He huffed something that might have been a laugh. The song shifted into a tighter groove, drums snapping in a pattern that pulled people away from the stage and closer to a fast-forming mosh pit on the dancefloor.
“So you follow your friend to all her gigs, or what?”
Ramona’s guitar swung on her hip as she let go for long enough to bring her hands together in a heart aimed right at me. A room full of adoring fans, and yet she tracked me like a homing missile. I knew this little tete-a-tete at the end of the bar was gonna come back to bite me in the ass after they closed the set.
“It’s always a great show.” I gave a short laugh. “The kind of support that gives back.”
We clinked our half-empty bottles together, solidifying the truce. I was done ragging him, and he was done trying to become one with the shadow at his back.
I tilted my head, thinking I was probably going to regret this but at the same time, unable to stop it. “So, Purple Rose got tagged in the team’s posts on Instagram. The guys all showing off their new Stanley Cup ink.”
That barely there smile of his dropped clean away. His only response was to take another sip of his beer.
“You weren’t in any of the photos, though,” I went on. “Not even the ones with the pre-game shenanigans or whatever. I was prepping at the time, but it sounded like you guys were having a good ole time of it before the machines started up.”
“Well, if that’s what it sounded like then it must be true.”
“Hey, I’m not calling you out or anything.” I raised my hands to further prove my good intentions. “You’re not the first person to have a change of heart in my chair.”
He swiveled on his stool so he was now looking right at me. First time all night he’d given anything besides a beer his full attention.
And I was done.
Even from under the brim of his snapback, with his eyes half in shadow, I could tell by the specific shade of save-me-the-bullshit blue that he wasn’t doing the small-talk thing anymore.
I didn’t really know if that realization put me off or—
“Then what are you doing if it’s not that?” he asked.
I sat up straighter, and squeezed my thighs together. This was some left-field crap that I was in no way ready for. Thank God Ramona wasn’t looking over here.
“Just trying to make conversation,” I said with a shrug. He was a stranger, and that meant only I recognized the weird thing my voice did at the end of that sentence.
Which was fine, because my voice and whatever the hell was going on with me was none of his goddamn business.
“I came here tonight for the opposite of that.”
I nodded, absently peeling back the label on my beer. “I just thought it was kinda strange. The posts went viral, the whole team celebrating, but also not exactly the whole team.”
He let out a long, drawn out sigh, and emptied his beer, slowly placing the bottle back on the bar. “To be honest, I think you’re the only one who noticed.”
“Which is how you prefer it.”
“Excuse me?”
A slight tip of my finger brought two more beers our way. I waited for the bartender to flip the caps off and walk away before going on.
“You put yourself on the sidelines, just like you took yourself out of the lineup for that tattoo.” I watched a shadow bristle behind his eyes. “You think being a bench player means you don’t get to fully be a part of the team, even though nobody on that team told you that much.”
“And that coming from someone who’s known me all of ten seconds, you’ll have to forgive me for not giving a shit.” But he didn’t refuse the beer. The first sip was an extended one, his throat bobbing with each swallow until he came up for air with a satisfied, and maybe a little agitated, breath.
“Ten seconds on you, but decades on guys who were always one good season away from becoming somebody,” I said, palm flush against the cool bottle. “Turns out waiting for it to happen is a full time job.”
This time he slid off his stool as he took another wild swig of beer. “Good thing it’s not yours then.”
If there was a comeback somewhere behind the reeling wheels of my brain, it didn’t find a chance to break free.
“Have a nice night.” He tossed a couple of bills onto the bar, and walked out without even looking at me.
