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Around nine, Kiwi walks in, and he only has to take one look at me to know something is up. Fuck. He sits down at my section of the bar instead of the table the guys have claimed as their own whenever they're here. After the first week, no one dared to sit at the high top in the corner anymore.
"Hey, Roe-Roe." Kiwi tries to catch my eye.
"Hey." I keep my gaze locked on the glasses I'm scrubbing in the bar sink.
When the barware is cleaner than it's ever been, I busy myself drying each glass meticulously. I'm at number three when a hand latches onto my wrist above the counter. I slowly trail the arm attached to the hand until I lock on my childhood best friend's glare. Great, he's pissed.
"Talk," he commands, and I cringe. For our entire lives together, he has never been harsh with me. His taut jaw relaxes ever so slightly when he takes in my reaction. "Roe, what's going on?"
I set the glass and dish towel down and square my shoulders. I want to confide in him more than anything, but not until I've had a chance to talk to Wes. "I can't talk about it right now. I'll explain later, 'kay?" I'm not asking him, and he understands. He's not happy, but we've been in this together for way too long.
"Is it Wes?" Kiwi pushes once more.
I purse my lips, and he exhales his resignation. "Fine, but I want to know what's going on before your man takes you home tonight."
If he is still taking me home.
I force my face to remain neutral and bob my head. "I promise."
As Kiwi makes his way to the high top, Mags steps to my side. "Did you tell him?"
"No," is all I say, and she moves back to her section.
Not thirty minutes later,the door swings open, and a hollered, "The man of the hour is here!" announces the team's arrival. Kai's entrance prompts my first genuine laugh today. This guy.
He is followed by Zeke, who aims straight for Kiwi, Mack with his arm around Chelsea—she waves at her sister and me—and Wes in the rear. His eyes zero in on me as soon as his foot is over the threshold.
My mouth waters as I drink him in. He's wearing his trademark jeans, paired with a black formfitting Henley, and his varsity jacket. A cocky smirk pulls his mouth up at the corner as he approaches me. My stomach flips with excitement until I remember what is growing inside my belly. The happy tingling sensation quickly morphs into barf-inducing dizziness, and Wes doesn't miss the shift.
He steps up to the counter and leans over, waiting for me to kiss him. Pressing my mouth to his, my throat thickens. How am I going to do this?
"Everything okay, Princess?"
"Sure," I answer way too quickly, and his furrowed brows say it all. Fuck. Shit. Fuck!
He angles his head, and an unspoken promise crosses between us. He wants me to talk to him, and I concede that I will confide in him later. My heart is jackhammering, but I don't let it show how I'm freaking out inwardly. There would be no way he'd let me finish.
After he joins his friends, I expel a long breath and meet Mags's eyes. I press my lips together to conceal the trembling.
I can do this.
An hour later,Mags sidles up next to me. "It's Friday."
Huh? Then it sinks in. Crap. Friday. Our performance.
"You think you're up for it? I can always pretend I sprained my ankle, and we can't do it," she offers, and I bark out a laugh. This is why I love this girl.
I peer at her. "It'll be good for me. I should let some of the emotions out. There's no better way than dancing, right?"
Mags's eyes light up. She loves our gig as much as I do. "Right!"
She puts her index and middle fingers of both hands into her mouth and whistles. My shoulders scrunch up to my ears. "Geez, bitch. You could've waited for me to move away." But she simply beams at me.
Dean, who is helping out by serving tonight, cuts the music, and instantly hoots fill the room. Everyone knows what's coming. I'm giddy, excitement buzzing through my veins, and I climb the bar as Rihanna's voice fills the room.
I glance toward the back and find Wes's heated gaze already on me. His smirk can't hide the desire blazing in his eyes.
Reaching down, I grab my usual props and begin my show. I let the music take over. This is exactly what I need to forget the impending confession.
