Seth clapped his hands together. “I’ve got a good one tonight,” he said.
“This is your VIP bar?” Liam asked in a hushed voice.
“Yup,” I said with a self-satisfied smile. “Jessie introduced Gael to the place. Not many people know about it. The owner, Walt, keeps it on the down low. Some of our other musician friends come here a lot, too. No fans or paparazzi allowed.”
“It’s so…” Liam scanned the room. His eyes landed on the beefy, leather-clad bikers. His eyes went wide, not finishing his sentence. He took a step back. “You sure this place is safe?”
“Definesafe?” I held back a snicker.
Liam was going to get eaten alive.
“Hey shitface!” someone called out.
Every member in my band turned his head toward the voice.
“That shitface,” the guy clarified, pointing to Gael. His group was playing pool in a dark corner, but from the brilliant, fire-engine red hair, I knew it was Cameron Thorne, bassist for the rock band Darkest Days.
My brother’s face fell before he forced a cocky grin. “Still don’t remember my name, hm? Getting senile in your old age?”
“Fuck you,” Cameron said with a good-natured laugh.
Both being bassists, my brother had a sort of love-hate thing for Cameron Thorne. Gael looked up to the man, but Cameron, being Cameron, loved to stir up shit. He knew exactly who my brother was. Cherry Lips had opened for Darkest Days on tour, after all, and they both had mutual friends.
“What are you assholes doing here?” Gael asked him.
“Settling a bet.” Cameron held up his pool stick. “You want in? Or are you scared of me kicking your ass in front of your girlfriend?”
Gael tilted his chin up, looking defensive.
“Boys really don’t change, do they?” Jessie appeared beside me with a tray of beer carefully balanced in one hand.
“And yet we love them anyway,” I replied. “What does that say about us?”
“You can’t play pool,” Seth called out. He lifted a glass in his hand, a dangerous looking yellow concoction. “We’re drinking! Loser has to sing karaoke.”
“I thought loser had to drink that godawful poison you come up with?” Gael shot back.
“Knew you were chicken,” Cameron tossed out with a shit-eating grin as Gael headed over to Seth.
My brother threw him the middle finger.
We all gathered around a large table with ring stains. Liam followed behind quietly, eyes darting every which way.
But as we played, he slowly began to relax. It couldn’t have been the alcohol, since he was sticking to the non-alcoholic version of Seth's godawful mixture. It was probably because we’d been there for an hour and nothing bad had happened yet.
After each of us took several turns we were all pretty buzzed. Three rounds later we’d run out of shots. Nathan was the worst out of all of us, listing sideways in his chair and slurring. We declared him the loser and forced him to get up on stage. Nate was a pretty good singer with great taste in music, so it wasn’t like we had to sit through a torturous rendition of a ten minute eighties power ballad.
We were setting up another round when the door to the bar opened and two people walked in, hand in hand.
My blood froze in my veins.
It was Natalie and Morris.
