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“You guys sounded so good tonight. Good show, Kieran,” I say with an enthusiastic smile, stepping up to the massive man with his back to me.
Typically, the musicians happily stay behind for a free drink and a two-a.m. snack before they hit the road again. Usually, we chat about nothing and enjoy each other's company. Some rock my fucking world in the backseat of my car or the back of their small tour vans. And some we just don't mesh well.
And apparently, this guy is the latter.
He grits his teeth, turning toward me with his fists clenched. Those familiar mismatched blue eyes look right through me as if he doesn't know or see me. I frown when he doesn’t immediately respond, returning to packing away his stuff, and completely ignoring my existence.
Talk about rude, dickweed. I'm standing right here. I try not to let the hurt infect me and instead try again.
I clear my throat again, hoping to catch his attention without sounding too damn needy. Like, hello, I'm here to pay you, assbag. But it doesn’t work. I could dance a jig with tap shoes naked, and this asshole wouldn’t look my way. Maybe I should show him my tits like the girls at the show? I peer down at the bottom of my shirt, seriously contemplating showing off the girls for some attention, and shake my head. I have dignity, damn it.
“I said…”
“Yeah, well, I’m not interested. Especially some Central girl,” he says in a rumbly voice, perfect for sexy dirty talk.
But this talk isn't the dirty talk I have in mind. I want him to slap my ass, call me a whore, and maybe a good girl. Not a fucking Central Girl. Jeez, this guy, too? You'd think someone formally from this side of town would have more respect for the group of people he was once part of.
My stomach twists at the audacity of his judgmental words. The fucker didn’t even look at me to know who I was or where I came from. Instead, he kneels in front of his pedalboard, inspecting them with his fingertips. He shakes his head and ignores me again by busying himself with more packing and grumbling.
A sharp arrow pierces through my chest and embeds in my heart. Old feelings burst to life inside me, and I instantly resent the fucker for ever stepping foot inside my establishment.
“I’m sorry. What the fuck did you say?” I say through clenched teeth, standing rigid.
Fuck pleasantries. Fuck professionalism.
My panties dry in an instant at his attitude, tamping down my attraction. Maybe he has changed so much, and he's no longer like the sweet boy I once knew. And instead, he has turned into the asshole everyone says he is.
A deep heat races up my neck and onto my face, burning my ears with a fury so intense I could take down the fucking devil. Tears well in my eyes, fueled by my anger.
God, be good, Riv. Be fucking good, don’t curse out the fucking talent just yet.
Even though he deserves every ounce of my ire coming his way, I bite my damn tongue. I grind my teeth, fisting the damn paper check in my fist, contemplating tearing it up in his face so he sees who he’s dealing with. Maybe he’ll leave, and I’ll take the entire cut. Fuck him.
“You heard me,” he grits out, shaking his head. Fiddling with his damn pedals, he tosses them into a case and growls, not paying me an ounce of attention. “I’m not interested. We don’t want anything you’re giving. You’re wasting your breath.”
What. The. Fuck. Not only was I friends with this asshole as a kid and went to the same school, but we spoke through email, and I used my name. Hello, River. It's written across my damn boob in tiny writing. I blink a few times, swallowing the angry words in my throat before I say anything else stupid.
His jaw twitches when he stands before me, crossing his arms over his buff chest. I swallow the gasp in my throat, the intensity residing in the depths of his eyes. Two blue eyes stare back at me, but one stands out with a brown stain carving its way through the bottom of his right iris. It's mesmerized me since we were kids, pulling me in again.
"Everything will be okay, Blue," he murmurs, putting an arm over my shoulder after setting his used guitar on the grass. "I'll always be your knight." I always grinned when he said things like that, making a little play at his last name. But it was always true at the time. He was my knight, saving me from the clutches of the bullies at elementary school. Kieran strokes the scratch down my face, given to me by some chick in the fifth grade on the playground who said I stole her kickball.
"But your ma," I say, pointing to his darkened apartment with the curtains drawn and the loud music pouring from it.
"She'll come around," he sighs, shaking his head. "She always does." I lean my head on his shoulder as we fall back into the grass, staring at the stars twinkling down at us.
That was the last time he held me like a precious jewel and our last encounter. After that night, a strange man kept coming around, sneaking around with Gloria—Kieran's mom. After that night, Kieran and Gloria left the apartment without a goodbye. He didn't even have the decency to knock on my door, hug me, and tell me he'd see me later. He simply vanished under the moonlight, and Ode and her family replaced him in a matter of days.
Swallowing my memories, I meet the boy who broke my heart head-on, refusing to back down and break off our stare-off. He’s hot now—hotter than before. But his personality could use a little throat punch until he learns how to talk to me appropriately. Or anyone else, for that matter.
“You’re still here?” he questions, raising a brow. He may be looking in my direction, but nothing but fury resides in his eyes. It's like he's looking through me and doesn't seem to notice I'm really here. Or human. Looking down, he continues to fiddle with a pick between his fingers, dismissing me. “Jesus,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I told you...”
“Yeah,” I scoff, waving a hand. “You told me you don’t want anything I have to offer.” I hold up the paycheck in front of his face, happily watching the color drain from every inch of him when I tear it in half and then tear it into tiny pieces, throwing it in the air like little pieces of confetti. “I guess you didn’t want your paycheck either. You know, the one we bargained for over email? But fuck you and your high and mighty bullshit,” I spit through clenched teeth, turning on my heel and storming off the back of the stage without a look back. The heat of his burning gaze stares after me when I march down the stairs, stomping my feet into the old creaky wood.
As I round the stage next to the security guard, he holds his hand in the air. With a smirk, I high-five him, only letting my rage settle for half a second. The girls around him titter and gossip about me, and I laugh internally when Bert finally shoos them away and kicks them out of the bar.
“Way to go, boss,” he murmurs with a tiny whoop, barking out a laugh when I nod my head at him. If I speak any more than I have, I’ll blow a damn gasket.
My fingernails dig into the palm of my hand, leaving blood-stained crescent moons behind. As I march across the empty bar with my boss’s office in mind, a familiar face joins Assface—that's his name now because he doesn't deserve the name Kieran—on stage with a disapproving frown.
