Page 57 of Tangled Ambition

He batted at her finger then made his way to the stage, placing the strap of his guitar over his shoulder, and IknewI shouldn’t have come tonight. Because I was getting that tight feeling along my skin again, goose bumps racing down my arms, and I peeled off my scarf and coat.

Once the band was all set up, some of them testing out their instruments, the drummer, Laney’s fiancé, hopped off the stage and laid a smacking kiss on her cheek. “Got a new one for ya, tonight.”

Laney’s returning smile could be described as nothing less than radiant. “Another Coldplay?”

“Nope.” He kissed her on the lips then glanced my way. “Hey, Taylor. Nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too,” I said and took a sip from my glass, the liquor burning on the way down. When I cringed, Ethan laughed softly.

“That whisky?”

I nodded. “Dean gave it to me.”

“That must mean he really likes you. It’s from his special stash. They keep a bottle of some fancy stuff in the back. He always has one drink of it before we go on.”

I swirled the glass in a circle, the small amount of liquid splashing up on the sides of the tumbler. “For good luck?”

Ethan seemed to chew on the inside of his lip for a few seconds before finally answering, “He’s never told us, but I think it has to do with Patrick.”

“Patrick?”

Ethan’s eyes cut toward Laney, and this time, she was the one to explain, “He was our friend since we were kids. He was originally in the band.” She inclined her head toward the stage. “But he passed away when we were twenty-four.”

I mentally connected the dots. This Patrick must have been the friend who died around Christmas, the one my grandmother briefly told me about, whose death had made Dean change his whole life plan.

And I was drinking his special whisky.

Dean allowed me on in that relationship, even if he hadn’t informed me what it meant.

I took another sip, but this time, it wasn’t only the drink warming me from the inside out.

“All right, gotta go.” Ethan, like he was a magnet with Laney, kissed her again then pushed his glasses up his nose. He tapped the table once and jogged up onto the stage with long-legged strides, settling behind his drum set.

Hank, in another brightly colored shirt, introduced the band, and Ethan counted them in with his sticks high in the air.

The Anchormen started with a rendition of “Fell in Love with a Girl” by the White Stripes, and I tried not to be conspicuous as I watched Dean. I knew nothing about guitars, but his looked pretty classic, a shiny black-and-white body hanging across his torso by a thick black strap. He wore a fitted Henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the veins in his hands and forearms taunting me as his fingers so expertly played the instrument he held.

It was practically pornography.

Laney leaned in toward me. “I’m glad you’re here. I never miss a show, and sometimes I’m their only groupie, so I sit here like a loser by myself. And there’s only so many times I can listen to them play Ben Folds Five.”

Laney was warm and welcoming and could probably make friends with a tree, but I was happy she was here too. I had planned on finding a seat in a corner somewhere, but this was much better. Especially if she was going to run the conversation. I had no problem being the introvert.

“They always play the same songs?” I asked.

“No, but there’s a steady rotation.”

And that rotation was quite an eclectic mix, from Haim to Cheap Trick to the Who. At the end of the set, Ethan pointed his drumstick at Laney as he beat out a rhythm on his kick drum, and she tossed her head back, laughing and clapping.

Eventually, the rest of the band joined, and Hank began singing. Laney did too, her arms up, her voice so loud it almost drowned out Hank. Ethan looked like he had a hanger stuck in his mouth, and I glanced at Dean, who was shaking his head in amusement.

When his gaze met mine, he cocked his head in their direction, rolling his eyes, like we had some inside joke. Like I knew his friends well enough to be in on it.

Finally, once they hit the chorus, I understood. Because even Ethan started sing-shouting the lyrics to “Let’s Get Married” from behind his drum set.

“We play this song every morning,” Laney told me, mid-shimmy. “It’s going to be our first dance together.”

She was so full of joy, and Ethan was practically bursting with it as he drummed. It was impossible not to smile. The rest of the patrons at the bar were getting in on it too. The love between the drummer and the loud blonde in the front too obvious to ignore.

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