Rinse and repeat.
She pauses again during a break in the queue, her elbows leaning on the bar as I sing. One of the assholes I saw earlier breaks away from the crowd, leaning in to murmur something to her. Emilia frowns, shifting away from him and shaking her head.
And I miss a fucking note.
I pull it back, my eyes moving away from her andstayingaway until I’m done.
“Decent,” Adrian admits when I jump down, yanking my strap over my head. Last orders were called a while ago, Emilia’s co-worker ringing a small bell to rumbles of disappointment and a final wave of customers. “You want the gig, it’s yours.”
I tap my fingers on the bar in a rhythm, considering. “I want it.”
She’s listening as she wipes down the bar.
“You do this full time?” Adrian buries a finger in his ear and digs around in it like he’s searching for buried treasure. “Sometimes we have other slots, last minute.”
I make a valiant effort at withholding my revulsion, stepping back until I’m safely out of the flicking zone. “Yeah. I’m a guitar tutor, but I’m pretty flexible.”
Although I haven’t taken on a student in six months. Haven’t even bothered advertising here.
“Good.” He grunts as he pulls himself off the bar stool. “See you tomorrow, Ed.”
“It’s Jared.”
“Whatever.” He waves a hand over his shoulder before he disappears, and I hear a soft snort behind me.
“Want another beer, Ed?”
Yes.
That’s my problem.
I want more than one. Give me twenty. Give me enough so I don’t have to feel anything.
Give me enough to blur my brother’s face from my mind.
And the face of the girl in front of me. She holds a bottle up in question, and I reach out for it. When our fingers brush, she recoils. Her recovery is smooth enough, but I’m not fooled. Emilia avoids my eyes as she begins pouring the overflow trays away. “Ignore Adrian. We do.”
She looks to her co-worker for agreement, but the older woman is staring into space. Emilia flicks her eyes to me before she leans in. I turn away, but I still hear her whisper.
“Go home. I’ll finish up.”
There’s a murmured disagreement, before the woman disappears and returns clutching a bag. “Thanks, Emmy.”
“No worries.” She doesn’t smile. Instead, her teeth sink into her lower lip, worrying at the skin. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?”
I watch the bar as the woman leaves. A few of the guys I eyeballed earlier are still lingering. They sneak glances toward the bar, and I lock eyes with the one who spoke to Emilia earlier. “You always left to clean up by yourself?”
“Extenuating circumstances.” Her voice is cool. “You done with that beer? I’m kicking out now.”
Ouch. “How are you getting home?”
Something about my words makes her pale. Her tone is frigid when she responds. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
I click my tongue. “Fair enough.”
Handing over my empty bottle, I nod at her and swing the orange strap of my guitar case over my back, securing it in place. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”
She barely looks at me. “Yeah.”
