Chapter Five
· Adriana ·
“How long do you think they can keep that up before they need to come up for air?” I tilted my head, blinking at the corner table in the saloon, where Noah and Esra had been kissing for the better part of the evening.
“I don’t know. Do you want to bet on it?” Lucas wiggled his brows like a cartoon character.
“Nope, thanks.” I was still hurting from the two busted tires, so I wasn’t gambling anytime soon.
A bunch of staff members had a constant betting pool going, putting prices on anything remotely interesting happening in Bravetown.
That, bi-weekly trivia nights, and an ongoing game of theme park bingo (I was one influencer couple proposal away from “bingo”) kept work at the park interesting.
Even with new tourists in every day, the repetitiveness could drive you insane.
The same questions for directions, the same old-timey Western jokes, and the same customer complaints because this wasn’t a five-star resort.
“Ah…honeymoon stage…must be nice,” he sighed.
I snorted. “Nice? Dude, you’re one mishap away from becoming a walking STD awareness campaign.”
“First of all, I’m careful and I get tested regularly. I fuck around responsibly.” He leveled me with an unimpressed glare across the bar counter. “And I’ve decided that I’m settling down. I’m going to get myself a girlfriend. I’m still working on the new Annie Lou.”
Pretty Annie Lou was the resident damsel in distress usually played by Esra, walking around the park and greeting guests before being kidnapped during the big shoot-out show.
Renee had hired a new understudy this summer, and I wasn’t surprised that Lucas was crushing on her.
Being pretty was literally in the job description.
“Have you even talked to her? Do you know her name?” Not that I knew it. It had been around two weeks since Brooks had played at the Rattlesnake, and most of the town had eased up on me, but the new girl hadn’t even shown up to the concert. She kept to herself a lot. I couldn’t fault her for that.
“I’m working on it.”
“Jesus, Lucky, do you actually have a crush? You would have usually tapped that by now.”
“Hey now,” he began to reply, but his focus drifted past me, his mouth going slack. He was either having a stroke or the new Annie Lou actress had just shown up in a see-through dress. For his sake, I hoped it was the latter.
I turned. And froze.
Neither stroke nor nip slip had stunned Lucas into silence. Brooks strolled past tables, turning heads and drawing whispers behind him like a tail. He carried his hat in his hand and trained his hazel eyes on me.
“Oh, oh my god. You, you’re…” Lucas stammered when Brooks casually took the seat beside him.
“Yes, hi.” Brooks gave him that stupidly dazzling stage smile that curved his mustache and crinkled around his eyes just so. He wielded that specific smile like a sword and Lucas was struck down by it. Or at least silenced.
Brooks. Here. At my bar.
I blinked at the two men sitting side by side.
Lucas had one of those faces that was almost too polished, given character by a nose that was a little too large for his features, and shoulders and arms meticulously worked into shape.
His TikTok had blown up with good reason.
But next to Brooks, he looked like a boy.
Theoretically, Brooks’s face was all sharp lines from his thick arched brows, over the high cheekbones to his sharply contoured nose, but it was softened by smile lines and deep grooves in his cheeks where his dimples lived.
The charisma he exuded with one of those smiles could outshine every single thirst trap on Lucky’s profile.
I was pretty sure half the reason people were nicer to me was that they had experienced Brooks’s magnetic pull firsthand now.
Hard to resist when someone like that started taking an interest in your music career.
Even harder to keep your cool when they showed up after your career went up in flames, and now you were wearing a Western costume and working a saloon bar. “What the actual ever-loving fuck are you doing here?”
“Charming,” Brooks chuckled.
“How the hell did you even get in here?” I bristled. “This is the staff section.”
He furrowed his brow, clearly picking up on my plummeting mood. He still replied matter-of-factly: “Very few people stop me from going anywhere, to be honest with you.”
“I should make Terry kick you out. Maybe it’s time someone taught Brooks Monroe what rules are.” Okay, I was being bitchy but I couldn’t stop myself. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He should have given me a heads-up if he was coming back to town. He wasn’t supposed to see me like this.
I’d told him that I worked at the saloon.
I’d conveniently left out that I was a costumed bartender.
Not that there was anything generally wrong with the job, but Brooks had believed in my music.
He’d opened doors for me. So when we’d been planning his gig here, and I’d done everything that a booker at any music venue would do, I hadn’t specified that I actually handled dirty glassware for a living now.
I didn’t want to disappoint him like that.
Why on earth was he back here anyway? We hadn’t seen each other in three years and now twice in two weeks!
“Let’s not waste Terry’s time like that. I actually got a special pass, so I’m allowed to be here.”
“Fine. What do you want? Still bourbon neat?” I clonked a glass down in front of him.
“No, I just wanted to talk to you, actually.”
“I’m on the clock.” I poured him the drink anyway. At least that let me pretend like I was working and not just talking to Lucas because it was a slow night at the saloon.
“What’s going on, Addie?”
“Nothing,” I lied and swiveled around. “I need to check on something in the back.”
“Addie—”
I pushed through the door behind the bar as heat spread on my cheeks and my chest tightened. I beelined for the large refrigerator. The cool air engulfed me but did nothing to calm my nerves. Each breath came faster, shallower.
The memories of every single encouragement, every time Brooks had complimented my music, every event he’d taken me to, slammed into me like a fist. He’d done so much. He’d cared so much.
The chance of a lifetime, and I’d fucked it all up.
“Adriana?” Brooks had followed me, caught somewhere between puzzled and concerned.
Without the bar between us, he had a full view of my entire stupid costume.
Ankle-length skirt and all. The last time we’d truly seen each other for more than a minute, I’d been wearing a tailored designer wardrobe.
Now I looked like I was a background actor on Westworld.
Not even a main character. I was supposed to blend in with the saloon.
Just like the other bartenders and waiters.
I threw the fridge shut and snapped at him, “You are not allowed back here. Saloon staff only!”
To his credit, Brooks didn’t seem fazed by my tone. “Adriana—”
“Get out of my back room,” I cut him off.
He had a great poker face, perfectly trained for the cameras, but he rubbed his hand over his sternum. His tell. Shit, I was really fucking this up. Not even his voice betrayed him, perfectly even, when he said, “I think we should talk. I’ll be in town all day tomorrow.”
“Good for you,” I snapped. Fuck. I’d regret this later. Where other people built walls around themselves, I’d been cursed with a minefield. Too close for comfort and boom!
Brooks hesitated in the doorway. For a moment, he looked as if he’d say something else, but then he left without another word.
The second the door swung shut, I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against the fridge, soaking up the metal’s cold. The mechanical whirring of the machine didn’t help to soothe my racing pulse though.
The door to the back room opened again, and I couldn’t even look up. I couldn’t face him again. “I told you to get the fuck out.”
“It’s me,” Esra said. “Sorry, not your average superstar celebrity.”
I turned my head just enough to catch her sympathetic gaze, my forehead still glued to the appliance. “You’re not supposed to be back here either,” I mumbled, strength deflating.
Instead of responding, she pulled me off the fridge and into a hug. Her arms wrapped tightly around my waist and shoulders. She was stronger than she looked. Squeezed against her, I resisted for just a moment before I allowed the tension to leave my muscles and molded around her like putty.
“What’s that for?” My voice was muffled by her shirt.
“You looked like you needed it.”
“Is that your way of saying I look like shit?”
“Yeah.”
“Amazing.”
“Feel better?” she asked after a few more seconds of tight hugging.
“Huh.” My breathing came a little easier. Like the dust had settled on my minefield. “I actually do.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” She slowly pulled back, hands still on my shoulders. “Hugging has actual physiological benefits, reduced heart rate, lower blood pressure, more balanced cortisol. I’m not just being warm and fuzzy for the sake of it.”
“Okay, smart-ass.” I laughed. She was crazy smart. She’d gone to some fancy college, but she’d chosen Bravetown over a grad program at Yale. I was pretty sure one of her life goals was becoming a quiz-show champion. “Either way, thank you.”
“Of course. So? Do you want to tell me why you turned on bitch mode when Brooksy showed up?”
I may have let that nickname slip. My bad.
“He just surprised me,” I said, “and I don’t like surprises.”
“Bullshit.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and raised her brows.
“Ugh. Fine.” I hated talking about my feelings. They were all tangled up and mushy. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”
“What exactly?”
“Seeing each other again.” I dropped back against the fridge and gestured at my clothes. “I feel like I’m letting him down because I don’t have anything even vaguely resembling a music career.”