Page 33 of One Week Wingman

Beside me, Drunk Roxy lets out a plaintive sigh. “I’ve made such a mess of my life,” she announces.

“I really don’t think that’s true.”

“It is. Singing tonight…” She trails off and pauses so long, I think she’s passed out. But when I look over, she’s staring above us. There’s a gap between a couple of the planks, revealing a strip of ink-dark sky, dotted with stars.

“What about it?” I ask quietly. Watching her at that piano, losing herself in the melody, it was clear, I’ve only just scratched the surface of who she really is.

And it was sexy as hell.

“That’s what I’ve always wanted to do,” Roxy finally continues. “But I never thought I could make it. I was too scared. So, I did the sensible thing, and I went to law school instead. Only I couldn’t make it there, either. So here I am: A bartender, and a failure.”

I study her profile. From the first time I saw her in Mavericks, I thought she had it all together. Charming and wise-cracking, and almost annoyingly confident. I assumed she was doing exactly what she wanted, but I never imagined she saw it as a dead end.

“You were brilliant. In the bar. The singing, not the darts game,” I add. “You’re terrible at darts.”

“There were darts?” she asks, frowning.

I chuckle. “Just how drunk are you?”

“Very, thank God.” She groans. “I needed it, after singing like that, in front of everyone. I nearly vomited all over the piano from the nerves.”

“Now that would have been a showstopper,” I quip.

“Don’t.” Roxy giggles, and then stops again. “My dad was a musician,” she says suddenly. “Have I told you that?”

I shake my head. “Your mum mentioned that he passed, in an accident…”

She nods. “When I was ten. He was a session musician when they met, for other artists. A good one, too. Steady work. He played on some big records, rock bands, mainly. But that wasn’t enough for him, he was always trying to make it, on his own. Auditioning, gigging, traveling. Chasing a big break that never came. My mom always said it ruined our lives.” She yawns again.

“You’re not your father,” I point out gently. “If this is something you really want…”

She shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” Roxy says it like it’s a full sentence.

“Because why not?” I shoot straight back at her.

“I just can’t!” Roxy sits up to look at me. “Except…”

I wait.

“There’s an audition in Brooklyn in a couple of weeks,” she says in a rush, her cheeks flushing even pinker in the dim light. “I saw a flyer in the bar. Not tonight. In the city. Mavericks.” She laughs as if she’s only just remembered. “Your bar!”

“That’s great! You should go.”

She rolls her eyes. “Easy as that?” Her hair is all messed up now, and I have the strongest urge to reach up and smooth it off her face.

Keep your hands to yourself.

“Not easy,” I tell her, “But worth it, perhaps.”

“It’s alright for you,” she grumbles, picking at the fraying edge of her sweater sleeve. “I bet you’re not scared of anything.”

I let out a low chuckle. “Spiders. Tsunamis. Waking up to find I’m back taking my French A-Level again, but I haven’t studied for the test.”

“You know what I mean.” She waves vaguely at me, and I have to duck back to avoid getting a hand in my face. “You’re basically perfect. Everyone loves you. Like Daisy,” she adds, and I recall what she told me about growing up with her sister, feeling invisible.

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