“Yeah?” Gibbs answers.
“Fender didn’t make it to practice earlier today. Thought you should know.”
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. Then he checks his pockets and pulls out his cell.
“There a problem?” I ask.
“I gotta find Fen.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he mutters, his eyes glued to his phone as his fingers type furiously. “He’s either strung out, passed out, or needs me to bail him out of prison.”
Ouch.
Dove and I exchange worried glances before I offer, “Anything we can do?”
“I got this. Tell Ashton I’ll be back in a bit.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Thanks.” Then he turns to the drummer. “Hey, Phoenix, is Sammie here?”
“Yeah, she’s setting up.”
“Good. Tell her to cover for me, all right?”
“Yeah, man. I’ll tell her.”
“Thanks.” Then Gibbs rushes out the door.
“Who’s Sammie?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“The other bartender,” Phoenix replies. “She’s hit or miss because of school, but Chuck’s her dad, so she makes her own hours.”
“Cool.”
“She’s gonna love you two,” he adds, his eyes rolling over each of us with an amused smirk etched into his cheeks.
A confused Dove turns to me as if I have all the answers.
I shrug at her then ask, “And why’s that?”
“‘Cause, she’s sick of being the only hot girl who works here.” His laugh is light and jovial as he hooks his thumb over his shoulder toward the main area of the bar. “Come on. I’ll hand you off to Ashton.”
16
Reese
Ashton is nice and knows Milo from the tattoo shop. Apparently, my brother is the only guy he trusts with a needle, and I don’t blame him. Milo is freaking talented. I can still see him as a kid as we’d walk home from school, a notebook tucked beneath his arm since we didn’t own backpacks. Usually, we’d just use a plastic sack from the grocery store, but Milo didn’t want his art notebooks to warp, so he’d hold them instead. They were always brimming with beautiful drawings. Some of his works were colorful, others were etched with pencil, and they varied from a piece of fruit to the entire valley.
When he told me he wanted to become an apprentice at a tattoo shop, I wasn’t surprised. He was made for it. And I’m glad that I’m not the only one who’s noticed.
“All right, ladies. I want each of you to get comfortable on the floor and collect empty glasses, greet the customers, wipe down any tables, that kind of thing. If you have any questions, flag me down or ask Gibbs when he gets back from rounding up Fen. Oh, and if any customers give you trouble, let me know. Usually, they’re pretty respectful, but sometimes they like to test the boundaries when we hire new girls. Any questions?”
Dove and I look at each other before shaking our heads.
“Nope. I think we’re good,” I reply.
“Good. I’ll check on you in a few.”
Then he’s off, leaving us on our own, and I do my best to stay busy and not embarrass Gibson by completely failing on my first day.
The next few hours go by in a blur of, Can I get you anything else, and, Would you like a refill, until I catch a certain new girl staring at a certain bartender with big goo-goo eyes. He made it back about thirty minutes ago with a very tense half-brother in tow who’s standing on the stage singing his lungs out.
My gaze follows Dove’s. Gibson is currently starring in every woman’s fantasy as he flips bottles and serves alcohol to the long line of customers with a seductive wink and a sexy smirk. And even though Dove isn’t the only one drooling, I sneak up behind her, then slap my hand against the table at her side.
After jumping a mile into the air, she turns around with wide eyes and an apology on the tip of her tongue as though she just got caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar.
Then she sees the culprit and screeches, “Reese! You scared the crap out of me!”
“Sorry.” I’m not sorry. “You just looked a little preoccupied, so, ya know, I figured I’d help a sister out and make you get back to work.”
“You’re right. I’m so sorry––”
“I’m totally kidding. And I think it’s kind of cute.”
“What’s kind of cute?”
“That you kinda, sorta, might have a thing for Mr. Gibbs over there.”
Her gaze darts toward said bartender before returning to me. “Um, no.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Positive?” I tease.
She folds her arms, then mutters, “Fine. I’m just curious what I did to make him dislike me so quickly.”
“He doesn’t dislike you. He was just anxious to get to work.”
“Hmm,” she hums, unconvinced.
“I’m serious. You should’ve seen the way he was looking at you before he found out you’re the other new girl. Maybe you two could hit it off?”
Dove scoffs. “With a guy who thinks I have an average face? No, thank you. Besides, I’m not looking for anything like that.”
“Like what? Like a date?” I prod.
“Yeah.”
“Why not?”
Chewing on her lower lip, she glances over at Gibbs then stares down at the tall table in front of us that needs to be wiped down. “Just…bad timing, I guess. Besides”––she peeks over at him again––“do you see all the girls drooling over him right now? There’s just no way.”
“No way that he could have a thing for you? Bullshit. No offense, Dove, but you’re gorgeous. Like I said, you should’ve seen the way he was looking at you before he found out you’re the other new girl.”
“And you’re being too nice,” she counters, wiping the crumbs onto the floor with a damp washcloth.
“I’m really not––”
I hear his laugh before I see him. My stomach clenches with anticipation, and my skin prickles with awareness as the atmosphere charges around me. Scanning the bar, I find River leaning against the bartop chatting with Gibbs. Milo and Jake flank his sides as they each order a drink. Apparently, it’s take your friends to work day for good ol’ Gibson.
Not that I mind.
And I doubt I’m the only one who felt the testosterone ratchet up a few clicks as soon as they walked into the place, not to mention the view of four sexy friends as the guys settle in for drinks.
“Ohhh.” Dove drags out the word, and I snap my attention back to her. Her eyebrows bounce up and down a few times. “Gotcha. Which one’s yours?”
I clear my throat and point to the behemoth of the group. “That’s Milo. My brother. I met Gibson because of him.”
“Interesting,” she notes, “but I meant from a boyfriend standpoint, ‘cause I totally just caught you drooling.”
“I was not drooling.”
“Oh, okay. Is that how we’re going to play it? Denial? Gotcha.”