"How old are you, kid?" he asked, eyes narrowing like he'd expected me to lie. Why would I lie about my age?
"Eighteen, why? Wanna see my ID?" I asked, cockier than I felt, but thankfully, I saw the corner of his pierced lip lifting in a smirk.
"Cause you gotta be eighteen to apprentice for me, that's why. Can you draw?" he asked, finally unfolding his arms, reaching for the door, and holding it open for me to go inside.
"Wait, you're the owner? Bullshit, you can't be much older than me." I winced as soon as the words left my mouth—way to go, Ryan. Cussing at your potential new boss, smart move, idiot.
"I'm twenty-five, asshat. Wanna see my ID?" he mocked, then pushed me toward the waiting area and into a worn leather seat before he moved around the small reception desk and produced a sketch pad and pencil, handing them to me. "Show me what you got, and we can discuss that apprenticeship."
It wasn't until a few years later that I picked up a guitar for the first time. Gavin had one lying around the studio for when he was bored, and I figured it would be cool to learn. I picked it up pretty fucking quickly.Apparently, my deadbeat dad left me with more than abandonment issues. Hey, maybe I'll even thank him one day if he ever surfaces from whatever hole he's been residing in. After I beat the shit out of him.
I shake my head out of the past as Matt calls my name again. I lift a hand and wave him off before stepping onto the stage. Taking a seat on the one stool in the middle of the raised platform, I throw the worn leather strap of my second-hand acoustic guitar around my shoulder before adjusting the mic.
"Good evening, ladies and gents. I hope you are all having a great night here at JACKS. If it's alright with you, I'm going to sing a few songs." I grin, making sure to flash the biggest smiles at the girls up front who have been throwing back margaritas for the last hour. They should be a fun time, ladies love my dimples.
Running through my catalog of songs in my head, I let my gaze drift over the crowd before deciding what to open with. My brain halts the moment I spot him… It's like an aura surrounds him, a glowing light illuminating his silhouette.
The hottest guy I've ever laid eyes on, sitting in a booth to the back left of the bar with three other guys. He's the only one I see now. He is wearing the hell out of a dark-colored, navy maybe, suit that is molded to his body. That thing has been tailored to perfection, him being the perfection.
He's sitting with his back a little too straight, eyes looking around the room as he sips amber liquid from a glass. He looks uncomfortable here, fidgeting in his chair like he would rather be anywhere else...UGH, I bet he's straight. What a shame because, holy fucking, Captain America is that guy hot! And that's when it hit me: the perfect song.
I wait a beat longer, hoping to catch Mr. Captain America's eyes. "Come on, handsome, look up here," I mutter a prayer to the gay gods above, and then boom, I got him. His eyes finally lock on mine as I start the opening chords of Taylor Swift's 'Blank Space.'
DREW
Why did I agree to this? I was supposed to be at home, reviewing the files for the Markson case while eating Chinese takeout in my empty, quiet apartment. Instead, I’m in a loud and rowdy bar, drinking shitty whiskey…actually no, the whiskey’s pretty good. The bar, however, is LOUD.
Well, one table of ladies is loud. One of them is currently gyrating against a load-bearing pillar in the middle of the room while simultaneously throwing back literal jugs of margaritas like they are going out of fashion. It’s Moms gone Wild in here.
TGIF is apparently an unwritten rule in society that means when the working week ends, all those with jobs must report to the local watering hole to "let loose," or so I've been told. I've managed to escape this particular ritual for the most part over the last few years, but not tonight. My luck has run out.
The guys at the office requested, uhm, demanded that I go with them tonight even though this is not what I would call relaxing, but hey, at least the whiskey is good. I'm about to fake a heart arrhythmia or some contagious disease as an excuse to bail when I hear a throat clearing over the microphone sitting on its stand center stage all night. I knew this was going to happen. It's fucking karaoke, and NOPE, I'm definitely not sitting through anybody squawking out Katie Perry's Firework, no matter how hot they are.
My eyes immediately widen at the man now perched on the edge of the lone stool to the right of the microphone, and holy fucking shit balls, is he hot! Squawk all you like, pretty boy.
If you say that I'm a man who is easily flustered, you would usually be very wrong. Tonight, however, when a stunningly beautiful man locks eyes with me and sings in this deep, gravel-toned voice that goes directly to my dick, I am one hundred percent rattled to my core.
He's younger than me. That's about all I can tell about him physically from this distance, other than the fact he's a smoke show with the brightest green eyes known to man, but that isn't the reason I'm high-tailing it out of that bar like my ass is on fire.
That beautiful creature has been looking directly into my soul for the last thirty minutes. Song after song, he made eye contact with me like it was only him and I in that bar. I felt naked and flustered.
I do not have time in my life right now for beautiful men with bright green eyes who rock me to my core with just their voice. Yeah, I could have stayed until his set was over, invited him back to my place, and thoroughly enjoyed flustering the hell out of him, but I know deep in my gut that one night with a man like that, and, I would be in serious trouble. I know exactly how that would end. It’s always the same thing.
"You don't have time for me, Drew." "Your work is more important to you, Drew." "Are you canceling on me again?" Yes, yes, and fucking yes. I can't slow down now. I'm so close to my goal. I will make Partner in my firm even if my balls shrivel up from lack of use.
CHAPTER 3
DREW
I did it.
I fucking did it.
It took eight months of non-stop working, late nights, and zero sleep, but who needs sleep? Sleep is so overrated. Finally, all of my hard work has paid off, and I've made Partner in one of the biggest and the best law firms in Denver, covering everything from Criminal law to Corporate. Novak, Smith, and CLIFFER LC, from now on. Not only will I have my name on the building and the letterheads, but I will also receive a six-figure bonus for the case I just wrapped up.
I am now the Senior Partner managing the Corporate end of things at the firm I've worked so hard for so long, and now, I don't even really know what to do with myself. Every bit of that blood, sweat, and tears has paid off. I can slow down and enjoy life. Working with my own clients now, I can basically set my own hours and probably work from home, as soon as I buy a new house that Ryan and I will choose together.
I'll even get him the dog he's been talking about forever because the man deserves it and so much more for putting up with my absent ass all these months.
