I stay seated at the bar, hunched over my solitary beer, as I watch Stella rake in tips with her friendly charm and, frankly, amazing rack. I swear I’ve seen her stuff at least a hundred bucks into her bra, following Mel’s lead in brasserie-stashing. With every new patron, she seems to become more and more bubbly, treating every person like an old friend. It’s admirable to see her work, to see how well she does with people.
Stella’s eyes flick over to me periodically. It’s the only time her massive smile falters. A few more women approach me, some more bold than Lacy, and with every one that shows me attention, the tension in Stella’s shoulders grows exponentially.
When a slender, caramel-skinned woman with, I’ll admit, an amazing ass and fuck-me-eyes approaches me, I can see Stella almost shatter the glass that she’s wiping down. She never loses that customer-service smile of hers, which now seems permanently slapped onto her face, but her eyes slowly grow more and more murderous.
I’m living for it.
Watching her petty jealousy ride her is more than flattering. While we’ve had a fair amount of flirtation, there hasn’t been anything between us since that kiss. My eyes dart over to the hallway, currently as dark as it was that night. I can almost pinpoint exactly where I had her trapped beneath me, just far enough back that no one could see us unless they were looking closely.
When I look back up at the bar, I catch the exact moment that Stella’s eyes jump away from where they’re stuck on me.
She’s thinking about it, too.It’s a heady realization.
“Hey, man! Great set!” Nick strides up to me with a cute, wild-haired redhead on his arm. I notice he does that a lot, gravitates towards redheads.
Note to self, never let him around Nessa.
“Thanks,” I say gruffly.
“For real, you’re getting up there in years, but you can still keep a beat!!” I bristle as he throws me a wink to go with his backhanded comment. I had complained recently about my wrists getting sore to the group, and since then, I haven’t heard the end of the ‘old’ jokes.
There’s no set age for retirement with drummers. The first signs that you’re getting there are your elbows and wrists, when your joints are swollen and aching by the end of every show. Tendonitis, carpal tunnel, it’s all common for people who do this long term. I’m lucky enough to not be suffering from hearing loss already.
I’ve been with the band eight years now, going on nine, and I had no plans to continue until I got the call from my dad. If we can book a tour, I might be able to get him and his crazy schemes off my back too…
“Fuck off, Nick.” I’m not in the mood for his shit tonight. Or most nights, now that I think of it.
“Nah, you love me too much. Besides, if it’s not age that’s bothering your wrist, what could it be?” He feigns being deep in thought. “Maybe you need more companionship tonight than good ol’ lefty, eh?” He cackles and I barely resist the urge to smack him upside the head.
“Seriously, Nick, beat it.”
“I’m kidding!” he laughs. “I know you’re right-handed.”
“Nick.” I put as much violence on the word as possible.
“Come on, man! You’re no fun anymore. What’s the use coming out with us if you don’t party? Jill says you used to be the biggest party animal of us all!”
Jill wouldn’t be wrong, but that version of me no longer exists.
“I don’t do that anymore, Nick.”
“Well, what can I do to get you to hang out with us?”
“Food.” I answer the second the question is out of his mouth. I’ve been dying for good food all night.
“Sounds great! When Mel comes by, I’ll order us something.” I groan internally. I was hoping he would suggest leaving to find better food so I don’t stare a hole in the back of Stella’s head tonight. I had promised the band that I would hang out for once. I thought it would be a party at someone’s crash pad, or even another bar.
No such luck.
Before I can complain or suggest something else, Nick has already redirected his attention to the woman on his arm, and my focus is drawn right back to Stella. I watch her make friends with some college girls and do a shot with one of the regulars, which makes me laugh when I see her put water in her glass instead of whatever they’re drinking. Beck comes out occasionally to check on things, but other than that, it’s a normal, busy bar.
I’m pretty sure Nick has forgotten about food at this point, which makes sense since his mouth is currently full of that redhead’s tongue. Still, I feel jilted. I stuck around to hang out with people, but Jill has made friends by the stage too, and Laur, the guitarist, has gone off to God knows where.
The bar has hit a relative lull, and Mel and Stella are doing their best to get things in ship-shape for an easy close. As my thoughts wander, they keep circling around to her. How does a nineteen-year-old that I barely know have such a hold on me? Is it that she’s forbidden? Is it her unwavering kindness, humour,consideration, or attentiveness? Is it her ass that’s begging to be grabbed?
Who cares? I’m done fighting it tonight.
When she goes out back to take the trash, I snag a cigarette off of Nick and follow her, much to his amusement. She’s huffing under the weight of the bag without complaining as she lugs it to one of the large, open dumpsters that line the back alley.
