Page 8 of Stray for You

“You have friends here?”

“I have friends everywhere. Don’t worry about it.”

Marcus and the red-head, Shelia, laugh, and it’s not because of my razor-sharp wit. My reputation gets around nearly as much as I do.

“And this place is gonna be worth the trip?” Shelia says.

“Of course it will,” I say. “Besides, what the hell else are you doing tonight? Fucking Maggie from Anaheim?”

A flush washes through Shelia’s face. Clearly, she believes no one has noticed her and Maggie’s flirting.

Zane saves her by returning with our drinks. He and Marcus have beers, while Shelia has a Manhattan, but my beverage is bright pink, a fact I will not apologize for.

“You have no idea how embarrassing it was ordering that thing,” Zane says with a nod at my drink.

“What’s embarrassing about ordering something delicious?” I counter.

“It can’t be that good,” Zane says.

“It’s way better than beer. Here, I’ll prove it. Have a sip, if you’re man enough.”

The offer lights up Zane’s eyes, which I don’t mind one bit. He’s a handsome guy, if a little older than me. The salt-and-pepper thing is hot, as is the silver in his stubble. Later tonight, he’ll be a great way for me to forget about the sting of the rejection inevitably barreling toward me.

Zane sips at my drink. By the time I head to the bar for the next round, he’s replaced his beer with the cocktail I ordered for myself. I return to the table with an array of drinks that could have come out of a package of Skittles. Pink and green and blue. We share them around, trying out the weird concoctions while chatting.

All of this would be a fine enough night on its own, but I know the main attraction hasn’t yet begun. We’re mid-way through our second round when the lights in the bar dim, and a band starts setting up on the stage.

“Live music,” I say to my comrades’ questioning glances. “What? You didn’t think I chose this place for the drinks, did you?”

“Never knew you were such a music fan,” Zane says. He’s tipsy enough to bump his shoulder against mine as he speaks.

“Who doesn’t like music?” I say. “And this is a great city for it. I figured I should go at least once while I’m here.”

None of that is my actual motivation, but these people don’t need to know that. In a week, we’ll be distant work acquaintances. Zane might even have a wife and kids he’s returning to. He wouldn’t be the only guy doing that kind of thing at these conferences. So the less they know about my personal life, the better.

The band sets up, thanks the crowd, and launches into their first song. The lead singer, a man with a shaved head, belts out some kind of folk song. He’s not bad, nor are the drummer and guitarists backing him up. Their music blares through the bar, precluding further conversation throughout the set.

By the time it’s over, our drinks are gone, but I’m buzzing enough that I don’t go looking for another one. Besides, this is what I’ve been waiting for all day long.

The first band spends some time clearing their equipment off the stage. These aren’t big acts with their own personal stage crews. For one thing, we got into this show for free. So it’s no surprise that they have to clean up their own equipment after playing. It makes for a long and cumbersome transition between bands, a delay that frays my nerves. As confident and unaffected as I like to seem, there are some things in this world that make my heart race.

Or, rather, there’s someonewho does.

The other sales reps fade away around me. The crowd quiets to a blur at the edges of my vision. I focus on the stage in the breathless beats when it lies empty and dark, awaiting the next act. Awaiting him.

My fellow reps might be going for more drinks. I don’t notice. I ignore Zane entirely. As figures disturb the darkness at eitherside of the stage, the bar goes perfectly silent, at least for me.

My heart throbs in my ears as Cameron takes the stage.

He doesn’t notice me as he busies himself setting up his guitar. In fact, he doesn’t look at the crowd at all. That suits him, the aloof, mysterious guitarist. Few people probably realize he’s shy, not arrogant, but I keep that greedily to myself.

Finally, he slings his guitar across his chest and straightens up to face the crowd — and that’s when his eyes meet mine.

In an instant, he flashes from fear to anger to understanding. I can see him putting the pieces together and realizing that Henry must have told me about this. His jaw goes tight, and though I can’t discern it from back here, I know that one muscle is jumping as he grinds his teeth.

I simply smile in response, my heart in my ears.

Chapter Five

---