“Yes!”Shay cries out, throwing his arms in the air with completely unwarranted enthusiasm.
Jazz startles at the outburst, glancing up to eye Shay, Blake and Jamie with obvious curiosity.
I have no idea how Shay recognized the song with just the beat to go from, but as soon as Jazz adds the guitar riff I know what it is. And so does Blake.
I roll my eyes and just barely manage to stifle a groan as I watch Shay and Blake slam their palms together in a show of excitement that would be better suited for a Superbowl game.
He justhadto play this song…
“It’s the disease song, isn’t it?” Jamie asks, his scrunched-up nose indicating an enthusiasm level similar to my own.
“It’s called “One Headlight,” red. We’ve been over this many times,” Shay says.
Jamie catches my eye and lifts a hand to swipe through the air above his head.
I let out a wry chuckle and shake my head. “I’ll go get you your vodka,” I tell him. Shay and Blake are both now singing along like drunken sailors and I figure it’s probably a good idea to clear the area before Shay decides to start moonwalking.
I’ve known Shay for decades because he and Blake have been best friends since college. If I was surprised to find out my brother was seriously involved with a guy almost twenty years his junior, it was nothing compared to my shock when I learned the same thing about Shay. It wasn’t so much the age gap as the fact that Shay’s been a commitmentphobe for as long as I’ve known him, so finding out he’d actually settled down with a twenty-five-year-old British guy was kind of mind-blowing. Add in the fact that Jamie is the long-lost son I helped Blake connect with last year and it’s enough to make me seriously consider writing to a daytime talk show.
And did I mention Owen is Shay’s younger brother? My head is hurting just thinking about that whole dynamic.
Thank god all of Shay’s and Owen’s other siblings are paired off already. The last thing I need is for Blake getting it into his head to set me up with one of them so I can officially join the huge, crazy Kelly family.
When I return to the bar, I get to work making Jamie’s vodka, lime, and soda. It’s not a remotely complicated drink so it shouldn’t take long.
Shouldn’tbeing the operative word.
I fill a glass with ice and grab the open bottle of vodka from the back bar. I’ve just started pouring when I hear an opening riff that makes my head snap up. I’m used to hearing this performed on piano, but there’s absolutely no mistaking the tune. And when I glance at the stage I find Jazz staring right at me, mouth curved into a familiar taunting smirk as he launches into the first verse of “Hard to Handle.”
Levity dances in his eyes and I know he’s reveling in the embarrassed flush that’s just hit my cheeks.Fucking asshole.
I shoot him a hard glare and get back to Jamie’s drink, attempting to ignore the uncomfortable prickling running across my skin as I sense Jazz’s continued gaze on me.
Fucking hell. This song isn’t even that provocative but compared to everything else he’s been playing this week it’s practically obscene.
And The Black Crowes are one of my favorite bands.How the fuck does he know that?
I finally manage to make Jamie’s drink—although it takes far longer than it should for something so simple—and I garnish the glass with a twist of lime zest and a pretty pink flower. It’s not something I’d usually do for this drink, but I know Jamie will love it.
Jazz finishes the song just as I’m returning to Blake’s table with Jamie’s drink. I let out a sigh of relief; if last week is any indication he’ll let me stew for a while before starting the torture again. Hopefully Blake and the others will be gone by then.
I don’t recognize the next song at first, but then I hear Jamie cry, “It’s Britney, bitch!” and realize it’s a sultry acoustic version of “(You Drive Me) Crazy.”
Fucking hell.So much for a break between torture sessions.
When I reach the table I’m momentarily distracted by Jamie swanning around in his chair and crooning along—very much out of key—to the song, while Shay looks on with fond amusement. Blake, however, is eyeing me with concern, bringing my focus back to my present feeling of unease. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I grate out through a jaw full of tension.
Blake glances up at the stage, then back at me, brows creased together. “Why is he just staring at you like that?”
I shrug. “Just something he does sometimes. I guess he gets a kick out of making me uncomfortable.”
“That’s pretty messed up.”
“Yeah, well, I told you—he’s a dick.”
He glances back toward Jazz again, his expression more curious this time. “Why does it make you uncomfortable?”
