So what changed?I want to scream. But a middle-aged man who’s clearly had too much to drink stumbles over and asks me to play “Piano Man”—a request I must get ten times a night, minimum—putting our conversation on pause. I spend way too long promising him— repeatedly—that I’ll get to it in the next set. Finally, his booze-soaked brain seems to understand what I’m saying and he shuffles off, humming the harmonica part.
As he goes, Chris’s eyes catch mine for a brief, heart-stopping moment. Then he glances toward the door that leads to the restrooms and office.
“I was hoping we could talk somewhere more private.”
Exactly what I’m afraid of. I don’t trust myself to be alone with him. Which is why I suggested we meet here, at my very public workplace.
“Please.”
His simple, one-word plea wrecks me. I’m no more able to resist him now than I was five years ago.
I close my eyes, needing to erect some sort of barrier between us, and let muscle memory take over, guiding my fingers over the keys. “After this song.”
Time seems to stretch as I pound out the last chorus. When I’m done, I lean into the mic and announce that I’ll be taking a break. Yeah, it’s early. But my boss will just have to deal with it. If he bitches, I’ll offer to play an extra set.
I pocket my tips from the jar, leaving a few bills so it doesn’t look depressingly desolate, and stand. Chris tosses back the rest of his drink and follows suit. Wordlessly, I lead him through the door, down the hall past the restrooms and office, and into the alley behind the club.
The outside door closes behind us with an ominous click that echoes in the narrow passageway. Chris leans against the brick wall, pulls a pack of Newports from his back pocket, and slides out a cigarette.
“You still smoking?” I ask stupidly. Duh. Why else would he be carrying cigarettes around? It’s not like he’s a POW, trading them for food.
He puts the cigarette between his lips and stuffs the pack back in his pocket, trading it for a lighter. “Only when I’m nervous.”
He’snervous? My heart is racing like I’ve run a goddamn marathon.
I pick a spot on the wall opposite him and rest my back on the rough, red-brown bricks. The fingers of my right hand tap a staccato rhythm on the soft cotton of my khakis. My nervous habit. “Why?”
He flicks the lighter, holds it up to the end of his cigarette, and inhales. The glow gives his face an eerie cast in the half-light of the alley. “Why what?”
“Why so nervous?”
He takes a long drag on his cigarette and, ever the gentleman, turns his head to blow a puff of smoke off to his left, away from me. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what?”
My already pounding pulse kicks up a notch. This is it. The moment of truth. I’m finally going to find out what the hell he’s doing here. In a seedy back alley. With me.
“Apologized to someone I hurt as much as I hurt you.” Chris tosses the cigarette to the ground and snuffs it out under the heel of his shoe. “I’m sorry I freaked out when you kissed me. You were my friend—my best friend—and I acted like a complete asshole, shutting you out. Waiting this long to try to make things right. My only excuse is—I have no excuse. I guess I’m just not as brave as you are.”
“Me?” I make an unattractive sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “Brave?”
“You’re brave enough to be your true, authentic self. That’s more than I can say for me. But I’d like the chance to change that.”
“How?”
He scrubs an unsteady hand through his slightly too-long hair. “By asking you out. On a date.”
It’s a good thing the brick wall is supporting me, otherwise I’d be on the asphalt with Chris’s cigarette butt. “You want to go on a date? With me? Now?”
“Better late than never, right?” he says with a nervous chuckle.
“Is it?” My heart screamsfuck, yeah. But my head—the one on my shoulders, not below my belt—isn’t such an easy mark. It’s telling me to slow things down. Protect myself.
“It can be.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“How do you know I’m not with someone?” I ask, even though I’m totally not.
He blushes, and it’s so fucking adorable I almost say yes to the date right then and there. “I’ve been stalking you on Facebook. And Instagram. No pics of you with anyone. And your relationship status is single.”
