Broken Little Melodies(36)
Rolling my eyes, I start for the walnut bar lined with young frat boys and old drunkards. To be fair, Vinnie’s isn’t really a shit-hole, I just hate the fact that I spend a majority of my life serving drinks to people with better lives. Though it’s far from Lower Manhattan where hipster hangouts are more common, the exposed brick walls and chandeliers among the smell of spilled beer and popcorn remind me of something you’d see in East Village, only with the vibe of a whorehouse. Whenever the place is packed, you can count on patrons of any age looking to hook up. Nights like those you can count on the aroma of STDs and regret.
Pulling on my damp shirt, I scan the moderately busy crowd. I need booze. Not just to cool my head, but to forget and lessen the pain. The darkest memories of losing the only man I’ve loved never stay away for long when I’m sober, and they haunt me the most after I put my heart into a performance.
Chaz, my business partner of the last three years, slips into an open stool as I settle in behind the bar to line up shot glasses. He flashes me the kind of charming grin I once fell for when I was dumb enough to let my guard down for more than ten seconds. He wasn’t exaggerating when he described himself as ridiculously good-looking, which was another part of the reason I once caved and agreed to go back to his apartment. It was hard to make a rational decision once his shirt was off and he was blinding me with all those tight abs and intricate designs inked into his tanned skin.
It’s possible we could’ve had something meaningful if I had only bared myself to him. He’s not just a pretty face—he has real talent and cares about me. But there’s no chance in hell I’ll open myself up to anyone ever again. The complex scars marring my heart and face won’t allow it.
Vinnie, the bar’s namesake who originally only hired me because he thought he’d get laid, sidles up at my side to bump fists with Chaz. “Solid set tonight.”
“Are you referring to the new drummer’s fuck-up in the second song, or my flat riff toward the end of that epic finale?” I snarl. “Vinne, I think you might be tone deaf.”
Mumbling to himself about bitchy employees, my boss slinks away.
Chaz rubs his forehead, laughing merrily. His rumbling voice could easily have him mistaken as Jason Sudeikis. He vaguely shares the same physical attributes as the comedian when he goes without shaving for a few days and legitimately tries to be funny. His eyes dance with amusement when he asks, “When are you going to stop being a dick to the audience, and your band mates, and your boss, and virtually anyone who breathes air?”
Snorting, I pour tequila into each of the shot glasses before pushing one his way. “Maybe when the audience consists of more than the regulars who have nothing better to do because they’re already here, my boss stops trying to put the moves on me, and my band mates quit thinking they’re charming assholes when they say stupid shit about me being a dick.”
Chaz covers his heart with both hands. “Ouch. Babe. You’re so…tense these days. Maybe it would help if you tried something other than vocal exercises to get you warmed up before a show.”
When his eyebrows wiggle suggestively, it takes all I can do not to splash tequila in his face. Instead I wolf the shot down and reach for another. “Oh, Chaz. If I was foolish enough to give into your flirtatious banter a second time, what else would you do for a hobby?”
“You…every night for the rest of our lives.” For a moment he chuckles at his own tacky joke, then he leans forward and wraps his fingers around my wrist. “Think about it, Is. You’re so busy trying to make the band a success while busting your ass behind this bar and giving out free lessons that you don’t have time for anything else. We’re already together nearly every day—you could move into my apartment. I can make you truly happy, sweetheart. You know I can. We’ve made kick ass music together before, and I don’t mean just on stage. Just think of the beautiful little melodies we could create if you opened your heart to me.”
I release a nasally laugh. “Holy shit. I think that may have been the cheesiest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth. Don’t even think about asking me to write that into a song.”
His thick eyebrows lower. “I’m dead serious, Is. I don’t know what asshole broke your heart—”
“How did my fucking heart come into this conversation?” I snap, pulling my wrist from his warm grip. My hand trembles as I pour myself another shot. I can’t afford to lose Chaz as a friend simply because he believes we could be something more. Relationships with promises of love and devotion are bullshit. A facade to justify our existence on this earth. Besides, anything more than friendship would only get in the way of our band’s eventual success.