Laiken turns and glares at me.
“Ease up, Dad,” Mike says, shoving playfully at Laiken. “He’s an adult. He can hook up with whomever he wants.”
“Yeah,Dad,” I say, and can practically hear him growl at me. I duck under his arm and head for Cash in the corner. “That’s number three for the night,” I report.
Cash laughs. “You’ve decided working here isn’t that bad, huh?”
I shrug and glance over my shoulder at Laiken. “No. Though my feet hurt. I swear, it doesn’t matter what shoes I wear, my feet hurt from being on them for hours. It’s exhausting. I think I’m in a perpetual state of buzzed from the fumes of alcohol, too.”
He snorts.
His attention shifts to the door, and I look in that direction in time to see his brother, Onyx, and Bryce walk in. The Hinky Dinky Bar tends to be their home these days, though they visit others from time to time, too. Most nights, they can be found right here.
“Has he made plans to leave yet? Like, actual plans? A date? Plane ticket?”
I see Cash roll his eyes from my peripheral. “Of course not. It’s like he’s waiting for something.”
“Maybe waiting for Onyx and Bryce to do it?” I suggest.
He huffs and grabs his glass.
While he doesn’t say so, I think he’s crushing on Onyx. I don’t blame him. Onyx is hot. He has this really cool owl tattoo on the inside of his forearm that’s twelve or so inches. Maybe more. Itlooks like one of those images in adult coloring books with all the intricate designs within the overall owl shape. I’ve always wondered what it signifies. Why did he get that one?
A couple of women sit on stools to the left of Cash, keeping a few between them. I move down to them and offer a smile. “What can I get you?”
“Mojitos. Two, please.”
I nod and pull a couple glasses. Laiken hovers almost immediately as I flip my little cheat book open to mojito—muddling mint at the bottom of the shaker cup, adding rum, lime, ice, simple syrup and shaking it. Once I pour them into the glasses, I set them on little square napkins and slide them forward.
Unclipping the little electronic reader from my hip, I click the red button for mixed drinks and hold it out for one of the girls. She presses her bracelet on the reader, and it beeps. There’s a tiny vibration in my hand, and the green dot light appears briefly.
I think the design was specifically made for loud places like this. Three of my senses read that the scan was successful. I repeat the process with the other woman, then go about wiping up the bar from the drops of mojito.
Laiken’s hand brushes my thigh and my dick twitches. He’s trying to torture me.
I look up when Benson speaks into the microphone. “Good evening, Hinky Dinks. Are you ready for some music?”
The crowd cheers and claps. I glance at Cash. He’s frowning.
“We have Onyx on drums, Bryce on bass, and I’m Benson on guitar and vocals. We’re Whiskey Horizons. Sit back and enjoy.” He gives Onyx a nod, and he rapid-fire hits the drums all over the place, making the crowd cheer. Then he leads into the rhythm of their first song.
“I see you through the crowd,
In a place you shouldn’t be.
Are you here for someone else,
Or are you here for me?”
I glance at Cash. “Who do you think that one’s for?”
He’s not looking at the band anymore. He’s trailing his finger around the rim of his glass. It’s still full. This is how our nights almost always go. Rarely do we ever take more than a sip of our drinks when we hang out at bars.
“Dunno,” he says. “Maybe it’s not about anyone, but just a story.”
“I thought songs were written about experiences.”
Cash shrugs. “I guess. Could be anyone.”
