Evan was asking Denny, “But why are there bathtubs in every commercial? I don’t get it.” Before Denny could answer, someone approached our table. Looking over, I saw it was Pete, the owner of the bar. While he looked professional in his Pete’s polo and crisp khakis, he also looked worn out, like the stress of life was getting to him. Pete had been really good to me, so I hoped he was okay.
“Guys ready? You’re up in five.” Pete let out a big sigh that did nothing to alleviate the stress on his face.
“You all right, Pete?” I asked, concerned.
“No…Traci quit over the phone, she’s not coming back. I had to have Kate pull a double so we were covered tonight.” His gray eyes narrowed to pinpricks as he glared at me. His expression clearly said, What the hell did you do to my waitress? But I wasn’t to blame for this one. No, the jackass to my left was the instigator this time.
I rolled my head around to glare at Griffin. Traci must have found out that Griffin had slept with her sister, and she was appropriately pissed. Griffin should have known better. Unless they were both in on it and okay with it, you didn’t mess with sisters. Everybody knew that.
And apparently Griffin did know that, for he looked genuinely sheepish as he took a long draw off his beer. “Sorry, Pete.”
Pete could only shake his head in response, ’cause what else could he do? As aggravating as it must be to have us interfering with his staff, Pete needed us. It was kind of a catch-22, and I felt bad for him. I made a mental note to talk to Griffin later. Maybe it was time to make a new band rule—no dating Pete’s employees.
Kiera spoke up then. “I was a waitress. I need to get a job, and working nights would be perfect when school starts.” By the look on her face, she had said it as much to help Pete out as herself. She cared about others. I liked that. More than I should.
Pete gave me a questioning glance. Wanting to help Kiera get the job, I introduced her and Denny so Pete would know they weren’t complete strangers. My stamp of approval wouldn’t go too far, but hopefully it would go far enough. They both needed this.
Pete gave Kiera an appraising glance, but I could tell he was relieved that he’d found someone so fast. “You twenty-one?”
Curious how old she was, I paid attention to her answer. She seemed nervous to give it, or maybe she was just nervous about her impromptu interview. She’d sort of spoken without thinking again. “Yeah, since May.” I smiled. That made her my age. I liked that too.
Pete seemed satisfied with her answer. And I was 99 percent sure she was telling the truth. She just didn’t seem like the type to lie. “All right,” Pete said, a small smile gracing his lips. “I could use the help, and soon. Can you start Monday, six p.m.?”
Kiera glanced at Denny, like she was silently asking for his permission. I figured she was purely being polite. I couldn’t imagine Denny not letting her do whatever she wanted. When he gave her a brief nod and a warm smile, Kiera returned her eyes to Pete. “Yeah, that would be fine. Thank you.”
Pete left just a bit lighter, like some of the weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It made me glad to see it. Turning to Kiera, I told her, “Welcome to the family. Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other now that you’re working at my home away from home.” I gave her a playful smile. “Hopefully you don’t get too sick of me.”
Kiera’s cheeks turned rosy and she quickly brought her beer bottle to her mouth. “Yeah,” she muttered before taking a few long gulps. I laughed at the look on her face, then noticed Denny behind her giving me a slight frown. He fixed his face so fast that I almost thought I’d imagined it. Must have imagined it. Denny and I were tight.
Pete turned on the stage lights and the bar erupted into shrieks. Kiera’s eyes widened at the noise. Standing up, I told her, “Just wait, it’s about to get even louder.”
Evan and Matt scooted away from the table and were making their way toward the stage. Griffin was still sitting, chugging his beer. I flicked his ear, making him jump; a few rivers of alcohol leaked from his mouth to wet his shirt. “Let’s go,” I told him when he glared up at me.
He took another second to finish his bottle, let out a belch that was almost louder than the crowd, then stood up. “Patience, dude. The pipes have to be primed.”
I had to raise an eyebrow at that. Griffin sang backup, true, but he didn’t do that much singing. He was facing the bar and raising his fists in the air like Rocky, so I left him to it and made my way to the stairs. The volume increased with every step I took toward the stage. Matt was prepping the equipment. I clapped his shoulder, then made my way to my microphone. Grabbing the stand, I pulled it up to my mouth. “This thing on?” I murmured in an intentionally low voice.