I glance at my phone again. At her name.
“The Mission.”
two
Later That Night
TheMissionsurgeswithenergy.
Electricity amps up the crowd with every passing minute.
There’s no way to keep up when Lake Lyon is headlining.
He won’t even step onstage for three more hours, yet the room is already packed. Right now Lake’s a rising star. His name is everywhere. Isis Management just signed him, which means he’ll break out internationally within the year.
Tonight is probably the last time he’ll play a venue of this size.
I’ve seen him around. The man’s hard to miss. Tall, stupidly gorgeous. His eyes are the lightest green against his cocoa skin, giving him a sexy, mysterious aura. He moves through the world as if he owns his place in it.
Part of me is in awe. The other part envious. He’s living my dream.
The sound of glasses knocking in sharp bursts snaps me back to reality. Ice cracks under my scoop. Orders are stacked three deep across the bar. Fans keep pressing in, shoulder to shoulder, filling every inch of space as if proximity might make the drinks flow faster.
Pour. Slide. Turn. Repeat.
My hands know this rhythm as well as they know a fretboard. Pike Place in the afternoons. Bartending at The Mission at night. Two stages. Two versions of me. One where I hone my skills busking for tips. The other where I stand close enough to something bigger.
I can almost touch it.
Almost.
“Hope.”
I glance up.
Zane Rocks, lead guitarist for Less Than Zero and son of legendary Limelight guitarist, Carter Fucking Pope, leans over the bar, gesturing for me to come over. Long, wild, dark curls frame his face. Energy rolling off him in constant motion.
People lose their minds standing this close to him anywhere else. Here, he owns the club and works harder than most of us. No distance. No ego. Seattle music royalty who still wipes down the bar if needed.
I finish pouring a beer before answering, “What’s up? Can I get you something?”
“Uh, yeah.” His grin flashes. “I need a favor.”
I set the glass down and quickly finish the transaction before stepping over. “Okay.”
“Lake’s opener is stuck at the Canadian border.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He drags a hand through his hair, curls snapping back into place. “Clearly, they’re not gonna make it.”
“Um,” I bite my lip, “what are you gonna do?”
His eyes lock on mine. “You up for a short set?”
Everything in me stalls.
“Seriously?” I finally manage.
