He blinks at me in obvious surprise. “Seriously?”
“Unless you disagree?” I ask pointedly.
He hastily shakes his head. “No. No, I’m ready. Definitely, definitely ready,” he insists. “Where should we do this? Bathroom?”
I hold up a hand to halt the enthusiasm. “Woah. Hold your fire, Hot Shot. I don’t mean right this second—in case you’ve forgotten, your little cherubs are sitting right over there.”
Damon winces, his face burning pink. I wait for the regret and self-criticism, but it doesn’t come; instead he lets out a soft laugh, his mouth curving up in a self-deprecating smile. “Jesus, anyone would think I was the eighteen-year-old college freshman…”
I smirkat him. “There’s nothing wrong with being a dirty slut, no matter what your age—but let’s figure out a more appropriate rendezvous. I want to be able to take my time…”
I retrieve three pint glasses and start filling them, casting my mind around for a solution. I obviously can’t go to his place, and even if he felt comfortable coming to my place I doubt it’d be possible tonight considering I won’t be home until after two am.
It’s as Gia is slipping past me to retrieve a wine glass that I have an idea. I slide the pints across the bar to Damon and hit him with a pointed look. “Be cool.”
He eyes me with confusion but I ignore him, instead calling down the bar to Gia. “Hey, G—how’d you like to finish an hour early tonight?”
“What’s the catch?” she asks warily, not glancing up from the glass of chardonnay she’s pouring.
“Damon doesn’t think you have the guts to sing in front of everyone,” I tell her. “All you need to do is prove him wrong and he’ll cover the last hour of your shift and close up the bar.”
Gia’s head snaps up, eyes alight. “Seriously? I just need to sing something?”
Despite his obvious confusion, Damon’s quick to play along, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “Why do I get the impression I’m being hustled?”
I grinat him. “Don’t worry, it’ll be worth the sacrifice.” Then I nod to the beers in his hands. “Make sure you enjoy that—it’ll be your last one.”
“She hasn’t sung anything yet,” he points out. “I remain skeptical.”
“Why the hell does he think I wouldn’t sing in the bar?” Gia asks in obvious bafflement once Damon’s on his way back to his table and out of earshot. “Everyone knows I sing. We do a duet every Saturday afternoon.”
I shrug, absently continuing the conversation while I tap at options on the order screen. “We haven’t done a Saturday Special since before I went to LA,” I remind her. “He wasn’t working here then.”
“Damn, now I kind of feel bad.” She shifts her eyes to mine, disapproval clear in her gaze. “Youdidhustle him.”
I roll my eyes. “Just take the win, Gia. You’ve been working your ass off all week and you’re in tomorrow as well—you deserve an early night.”
She still looks hesitant and I have to struggle not to let my frustration show. Her suspicion and disapproval isn’tsomething I’d expected. But then I remember she’s under the impression Damon doesn’t like me because I’ve been relentlessly tormenting him.Right.Well, there’s not much I can do to change that right now, but if I want to salvage any chance of hooking up tonight I really need Gia to get on board. “Would it make you feel better if I promised to send him straight home after last call and I stayed back to close up by myself?” I ask.
She considers this for a moment, then finally nods her agreement. “Yeah, okay. An hour of service but no crappy clean-up work. I can live with that.”
“You’re welcome, by the way,” I call after her in a dry tone as she heads back down to her regular service area.
I serve a few more customers before a lull allows me to move down to Gia’s end. “What do you want to sing?” I ask. “I guess we could just stick with “One Sweet Day”—I need to sing a Mariah Carey song anyway.” I’d been planning to do “Fantasy” but I’ll happily forfeit another opportunity to rile Damon up from afar in exchange for the chance toattendto the situation, as he put it.
Gia frowns. “It’s Friday night. I don’t want to bum everyone out.”
I wince,rubbing a hand over my face. “Tell me about it. I’ve beenchallengedto sing Celine Dion.”
For the record, I have nothing against Celine. The opposite, actually—if we’re ranking nineties divas she’s my number one; but sappy love ballads aren’t really what a Friday night crowd is after. Which is why Gia and I do our songs on Saturday afternoons—because there are very few nineties duets that aren’t sappy love ballads.
Gia lets out a snort of laughter, then her eyes light up and I can practically see her mind whirring. “I just had a cool idea…but I’m not sure you’ll go for it,” she adds, biting her lip in hesitation.
I arch a brow at her. “An ideaImight not go for? Damn, Gia—how scandalous are we talking?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just…we’ll need a piano.”
As soon as she says the word ‘piano’ in relation to Celine Dion and in the context of a duet that won’t bum out a Friday night crowd I catch on to her thinking and take a few moments to consider the idea. Pulling a piano out of thin air actually isn’t the impossible task it might seem; this place started life as a piano bar in my grandfather’s day, and there are still two upright pianos on the premises. One is in my office, and the other is on the stage, usually hidden from view by thick black curtains. I haven’tplayed that one recently but I know Grandma plays it pretty frequently and she would have told me if there were any issues.
