Page 20 of Business or Pleasure

“Harlee.”

“I like it. Harlee. Like the bike.” He grinned like he’d said something clever.

Oh hell, he was one of those.

“I wanted a motorcycle when I was in college, but my girl, she said it was a waste of money,” Craig continued. “We wanted to get married right after we graduated, so it made sense. I should’ve known she just cared about money. Then, after I work my ass off for eighteen years, she suddenly decides she has to find herself.”

My eyes met the bartender’s, and he raised his eyebrows, mouthing sorry when I rolled my eyes.

“She found herself all right. In her yoga instructor’s pants.” Craig sighed and leaned back. “And now they’re off in Aruba on my dime and I’m stuck here with my dick in my hand.” He turned his head and leered at me. “Unless you want it in your hand.”

And that was enough.

I was on my feet and weaving through the crowd before Craig could protest. I heard a shout behind me but didn’t turn. I would’ve been more polite if he’d just been annoying, talking about his ex, but his last comment had lost him the right to that.

The ladies’ room would be an excellent place to take a moment. Craig was so wasted he’d forget about me and move on to someone else. I just needed to give him a couple of minutes.

My trip to the bathroom was more difficult than I thought it would be as people jostled me from side to side, and I lost my bearings. Then, my leg bumped against the stage, and a hand caught my arm.

“Hey!” I looked up to see the lead singer grinning at me. He let me go but held out his hand.

“Come on up here.”

I laughed, my sense of adventure returning. “Why the hell not?”

I put my hand in his and let him help me up onto the stage.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Harlee.” I squinted into the spotlight.

“What do you think, Harlee? Would you like to help us sing a song?”

I heard the crowd yell in encouragement, even though I barely saw them. Maybe it was the liquor, or perhaps I was just in the right mood, but whatever it was made me turn to the guitarist to borrow his instrument.

He gave me a skeptical look but handed it over. The crowd went quiet, and I could feel their eyes on me. I’m sure they’d expected a drunken, off-key, karaoke version of “Wrecking Ball” or something, but now they were curious.

I settled the guitar strap around my shoulders and stepped up to the mic. After adjusting it to my height, I played a few notes before launching into the whole opening riff of the newest Paxton Gorham song. The band caught on, and the audience went crazy.

When I finished, I basked in their admiration for a minute and then made to take the guitar off.

“More!” Several members of the audience shouted, and then the others took up the chant. “More! More! More!”

I held up a hand, and the noise faded enough for me to know I had their attention. “If I’m going to do another song, I need some help. I came here with a friend tonight, and I make my best music when I’m with her. Jin! Get your ass up here!”

A minute later, the bassist pulled Jin onto the stage, and she motioned for his guitar. With a shrug, he handed it over and went to stand next to the guitarist.

“’Love is a Battlefield’?” she asked as she settled the instrument into place.

I nodded, and she stepped up to the microphone next to me. I strummed the first few chords, and she plucked the strings, getting a feel for the bass. It only took a few seconds before we were ready to go, and then we slipped into the familiar roles music gave us.

A couple of weeks after she and I connected, we were walking around the city and saw guitars hanging in the window of a second-hand music shop. We arranged to do some janitorial work in exchange for using the instruments and getting the occasional lesson. By the following year, we formed a band. We weren’t ‘recording contract’ good, but we played the occasional bar and party. The other members came and went, but we did our thing whenever possible, though it had been a while.

But that didn’t matter. Playing with Jin was like slipping on a familiar coat, and a smile spread across my face as we began to sing.

Eight

Baylen

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