8. Bridger
8
brIDGER
H er entire body tenses as I drop onto the stool beside her.
And not in the good way.
Saige Reiser is bracing for this interaction—something about my general presence setting her off like it does every time I see her.
“Bridger, your set list is on point tonight,” Vienna says, offering me an olive branch. I’d met her sister in Magnolia Point and, by default, had gained Vienna as a friend in Love Beach.
“Thanks,” I tell her with a smile. “I’m trying for a certain vibe.”
“The vibe is definitely vibing.” She nods as Isaac, the owner and current bartender, slides me a glass of sweet tea.
Thanking Isaac, I take a sip and wait patiently as Saige turns on the stool toward me. “Do you have to sit so close?”
“Sorry,” I say even though we both know I’m not. “You’re looking particularly fierce and knowledgeable today. I bet you sold a house, didn’t you?”
Her eyes widen just a little, those dark green pools a flash of surprise before they narrow. “Why would you ask that?”
“Two reasons,” I say slowly, hoping like hell I’m not wrong. “I could have said you look hot tonight— sexy probably would have gotten a knee to my junk.”
Vienna snorts and Saige glares at her. “Do not encourage him,” she hisses before turning back to me. “I haven’t kneed anyone in the balls since junior prom. What’s the second reason?”
Good to know.
“You’re dressed for a casual night out, but your heels scream ‘I’m a badass and I fucked shit up today.’”
“He’s good,” Vienna murmurs, staring at Saige’s stilettos.
“No, he’s not good,” Saige growls, her leg brushing against mine. My entire body feels like it’s on fire from that single touch, but she barely even reacts. “You can’t tell how my day went by my shoes.”
“Did you sell a house today?” I ask, leaning into her enough to crowd her.
“The buyer accepted our offer, yes.”
“You sold a house today and you didn’t tell me?!” Vienna barks, slapping her palm against the surface of the bar.
“I do lots of things without telling you,” Saige replies, not taking her eyes off me. “Why are you keeping tabs on me?”
Because I’m trying desperately for you to not think I’m some fuckboy in a band even though you’re still so far out of my league.
“Because you’re impressive as hell and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.” It takes everything in me not to let my gaze drop to her lips. “I have to get back.”
“Don’t let me keep you, Band Camp.” She tries to say the words flippantly but doesn’t quite pull it off, the inflection in her voice giving me the slightest bit of hope that I could have a chance.
And that’s all I need…a chance.
I’ve spent most of my life with the odds against me, and I’ve found that the things I’ve accomplished in those times are the ones I’m most proud of.
Giving her another slow grin, I stand from the barstool, our proximity forcing her to lean back as I do. She’s annoyed but maybe also a little turned on. That might just be wishful thinking on my part, but I’m not going to let it dampen my mood.
Grabbing my guitar, I strum the chords and lick my lips as “Galway Girl” echoes in the bar. It’s not one I play often but it feels right. Because tonight, it feels like I might lose more than my heart to my own dark-haired girl.