2. Presley
Chapter 2
Presley
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, smoothing out my platinum-blonde hair that blends into various shades of purple. A little over seven months ago, my hairdresser in the city talked me into the change, saying it would go perfect with my complexion and sleeve of black-and-gray floral tattoos that cover my left arm. She was right.
At the time, this hair made me feel more like a version of me that was brave, like a woman on the brink of something new. Like the girl I was in college who dared to dream big and be edgy. Like a woman who took risks.
Now…now, this hair just makes me stick out like a sore thumb. Paired with my tattoos, it says, Look at me! I’m different! Which isn’t great when you chose to move to a small Texas town whose population of under six thousand people could fit into a small stadium.
I shake out the nerves in my body then look into my blue eyes staring back at me in the mirror. “You can do this, Presley. You’ve played shows all over the South! Stop being like this. This is just bartending, for crying out loud!”
I huff out a breath and try to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. This is the tenth pep talk I’ve given myself in the last ten minutes, and none of them have worked. It’s silly that I feel so scared to go tend bar when only last month I was playing fiddle to a crowd of thousands. But playing fiddle and being around new people in a new town are two completely different things. Not to mention, I live here now and want to make a good first impression.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
I jump, hand flying to my chest as I remember that I’m not in the comfort of the tiny little guest house I rented three days ago on the Delgados’ ranch. I’m at my new bartending job for my first shift, the very one where I’m trying to make a good first impression.
“Everything okay in there?” a deep voice booms from outside. The voice sounds like Jake’s, the man who hired me. I believe he owns Night Hawk, but I’m not quite sure. All I know is he’s my hot boss and he’s the one who hired me with only a phone interview. Who even does that these days? I thought he’d at least want to meet me once, but nope.
“Hello?” he asks again.
Crap. I look in the mirror one more time and decide I look okay, I guess. Not that I ever think I necessarily look good, especially in uniforms. Thankfully, this one is a black T-shirt with Night Hawk’s logo on it and a black waist apron to match. I’m also wearing a pair of high-waisted dark-wash jeans that hug my very full heart-shaped butt and keep my generous stomach tucked tight, a must-have for me after the years of my ex-boyfriend and now ex-bandmate, Derek, pointing out the things he didn’t like about my body.
With a final sweep of my favorite lip gloss over my downturned lips and a deep breath, I open the door to a very concerned-looking Jake.
“You okay?” he asks, his dark chestnut eyes boring into mine from beneath the brim of a red cowboy hat. I bite the inside of my cheek. He’s gorgeous . Tall, broad, dark, and handsome. But more importantly, from my limited experience, he’s super nice, something I’m not used to anymore.
Between Derek, my band, and the years I’ve spent trying to navigate the music industry, I’ve become jaded, often assuming the people I meet are only nice to get something from me or for show. But so far, Jake hasn’t given me a reason to believe any of those things about him. He seems genuine, a trait I’d forgotten exists.
It also helps that he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know where I’m from or that I play fiddle. He doesn’t know that my mom and I haven’t spoken in five years or that my fifteen-year-old half-sister doesn’t even know that I’m a musician. He doesn’t know that my boyfriend of five-and-a-half years cheated on me and then dumped me this past Valentine’s Day because he felt like I “no longer cared” about myself. Derek told me he wanted his girlfriend to put effort not only into her own looks but also into him and his needs.
Moreover, Jake doesn’t know that I gave up the opportunity of a lifetime four days ago, the kind of opportunity that I’ve been working toward since before I even graduated from Berklee College of Music when I was twenty-two. All those massive dreams of making it big as a fiddle player, and I’d said no.
He doesn’t know any of that—and hopefully, he never will. Because I never plan to tell him. I’m going to come here, do my job, go to my little guest house during the day, and try to figure out what the hell I plan to do with my life and music career.
Jake clears his throat, one of his dark eyebrows lifting as he continues to stare at me. That’s when I realize I still haven’t said anything. Great job, Presley. Way to make a good first impression.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. I was having a slight wardrobe malfunction.”
Jake doesn’t stop his gaze from moving down my form before he looks into my eyes again. “Do you need a different uniform? I think I have more in the back.”
I shake my head. The lie I made up was silly at best. “Nope, all good to go now. Sorry I took so long.”
He stares at me for another beat before he nods then waves at me to follow him down the small bathroom hallway toward the main room. “I’ll show you around before Gavin gets in. You’ll shadow him at the bar tonight and help him with anything he needs. Eventually, if you feel comfortable, you can start helping customers on your own.”
“Great.”
“Oh!” He snaps his fingers, stopping once we reach the bar top. “Kade will be in tonight. It’s his first night back teaching line dancing after a little hiatus, so it’s going to be a packed house. Just a fair warning.”
“Thanks.” I smile.
“I know you said on the phone you have some experience bartending, but as I mentioned, the city folk can get a little handsy and demanding. Especially when we get busy and they have to wait to be served.”
City folk . His verbiage makes me want to laugh. When I thought about where I would go after I made maybe the dumbest decision of my life earlier this week, I never would have dreamed I’d end up in Randall, Texas. But as I doom-scrolled through social media with a ninety-nine-cent meat stick in my hand from the mini-mart and tears streaking down my face, I came across a shirtless man on a mechanical bull. He was cute—and too young for me but old enough—so I stopped to take a closer look.
It was then I realized it was an ad for a job as a bartender, a smart way to get people’s attention, if you ask me. When I looked it up, I saw it was only a couple of hours away. Far enough that I could pretend the city didn’t exist but not far enough that I had to worry about moving to a different state or changing my driver’s license. It too meant I didn’t have to deal with the anxiety of figuring out how to pay for expensive big-city apartments or how to make my meager savings last for more than a couple of weeks.
“I can handle people from the city,” I say.
Jake eyes me, his gaze discerning. “You from there?”
I swallow, my throat now dry. I was born in a suburb outside of Dallas then moved to another suburb called Lynn with my mom and her new husband, Greg, after my parents divorced when I was five. They still live in that same suburb, in the same house, and my dad lives in California with a girlfriend that is half his age whose name I don’t know. But I don’t want to tell Jake that.
“Yeah,” I say instead. “I look like it, don’t I?”
He chuckles, a warm sound that reminds me of a nice hug. “If you get yourself a pair of cowboy boots and a hat, maybe some worn jeans, you’ll fit in better.”
I answer with a smile instead of commenting on how cliché that would be. At least the people in this town are real cowboys and ranchers, unlike the people I came across playing gigs at bars and clubs in different cities who like to play pretend. I’ll have to order a pair of cheap boots or see if the Delgados’ daughter, Lyla, has an extra pair for my wide calves and size-nine feet. But I imagine getting quick shipping to a town like this isn’t a thing. I should also be saving my money, not spending it on something to help me blend in.
I hold back a sigh. All these thoughts have me annoyed at myself for not packing better. I have boots and a hat among my belongings somewhere in Derek’s storage unit, but my exodus and new life here in Randall wasn’t exactly well-thought-out.
“Well, then, I guess I don’t need to explain city folk to you,” Jake says. “Most of the people are fine, but when we get bachelor parties, the men can get kind of rowdy. The bachelorette parties do, too, but most of our bartenders don’t care if they get handsy—especially Kade.” He smiles to himself like he just told a funny inside joke.
“I can handle myself,” I affirm. And that’s the truth. If I can handle Derek getting drunk after shows and acting like a fool at three am, then I’m not worried.
“If anyone gets to be too much, yell for me, Kade, Gavin, or Stu. We’re the crew that works most weekends,” Jake says.
“I can do that. ”
Jake gestures to the long bar top we’re standing in front of. It’s placed along the wall near the back so I can see the entire layout of Night Hawk, from the small stage and dance floor to the padded mechanical bull pen. The place isn’t huge, but it’s large enough to fit a couple hundred people and has the kind of kitschy country charm that makes me smile. There are even peanut shells on the floor that crunch beneath my feet when I walk.
“Typically, Gavin will work the right side of the bar and Stu will work the left. If I’m not in the back doing paperwork, I’ll take the tables or sub for Gavin when the mechanical bull is running. When Kade is here, if he’s not teaching line dancing, he goes where he’s needed, floating between tables, the bar, and sometimes, the bull. Once you get the hang of the place, I’ll float you as well. But as I mentioned earlier, tonight you’ll shadow Gavin, and he’ll direct you.”
“Got it,” I say, awkwardly giving a thumbs-up to the information. Jake looks at my thumb, the ghost of a smile teasing at the corner of his lips. I try not to blush with embarrassment at my weird reactions to things.
With my anxiety and the aftereffects of Derek’s constant belittling, I’m not that great with people. I know how to turn on a certain set of social skills, especially when I’m onstage playing or when I get comfortable with someone, but one-on-one with new people or in new group settings? I get awkward. Especially with people I’m trying to impress. Thankfully, Jake brushes off my awkwardness and continues to show me around.
“That right there,” he says, pointing to a brown-and-white spotted mechanical bull, “is our pride and joy, Tornado.”
“Fitting name.” I grin.
“Thanks. He makes us a lot of money—he’s the whole reason we’ve even got all these wedding parties coming here. Well, that and the shirtless mechanical bull riding my friend, Blake, convinced us to add in once a month. ”
“Smart,” I say, trying to make conversation and be a normal person.
“That she is. The bull already was bringing in a big crowd, but add in shirtless cowboys, and now we’re at capacity almost every weekend.”
“That’s great.”
“It’s why we needed the extra help and why I’m grateful you applied so quickly. It’s hard to find consistent workers in such a small town. Most of the folks here already have their hands full with their own ranches and family businesses.”
“Thanks for hiring me with the limited experience I have.”
He tips the brim of his cowboy hat. “It’s easy work, though it can get overwhelming.” He pauses after he says that, probably thinking about how awkwardly I’ve presented myself since I walked through the door. “Any questions, come find me.”
When a concerned look returns to his face, I know he’s definitely thinking about it. I mentally smack myself for being so weird; I know I can present myself better. I did on the phone interview, though I didn’t have to look him in the eye for that. I was also running on pure adrenaline after deciding to leave the band. I was highly motivated to get a job and get out of the city quickly.
I plaster a smile on my face. “I will.” Though I know I won’t. I’ll work through anything I feel on my own, like I always do. I’m determined not to make a fool of myself further and keep this job, at least until I figure out what to do next.
Jake opens his mouth to say something else but gets cut off by the sound of a door opening. I turn my head toward the entrance and see two cowboys walk in. Even in the dim light and the glow of neon signs, I recognize one of the men right away. He’s the one I saw riding the mechanical bull shirtless—the whole reason I found this job and why I’m here right now.
“You need to take it easy, Kade,” the taller one says in a strained voice .
The one apparently called Kade doesn’t look back at the man as he says, “You’re not my babysitter, big brother. I’m fine. For the last time, lay off.”
“I’m not trying to babysit you, I’m—”
“Like hell,” he spits, spinning to shove his finger into his purported brother’s chest. They both stop, glaring at each other. I start to get uncomfortable. They must not realize they have an audience because they’re too focused on whatever is going on between them.
“I’m just trying to talk with you,” the man says to Kade. When he goes to say something else, Jake clears his throat loudly. The two men both turn their heads at the sound, finally noticing us standing a few feet away from them. There’s no music on yet, and we’re the only ones here, so the silence is deafening.
“Gentleman,” Jake says in a deep, authoritative tone. “Our new bartender is here.”
Kade, having only made eye contact with Jake, steps back from his brother and, without another word, stalks off toward the door behind the bar that leads to the storage area and Jake’s office. He flings it open, the top of his buckskin cowboy hat disappearing behind the now swinging door.
“Sorry about that,” the tall cowboy says after a heavy pause. He removes the black hat from atop his head, revealing short sandy-blond hair and deep green eyes that would make any woman swoon. He takes a step toward me, his bowed lips drawn into a tight smile. He looks embarrassed at whatever it was I witnessed but tries his best to remove the evidence of it from his square features.
“Nice to meet you; I’m Gavin,” he drawls, holding out his hand.
Not usually one for handshaking, I force myself to extend my arm so I don’t come off as rude.
“Nice to meet you.” Our palms meet, and his grip is strong, but it only lasts a few seconds before he’s pulling back and planting his hat back on his head.
“You’ll have to forgive my brother’s behavior.” His warm voice vibrates in the space between us, but there’s a sadness in his eyes as he says it. “He usually has better manners.”
Jake lets out a huff that tells me he doesn’t agree. Gavin glares at him, and I shift on my feet, feeling even more out of place. It’s always weird being the person that doesn’t have the inside info.
I stuff my hands in my apron pockets. “It’s alright.”
Gavin clears his throat, and then silence cocoons us once more. My brain tries to think of something to say, but now I’m thinking of Kade storming off and remembering the tail end of the argument I witnessed. It was charged, and by the way they were speaking to each other, I felt as if this was a normal occurrence for them. It reminded me of how Derek and I used to fight.
A chill runs up my spine, and I squash my curiosity. I don’t need to get involved. I need to keep my head down and stay out of other people’s business. I don’t want more drama in my life. I came to Randall to get away from it, not find it.
Maybe a small town was a bad choice, then.
“What did you say your name was?”
Gavin’s timbre breaks through my thoughts, and blood rushes to my cheeks. Crap, I didn’t tell him my name. Two points now for awkward first impressions. Not that it’s worse than Gavin and Kade’s dramatic entrance.
“I didn’t. And it’s Presley.”
He smiles at my name. I know he’s wondering the usual questions. “Were you named after Elvis?” “Were your parents big fans?” “Is that a nickname you picked?” And the answer is no to all of them. My mom doesn’t even like Elvis, and my dad didn’t like the name. Unfortunately, Presley is a product of Mom going into early labor and Dad being out of town on business. She heard Elvis on the radio in the cab ride to the hospital, and it was all she could think of when they asked for a name.
It’s stupid, but I’ve grown to love my name. It’s unique and stands out, something a person needs in the music industry. I also happen to love Elvis, so I guess that’s a win for me. Hooray…
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Presley.”
“Likewise.”
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his Wranglers and glances at Jake. “Can I talk to you in the back for a second?”
Jake’s eyes bounce between us, and he stays silent for a moment before he says, “Sure thing. Presley, you can scope out the place for a few minutes. If you want, hop out back to get a little fresh air. It’s going to be a long night.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I’m going to have to work hard tonight to make a better and less-awkward impression on my new boss if I want to keep this job.
Jake continues, “Once Gav and I are done, I’ll send him out to show you the ropes.”
I nod. “Sounds good.”
Both men smile warmly at me before they walk toward the door Kade stormed through a few minutes before. I take a brief moment to look around the bar and expel a tense breath.
In the silence, my thoughts and anxiety become louder, like pots and pans clanging around in my brain. It leaves me wondering if coming here was a good idea.
You can do this, Presley. You can do this.