song “Breathe” turns the temperature in the bar up at least ten degrees. Pearls can sing too. Not just carry a tune…really sing. A breathy, sultry, perfectly-in-key flowing melody that, with a little training, could sound great on an album. My attention is riveted on the woman as the closed flower who came in begins to blossom, right before our eyes. More than the song she sings, the sight itself is beautiful to watch.
I envy her. I’d give anything to get up there again. But, for me, it’s going to take more than a little liquid courage. Years of therapy produced little results, and for a long time I learned to accept who I was. Although, every once in a while, my soul overpowers my logical brain and yearns for salvation. Which leads me to make illogical decisions. Like tomorrow, for example.
For some reason, I keep away from Beautiful Man after that. There’s plenty to do as closing time draws near, so it isn’t difficult. I make Avery switch with me, taking a second turn behind the bar, so I can work the floor instead. She probably thinks I’m trying to give her a break on my last night; the floor is never easy around closing time. Too many drunks, and cutting them off almost always results in boisterous rants.
As he does every night at the same time, the DJ comes over the loudspeaker to announce last call for drinks at the bar, but then he adds, “Tonight Lucky’s is excited to have a celebrity in the house. For those of you not yet familiar with Flynn Beckham, you will be soon. Rumor has it he’ll be joining a big sold-out tour. Let’s give it up for a rocker who’s going to show us his softer side tonight up on our stage.”
The whole place erupts in applause, except me. I’m rooted in place watching Beautiful Man stride to the stage. He takes the microphone from the stand and scans the room with an easy smile. Eyes falling on me, his voice rasps over the speakers, the words sliding over me. “This isn’t usually my style. But it’s almost closing time, so I thought maybe I could help inspire those of you who are hoping to get lucky tonight. Like me.” He winks at me and nods to the DJ to start the song. I recognize the song in the first four notes. It’s one of my all-time favorites. A true classic, although people my age usually don’t appreciate the gritty, heartfelt sound of Rod Stewart anymore. The music of “Tonight’s the Night” plays quietly in the background until Beautiful Man’s sinful voice joins in.
I was glued to the stage watching Pearls belt out her song, but for a totally different reason than I am now. His voice is seduction in the form of sound, and it flows from him with the ease of a pro. The entire bar sways back and forth. Every woman moves closer to the stage. Even Pearls.
For a long moment I watch the way his foot taps in perfect time to the beat. A man with good rhythm has always been my weakness. Musicians have always been my kryptonite. Then my eyes slowly travel up, taking in the parts of the man I’d only glimpsed from the other side of the bar. Jeans hang low on his narrow hips, a simple dark thermal hugs his broad shoulders. Ink peeks out from the pushed-up sleeves on both forearms. When my eyes finally reach his face, I find he’s been watching me watch him. He arches an eyebrow and sings the next verse into my eyes.
You’d be a fool to stop this tide
Spread your wings, and let me come inside
I blink myself out of my daze. Flynn Beckham has a way of gliding his eyes over every woman in the room, yet making you feel like you’re the only one he’s actually looking at. As though he just found the one in a crowd of women, and not just the one he’s going to take home tonight…the one he’s been looking for since the first day he got on stage.
“Jesus. He sings another song and I’m straddling the speaker,” Avery says, leaning her forearms on the bar. “Bet I can orgasm just from the vibration of his voice between my legs.” She’s speaking to me, yet she never tears her eyes away from Beautiful Man. Together we gaze at the stage with the adulation of teenyboppers watching Justin Bieber. “That man wants you. Pretty sure you wouldn’t have to straddle the speaker. He’d bury his head and sing right into your vajayjay if you wanted. I totally vote you upgrade in the rockstar boyfriend category. Where is Sleazy Ryder tonight anyway?”
My best friend doesn’t care for my boyfriend. Dylan Ryder is the lead singer of Easy Ryder, but she has a dozen alternative names for him and his band. “He got stuck in Philadelphia…missed his connection back. Called to say he wouldn’t make it here tonight.”
“That’s too bad.” She smiles slyly. “One man’s loss is another man’s luck.”
“It’s ‘One man’s loss is another man’s gain.’”
“That too.”
Chapter Two
Flynn
The sun blares in through the small gap of the drawn curtains and lands directly on my face. I shield my eyes and try to fall back asleep, until I feel tiny hands trace the ink on my forearm. When her little finger follows the path of ink up to my shoulder, I surprise Laney by grabbing her and lifting her over my head. She squeals at the initial shock, but it quickly turns to a giggle. The sound warms me, even though my head is already beginning to throb.
“Uncle Sinn, you scared me!”
I growl, in my best monster voice, “Well, you shouldn’t wake a sleeping lion.”
“You’re not a lion, Uncle Sinn. Lions are scary!”
“And you don’t think I’m scary?” I lower my four-year-old niece from above my head and bring her forehead to my lips for a kiss.
“You can’t be scary, you have funny pictures all over your arms and back.” From the mouths of babes. Tell that to a tatted-up biker dude.
“Will you seep in my room with me tonight?”
“Maybe. If Mom says it’s okay.”
“Will you sing me that song when we go to bed again?”
“Sure.” I don’t have to ask which song. She made me sing it four hundred times the last time I visited.
“How come only one tattoo is colored, Uncle Sinn?” She pokes the red tattoo on my forearm—it’s the only ink that isn’t black or a shade of grey.
I jump up from the bed unexpectedly with her in my arms. She squeals again. “You’re chock-full of questions this morning, aren’t you?”
She nods fast, bursting with excitement, as if shooting off an arsenal of questions early in the morning was a good thing.
“Come on, let’s go find your mother.” I lift her over my head and onto my shoulders. Her tiny hands wrap around my chin.
“You’re up early.” My sister, Becca, is at the kitchen table. I walk to the coffee pot and pour before greeting her. Laney hasn’t said a word; she’s waiting for me to play the “where’s Laney?” game.
