“I was broke. It was decent money,” I explain with a shrug. “And I was good at it. I was punctual, never missed a shift, and my standoffish behavior…” I say with air quotes, causing her to laugh. “Meant that I never crossed a line with customers.”
A shadow crosses her face. “Not always easy qualities to find in an employee,” she says absently, before blinking and asking, “So you’ve bartended all over then?”
I nod, wondering just exactly what happened between her and Jace to cause such a reaction, but I don’t want to sour the mood by bringing him up.
“I had a hard time settling down in one place until Nashville. I’ve lived in Phoenix, Seattle, Baltimore…even spent a few months in Dallas. I am not a fan of Texas.”
“No?” Her eyes crinkle as she laughs. “I wouldn’t think it’s much different from Nashville.”
“It is,” I say firmly, which only causes her to laugh harder.
“What made you decide to put down roots in Nashville?”
I take a sip of my whiskey before I answer her. “I’m not sure I would call them roots exactly. I like Nashville, but it’s not exactly where I envisioned I’d end up.”
I’m not sure I actually ever envisioned ending up anywhere long-term, at least not since?—
“So why do you stay?”
“Jonas.”
“Your best friend?”
I nod. I’ve talked about him before, but failed to mention he’s my business partner too. I don’t know why I’ve kept up with the illusion that I’m the manager at Velvet, rather than co-owner. I should be proud that I’ve worked my way up from bartender to business owner, but sometimes when I look at all those zeros in my bank account, I feel like a sell-out.
I used to hate guys like me when I was a kid.
“He’s the closest thing I’ve had to family since…” I swallow, and her expression softens.
“It’s okay,” she says, placing her hand gently on top of mine. It’s small and delicate. “I get it, and I’m glad you found that. I always hoped you would.”
I run my thumb over her wrist, feeling her pulse dance beneath my touch. I told myself I’d stick to the role of a friend on this trip. But so far, I am failing miserably.
Picking up the rest of my drink, I down it in one gulp. She laughs and does the same. “Okay, so what do you want to do for the rest of the evening?”
“Well, it is my birthday, and we are in Vegas…”
I grin. “Uh-huh.”
She leans forward, a challenging glint in her eyes. “What exactly can I talk you into?”
“You don’t have to talk me into anything, Pres. It’s your birthday. I’m down for anything.”
“So if I told you I wanted to get matching tattoos?”
I shrug, acting completely unfazed. I’ve never gotten a tattoo. I can barely commit to a six-month lease. Why the fuck would I be okay with permanent ink? But the idea of doing it with Pres has me rethinking the idea. “I’d ask that you not pick the neck or forehead, but otherwise, I’m game.”
“You didn’t even ask what it would be!”
Another shrug. “Not my birthday. Not my decision. Although you might want to keep that in mind, ’cause for my birthday, I want a Goonies tattoo.”
“Oh my god, you still loveThe Goonies? Hollis, it’s been twelve years. Pick a new favorite!”
I shake my head, eyes crinkling with laughter. “Nope. Can’t. It’s a classic.”
She chews on her bottom lip. “Okay, well, luckily for you—and me apparently—I don’t want a tattoo. But I do want something.”
Why does my whole body seem to come alive when she utters those last few words?
