Joe looked at me across the table, his face visibly pained. Poor guy. His agony was so acute the facial hair couldn’t even hide his expression, for once. I was hoping his eyes were glossy from wincing, not actual tears. Given the situation, however, it was kind of hard to tell. Nell had really gone all out in her championing of Joe and the belief that I should give him a second chance in the something more than friends stakes. In fact, she’d gone so far out, you could safely say she’d fallen off the edge.
“I don’t blame you.” He sighed, leaning forward. Shadows danced across his face, as the candle between us flickered. “I’m really sorry about this, Alex.”
“Not your fault. I know.”
“I can’t believe this romantic bullshit. They’re out of fucking control.”
“Nell and your friends are certainly something.”
Determined or insane, it was kind of hard to tell which category his friends and fellow staff-members fell under. Sure as hell they were certainly convinced that Joe and I were in the throes of some sort of epic love affair. And, bless them, they were doing everything within their power to enhance that for us by going to town on the Dive Bar’s atmosphere. Though some of them seemed more on the side of Satan than love.
I’m not going to lie. It was a painful experience.
Joe slumped back in his chair, delivering dirty looks to the rest of the room’s occupants. Well, all except for a couple seated at the bar and a family of three across the way. If anything, the couple seemed mildly amused. Nice for them. The teenager, though, appeared to be acting out a series of slow deaths over at his table. At least, I hoped he was. It would be sad if the kid were actually trying to stab himself in the head with a fork.
Suddenly, the lighting dimmed yet again. If it weren’t for the red candles scattered about the room, we’d be sitting completely in the dark.
“For fuck’s sake,” Joe muttered. Not meeting my eyes.
All of this supposed ardor, care of his friends, had squashed the easy-going flirting from last night, murdering it with hyper-awareness and embarrassment. Ironic, really; in attempting to help they’d killed our innocent little fledgling attraction. Knocked it right out of the nest.
Over on the small stage in the corner, Vaughan, the dude singing and playing guitar wound up his delightful rendition of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” to rousing applause. Eric, standing behind the bar, our friendly blond waitress, Lydia, and the kitchen staff seemed most ecstatic. Meanwhile, the teenager started making choking noises as he apparently tried to strangle himself over at his table. His parents should probably look at putting him into drama. The kid had talent.
“Now I’d like to play an old favorite of mine for you,” announced Vaughan. Just like Joe, his skin was covered in ink. Not that I could make out what the tattoos were. “A little something by that great Canadian artist, Bryan Adams. ‘(Everything I Do) I Do It for You.’”
More applause from the kitchen staff. A wolf whistle from Lydia. Vaughan just smiled and started playing again. He too had talent. If only he’d use his powers for good instead of evil.
“I told them we were just friends,” repeated Joe about the hundredth time.
“I know.”
It seemed when it came to the Dive Bar, I was doomed to experience nothing but embarrassment and awkwardness. Death and dismemberment. Things like that. And the way Eric and everyone kept watching us only made it worse. My shoulders crept in, a weak wall between me and all of them.
Not good.
“The place looks great,” I said, determined to at least attempt salvaging the evening. And it really did. Exposed brickwork mixed with large beautiful old-fashioned windows. All of the tabletops were shining dark wood with metal legs and chairs to match. The Dive Bar was seriously cool despite the playing of bad old rock ballads, and worse.
“Thanks.” Joe did a great hangdog face. Sad eyes. Cranky lines. He had it all.
“I love that you left some of the old band and beer posters up.”
“This place has been the Dive Bar for a long time,” he said, perking up a little. “Used to be owned by our friend’s dad. He was into live music and everything. Started the place in the late seventies, I think.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah. Andre Senior was a real local icon.” He tipped his chin in the general direction of the bar. “Used to encourage people to cut their initials into the bar. We just shined it up a little and sealed it over. The area behind the bar needed some major work, though.”
Neat shelves full of liquor bottles covered the wall with a line of beer and cider taps below. All of it nicely lit by hidden down lights.
“The old man went through a nasty velvet wallpaper and mirrored tile stage,” said Joe. “Took me ages to get all of that shit pulled down.”
“Tell me the tiles were on the ceiling.”
“All over it. And in the women’s bathroom. But not the men’s.”
I shook my head. “Sounds very bordello chic.”
“Sure, if you’re into early eighties porn.”
“Bow-chicka-wow-wow.”
“Exactly.” He grinned, the tension easing a little from his big shoulders.
Weird, when he relaxed I did the same, opening up a little. Even sort of smiling back at him, shock-horror. If only he hadn’t lied. On the other hand, we’d have never met if he hadn’t. Because the man was right, I wouldn’t have picked him off the dating site. Blond, beardy, and big were not my thing. Or they never used to be. Guess I’d never hung around long enough for personality to become the biggest lure.
“More wine?” asked Eric, appearing beside our table with a dewy bottle and a smooth smile. The man was just too handsome. However, at the moment, nothing inside me stirred at the sight of him. Neither my sex nor my emotions displayed any interest.
“Will you please just get us the fucking beers we asked for?” said Joe through gritted teeth, a flash of savagery in his eyes.
I bit back a smile.
Ever so gently, the bartender kicked him in the shin. “Mind your language in front of your date, bro.”
Joe rubbed a hand across his face.
“Got to say, I’m a little surprised to see you still here, Alex,” said Eric, in a less than warm tone. God knows what his problem was.
“Heading home tomorrow,” I said. “Flight booked and everything.”
Eric nodded and inspected my mostly still full flute of bubbles. “You’re not drinking?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Champagne has never really been my thing.”
Slowly, Eric shook his head. “You disappoint me. But okay. I’ll get the beers.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“I’ll help.” Joe pushed back his seat, giving me a grim, distinctly unhappy smile. “Back in a moment.”
Another nod from me.
Oh, lovely. The couple hanging over by the bar were dancing. How sweet. Not so far away from them, Eric and Joe seemed to be having a heated conversation. It involved quite a bit of gesturing. First Joe pointed at the unlit lightbulbs dangling artfully from the ceiling, then at the bottle of champagne abandoned on top of the bar. Next Joe gave Vaughan still crooning away onstage a middle finger salute. It only made the guitarist grin. Eric just shrugged at his cranky bearded brother and pointed toward the kitchen.