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“We’re not?” I frowned, looking at the bed longingly. All I wanted to do was curl up in the bed and go to sleep.
“Nope,” he shook his head. “Today’s fun hasn’t ended yet.”
“Ugh,” I covered my face with my hands, “how are you always so…chipper?”
“I have a lot to be happy about,” he kissed my cheek. “There’s no point in wasting time on being sad or miserable when there are so many amazing things you can be doing instead.”
“At least let me put on some mascara and eyeliner,” I pleaded. Thankfully I was dressed in shorts and a tank top. If I had already put on pajamas, no amount of pleading on his part would have gotten me to agree to leave.
“Fine,” he said as I stood. “But make it snappy, woman,” he smacked my butt.
“Trace!” I groaned. “Honestly,” I shook my head back and forth as I squatted on the floor to search through my duffel bag for my makeup case.
“What? You have a nice ass. My hands can’t control themselves.” He held his hands in the air, smiling like an innocent little boy. But we both knew he was far from innocent.
“Sure they can’t,” I rolled my eyes, heading for the dingy little bathroom. I put some mascara and eyeliner on, like I said I would, and then fluffed my damp hair. It still looked like crap so I ended up pulling it into a side bun and securing it with a ponytail holder. It still wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing.
“I’m ready—are you wearing a fedora?” I stopped in my tracks, staring at Trace like he’d grown three heads.
“I am,” he took it off doing some kind of fancy trick with it on his hand before replacing it. “I think I look mighty sexy in it.”
“You say that about everything,” I laughed because it was true. “I have to admit you look pretty hot though. Did you steal that from Luca?”
Trace stretched his legs out on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head. “Yes, yes I did, and you better not tell him or he’ll kill me for stealing one of his beloved hats. He has about—”
“He has as many fedoras and vests as you have plaid shirts and ripped jeans,” I interrupted.
“Exactly,” he nodded, “so he shouldn’t notice.”
“He’s probably already called the police,” I laughed, tying the laces of my converse sneakers.
“What can I say? I like to live dangerously,” he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “Ready?”
I nodded, curious as to what he had up his sleeve, but I knew better than to ask. Besides, surprises could be fun. Sometimes.
He got in the car and we drove a few miles away from the motel, parking outside a bar.
“A bar? Really, Trace? No. Just no,” I shook my head. A bar was definitely not my scene. True, I was twenty-two and legal to drink, but I didn’t enjoy contending with annoying drunk people. I had better things I could be doing, like sleeping.
“Calm yourself,” he snorted, “it’s not what you think.”
I pointed to the lit up sign in the window of the establishment. “See that? It says bar. B.A.R.”
“Now’s not the time for your adorable sarcasm. See that sign,” he pointed to one above it, nearly smacking me in the face by accident. “It says, music lounge. Now untangle your panties from the wad they’re currently bunched in and get that cute ass in there.”
“So demanding,” I sighed, fighting a smile as I opened the car door and stepped outside.
He grabbed his guitar case and we headed inside.
The place was packed with people. I didn’t know how they all managed to fit inside. Trace took my hand, pulling us through the crowd. The walls and bar were covered in a dark wood, and the concrete floor was painted black. Instead of the typical white or yellow light bulbs, they were all blue, giving the space an almost ethereal glow.
Trace found an empty high-top table and snagged it before someone else could.
A waitress came along, looking frazzled and exhausted, to take our order.
“Can I get a drink for you guys?” She asked, fumbling for her pen.
“Sweet tea, please,” I smiled at her.
