“Who will?”
“Jax, dummy. Don’t pretend you’re freaking out over tonight. You don’t get shook by busy shifts and chaotic karaoke.”
“It’s not karaoke. It’s open-mic night, and you’re the star. How do you feel about that?”
“Nice deflection.” Molly slumps onto a barstool. “I’ll let you have it, though. I’ve got all night to needle you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. And to answer your question, I feel pretty damn good. Brent is miles away, and no one saw me screaming like a banshee last time because Jax pulled me off stage so fast. He’s such a doll.”
I beg to differ. I’ve seen Jax naked and doing things that dolls don’t do, but I keep that shit to myself. “I’m glad you’re not nervous. I’d be pissed as hell if that asshat had fucked your confidence.”
“He hasn’t. I mean, I’m gonna be terrified of dating for the rest of my life, but I’ve been making a show of myself on stage since I was a little girl. No one can take that away from me.”
“You shouldn’t be scared of dating either. Most guys aren’t Brent.”
“Yeah, but some of them are. How do I tell the difference?”
“You date them for the right reasons, and get the fuck out as soon as they show you their ass.”
Molly sighs. “It sounds like common sense whenyousay it. I like Jax better.”
“Me too, kiddo. Me too.”
I retreat to my office and check the YouTube link I uploaded to Facebook this morning, as per Jax’s instructions, is doing its job. As predicted, my boss was beside himself after seeing Jax’s work and wants him back for every event V and V ever hosts from here on out. I’m not gonna complain about that, and given the hefty tip Harrison has added to Jax’s paycheck, I’d imagine he won’t either.
The link is working perfectly. The views are rising by the hour, and the buzz about the repeat event tonight is enough that I’m fairly sure I’m in for the shift from hell, even if we get through it without disgruntled ex-boyfriends throwing bottles around.
It’s my cue to go back downstairs. I shove Jax’s check into an envelope and take it to my apartment for safekeeping for no reason whatsoever, as no one is going to take it from my office. But wasting time feels necessary, as if simple tasks need to take three times as long as they should to stop me obsessing over the fact that despite weather reports that forecast the opposite, it’s raining and raining and raining outside, and I’m worried about all kinds of ridiculous things.
They’re not ridiculous things. If they were, Jax wouldn’t have known all about them without your bellyaching.But still. Worrying about Jax doesn’t make him safer, or make me any less of a basket case for him to come back to, so I give chilling the fuck out a good college try and go back to work.
Open-mic night runs like a dream. It’s the busiest Sunday night we’ve ever banked, and even without Rainn, my crew is a well-oiled machine. Molly smashes her performance too, and the crowds that have come from all over the state to see her hoot their appreciation.
Harrison claps me on the back as she floats off stage. “This is perfection, Tanner. It’s everything I wanted this place to be.Thankyou.”
He’s gone before I can appreciate the irony ofhimthankingmefor just about anything. But his praise makes my chest warm. This night really was perfection. The only thing missing is Jax.
I shut my bar down, buy my team drinks, and see them all safely home before driving Molly back to her dorm.
The weather is still wet as hell. I think about Jax in a tent with two strangers and tighten my grip on the steering wheel. She gives me an odd look as she exits my car, and I don’t blame her. I am odd, and I need to try harder to fix it.
My brain is percolating as I drive away. My phone chirps in my pocket, and I force myself to ignore it. It won’t be Jax, and there’s no one else I want to talk to.
But the noise is insistent. I pull over with a heavy sigh and answer the phone without checking the screen. “What?”
A deep chuckle rumbles back at me. “A nine-hour delay, followed by eight hours on two planes, andthat’show you’re answering the phone to me?”
“Shit. Gabi?”
“It’s me, bro. Who were you expecting to call from my phone? Pablo Escobar?”
“At this time of night? Maybe. Where are you? Where did you fly to?”
“Vermont, dumbass. I asked you to pick me up, like eight hours ago. Sorry I’m late.”
I open my mouth. Shut it again. I haven’t checked my phone since the last time I reread Jax’s goodbye message. Barack Obama could’ve texted me, and I wouldn’t have known about it. “Fuck. Sorry, I’d have let you down. It’s been crazy at the bar. Did you call Eve?”
