Waylynn lays her hand on my leg under the table and squeezes. “Sorry, overexcited,” she apologizes.
I open my mouth to say something, but her fingers tighten over my leg again. I can keep my mouth shut for her, but I fucking hate it.
“Waylynn,” Memphis calls so softly, it would be hard for anyone who wasn’t seated at the table to hear. She turns her head to look at him with her shoulders high as if she’s about to get scolded. “Do not apologize.”
“Thanks for coming out again, hope you enjoy the show.” Bates turns his back on the two women and closes in on the table, shutting them out.
Waylynn leans a little closer to Memphis, while still holding onto my leg. “I am sorry though. I shouldn’t have interrupted his moment. I was just so excited for him. I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t worry about it,” Bates tells me. “She was looking for attention, don’t give it to her.”
I pat Waylynn’s hand on my leg and say, “I’ll be right back. Need a hand getting your stuff to the back?” while already rising from the booth. Memphis can talk to her for a minute. I’m too pissed to be any help right now anyway.
“Sure, my stand is right there. I’ll grab her.” Bates lifts up his cello case. He could easily carry both, but I need a breather.
“That was kind of crazy,” Bates says while pushing through a staff only door.
“You should have heard the shit they said when she walked in with Memphis.” I loop the strap of his music bag on a chair, getting more pissed.
“What?”
“Some shit about guys fucking girls that look like Waylynn, but not bringing them out in public.”
“What?” Bates says again, but I know he heard me. “Are you sure you heard them correctly?”
“Seriously? I heard them fine.”
“Because she’s not skinny?” Bates whispers.
“I guess, but they are just fucking jealous. She’s beautiful.”
“Stunning,” Bates replies quickly, reaffirming my thoughts.
“It’s whatever, don’t say anything.” I probably should have just kept this shit to myself, but I was pissed and wanted someone to be pissed with me.
“I won’t. Waylynn didn’t hear what they said though, right?”
“No, she was walking in front of me with Memphis.”
“Good, people are assholes.”
“I know. Have a good show.” I push out the employees’ door and head back into the bar. When the table comes into view, I spot Waylynn tucked up under Memphis’ arm with rosy cheeks and bright eyes. Whatever he said or did while I was gone seems to have worked.
I scoot unnecessarily close to her other side so I can feel the press of her body next to mine.
“I ordered you pineapple juice,” Memphis tells me and lifts an amber bottle to his mouth for a sip. I know it’s not beer, but that’s not surprising. I can’t remember the last time Memphis drank. It’s been a few years, at least around me.
Waylynn has a short glass with a few cherries and an orange on a little sword at the top. “What do you have there?”
“A Mai Tai, it has pineapple juice.” She offers me the tiny straw when she holds it up.
I glance past her to Memphis, checking to see what he thinks about her ordering a drink and offering it to me, but he doesn’t seem bothered. I lean forward and wrap my lips around the straw and take a little pull. It’s sweet, like cherries, but the orange juice overpowers it quickly.
“There isn’t any alcohol in that,” I observe.
Waylynn wrinkles up her nose. “I’m not old enough to order alcohol, but I don’t really drink anyway.” Memphis’ fingers come up and stroke the side of her neck affectionately, possessively. She accepts his touch and encourages him by tilting her head just enough so his fingers trail a little higher up, near her ear.
“I want one of those next time, it’s good.”
