The bartender jotted down a note and looked to Liam, waiting for his order.
"You have twelve year Highland Park?" he asked.
I didn't know much about drinks, but I figured it was some top shelf stuff. I had to wonder how much money he had made with his old band.
"I've learned to enjoy the finer things in life." Liam winked. "I'm getting too old to drink cheap swill."
"Too old?" I said. "You can't be that much older than me."
"When you've been in the industry as long as I have and seen the things I've seen, it makes you grow grey hairs real fast," he told me.
"You've been doing music for a while?" I asked.
Despite myself, I was curious about Liam. That first time I'd met him, years ago, when he'd given me the idea for my band's name, he'd already been in the music scene. I'd just been starting out. Back then, the idea of being in a real band was simply an overly ambitious idea me and my brother had.
"My dad bought me my first guitar when I was twelve," he said. "I've been in bands since I was thirteen. Played my first concert at fourteen. Got my first fangirls and groupies at fifteen."
"Of course that's the metric you measure things by," I said. "Typical cocky rock star. All you care about is how many girls you can score with."
"You wound me," Liam said. "I care about the music just as much as you."
"If that's true, why did you quit your band and decide to go for a temporary position?"
His eyes turned dark.
"Like I said," he shrugged, flicking his gaze away from mine. "Creative differences."
That was a copout if I'd ever heard one, but I didn't want to push too hard. If I pushed on his past, Liam might feel like he could push on mine. That was a subject I wasn't prepared to touch. Not now.
Maybe not ever.
We settled on a pair of barstools with a high table. I perched on my stool, feet swinging, toes just barely touching the ground. The rest of my band seemed content to do their own thing for now, laughing and drinking and talking shit with each other the way guys always did.
"I'm surprised the other guys aren't pestering you with a million questions," I said.
"I asked them to give me a minute alone with you."
I shot Liam a look of disbelief.
"This isn't a come on." He held his hand up, palms out, as if in surrender. "You're the leader of this band. I want to find out more about the gig I just signed up for."
"What do you want to know?" I asked.
"Why exactly are you hiring a temporary session guitarist?" he asked with tilt of his head.
I exhaled deeply, annoyed that was his first question. I didn't want him to think less of me. I didn't want him to think I couldn't hack it. The other guys already worried too much about me. I didn't need that from Liam as well.
"It's nothing big," I said. "I'm perfectly happy to continue singing and playing guitar at the same time. My wrists just act up sometimes."
"You're overexerting yourself?" Liam guessed.
"I do tend to put one hundred and ten percent into my performances."
"But why a temporary guitarist?" he asked.
"My band and I already have a good thing going," I said. "We have a good rhythm. I don't need someone new coming in and ruining that. I'm sure you get what I mean. Bandmates reach a certain equilibrium with each other. You've worked with each other, you've grown up together. You've been through so much. It's always difficult to add a new person into that mix and have things stay the same. It's like a family."
"I do get that," he said, casting his eyes down.
