Page 52 of Until Tomorrow
“It’s not that late,” I scoffed. Albeit, for me, it was late on a work night. Usually, I stuck to my schedule of not doing things after a certain hour, so I understood his dramatics. “Want to go get a drink?
“Isn’t it like a school night or something for you?”
“Fuck off. Do you want to hang out or not?”
“I could get a beer on you,” he replied. He didn’t need to add that last part. I knew it’d be me paying. That was our rule. Whoever asked paid. It made it easier than splitting shit left and right. However, I did go out of my way to beat him to it every chance I got since we were in very different income brackets. “I can’t stay long. I’m hooking up with this guy later.”
“I promise I won’t keep you from your date.”
“Not a date. Just a hook-up.”
“Right.” To be honest, I couldn’t remember the last time Elliot went on any kind of date. “Our usual by you?”
“Sounds good. See you soon.”
Chapter 30
Rhett
Thewomanwhowalkedinto the bar didn’t belong here. She didn’t fit in. In a bar full of indistinguishable women, she was the kind of woman country songs were written about.And I’d know, considering I sang country songs.
She was a showstopper with those onyx curls soft around her shoulders and piercing blue eyes. That red dress of hers hugged the kind of curves a man could get lost in for days. Fair skin, shapely legs, luscious lips. I couldn’t look away.
And when her gaze found mine…fuck, I felt it in my soul.Suddenly, not a damn thing around me mattered. Fuck my set. Fuck my buddy’s birthday drinks. Fuck it all. I wanted to vie for five seconds of her time—to plead my case about why she should spend the night with me and not whoever she was meeting, because there was no way that woman was here alone. It’d be a tragedy if she were.
“Hey.” Sam—my best friend—smacked me hard in the chest with the back of his hand. “Earth to Rhett.”
“What?” I demanded gruffly. I tore my eyes away from her, not wanting to but knowing I had to. Sam would give me shit if he knew I was staring at some strange woman.
“Do you ever listen to me?” he asked, his dark eyes narrowing—not that I could see much behind that mop of blond hair he had.
“No.” I grinned as he shook his head.
“Fucker.”
“What’s going on?” I made a small gesture to get him talking. Mostly, I was impatient and wanted to catch another glimpse of the gorgeous woman in red. “You had something to say…”
“We need to do an equipment test—”
“I’ve got it.”
“Don’t worry. I know you hate—”
“I said I’ve got it,” I reiterated. He was right. I hated equipment tests. Usually, one of us did a short number solo just to make sure the mics were working. We knew most places we played at were crap at upkeeping their basic equipment. We always did a test. The one time we hadn’t, the mic never worked in the first half of the show. I damn near wrecked my vocal cords trying to be heard at the back of that venue.Never again.
“You sure?” Sam asked once more. Not surprised. I never did the mic test. He called me a diva for it, but I didn’t see the point in it having to be me. I’d be singing the rest of the night anyway as our band’s lead.
“Just get me my Fender,” I said.
“You never play—”
“Do you want the test done or not?” I interrupted.Jesus fuck, he didn’t need to argue with me at every turn.
He grumbled something under his breath as he walked away and returned a minute later with my acoustic-electric guitar. I rarely used the thing, especially during gigs. I just brought it everywhere I could.You know, on the off chance I needed it.
As I sat on a stool, Sam adjusted the mic for me. I wasn’t one for introductions or making a spectacle of myself to make sure bar-goers paid attention to me. My music did that for me.And maybe, if the stars aligned, she’d pay attention as well.
Singing was the only way I ever set myself apart in a crowd. Sure, I had a ton of piercings and was covered in tattoos, but those weren’t catching. They were off-putting to most, considering I was in my late thirties. But when I sang? People stopped for that. I could’ve done more than a country cover band if I wanted, but I didn’t. I was happy keeping it stress-free and a minor paid hobby. We made enough on these gigs to cover a few rounds of drinks, but none of us cared about the cash. Hell, we usually sent all the cash home with Lance—our single-dad drummer raising two kids under five.
