Page 34 of That Reunited Feeling

“Hell, no. I’ll do it. I’d like to end up in the right city on the right day.”

10

TOM

Hannah wipes the high-top table with a napkin, then produces a folder from her bag and slaps it down.

“Here you go,” she shouts over the sound of the terrible singer on the corner stage and the testosterone-fueled guffawing at the table next to us. A group of guys who look like they’d whip you with a chain as soon as look at you are playing a drinking game that seems to involve impugning each other’s masculinity and banging their fists on the table.

If only we could move, but it’s a busy night at The Wolf’s Tooth Tavern and we were lucky to get a table at all. And I’m certain we got that only because the host took a shine to Hannah’s ass.

The length of time he stared at it, after pointing toward the one empty table and making her lead the way, made me want to kick him in the nuts—which likely isn’t enough of a crime in here to get me thrown out.

I couldn’t exactly blame him, though. She looks phenomenal. Those tight blue pants are a treat to behold, and the spike-heeledankle boots seem to lift her grabbable round butt to a whole other level. The fact it’s topped by a vintage The Cure T-shirt pulled tight with a knot at the waistband and a battered old biker jacket just adds to the sexy rock chick look. Or maybe it’s the hot pink lipstick that does it. Who knows? But combine it with the way the inside of her head works, and the whole spicy package is like a rocket to my crotch.

And my crotch does not require rockets. From Hannah or anyone. I only just got divorced, for fuck’s sake.

“What is it?” I shout back, pointing at the folder and wincing as the singer searches for a high note nowhere to be found.

“Your first band package,” she says with a satisfied smile.

“Band package?” I hang my wool coat on the back of my chair. Then instantly take it off again and lay it across my lap. I’m not leaving anything where I can’t see it.

“Yup.” She nudges the folder closer to me, indicating I should just open the damn thing and look.

And there inside, tabulated and labeled, are bios of each band member with an accompanying photograph, a short history of the group, and a table of their online follower numbers.

Wow.

“Have you done this for all three bands?”

“Yup.” She reaches across, encouraging me to lift the folder off the table and save it from the beer slopping from two glasses the server’s plonking in front of us.

“Enjoy,” he grunts as he squeezes his way behind my chair, knocking me into the table, slopping more beer.

I hold Hannha’s work of administrative art in the air to save it from the mess.

She yanks more napkins from the napkin holder and mops it up. “And there’s this.”

She reaches back into her bag, produces a laminated grid, and holds it up in front of her like a proud magician who’s just made the rabbit reappear.

“What’s that?”

“A scorecard,” she says with an impliedduh.

Across the top are the names of the three bands we’re seeing tonight—The Romeo Club, Divine Justice, and Jane Doe and the Stags.

“You rate each of them out of ten for these categories.” She points at the rows labelled Appearance, Music, Charisma, Commercial Appeal, Audience Reaction. “Then you add them up and write the total here.” She indicates the bottom row named Rank of Awesomeness.

“That’s very…”

I stumble for a word that isn’thot,sexy as all hell, orcutebecause for some reason this level of organizational delightfulness is all three. Or perhaps it’s just the fact it’s Hannah’s organizational delightfulness.

“…thoughtful.” That’s nice and innocuous. “How on earth did you manage to do all this in the last week, as well as all the other work I gave you? And on top of the cleaning and the two days you worked in Jude’s shop?”

“I’m efficient.” She hands me the scorecard as the gang of semi-humans next to us slam their shot glasses on the table and punch the air with a roar.

Our attention is taken by a faint ripple of applause that fans out from the corner near the stage as the dreadful singer holds his guitar in the air, jumps down, and heads out back.

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