Chapter 18
Rudy keeps shooting glances in our direction, and I get a nervous feeling in my stomach every time our eyes meet. It almost feels like I’m the one about to perform. Which would be a treat for absolutely no one.
He looks great again tonight: deliciously tousled hair, a white t-shirt with a deep V, a black jacket and matching pants with rips in the knees.
But his eyes . . . Sometimes they look more green than brown and I can hardly wrap my head around it.
Joey! I hear someone call out from a booth near the stage. Your beer’s gonna fall off the stage!
I look over to see who the voice belongs to.
Seems like Joey isn’t tired of Princess Bubblegum just yet since she just ran up to the stage to hand him his beer.
Lauren was soundchecking her drum kit just a moment ago, but now she has her narrowed eyes locked onto the two of them.
And it’s not long before I join Lauren in her annoyance.
Princess Bubblegum didn’t come here alone—she brought Stacey.
There’s honestly nothing wrong with Stacey.
She’s nice, she’s pretty, and she seems like a decent human being, based on the brief interactions we’ve had so far.
I just don’t like the way she’s staring at Rudy.
At all. It’s kind of like Scratch in Ice Age with all his frantic attempts to reach his acorn.
Except, in this case it’s Stacey instead of Scratch and instead of the acorn it’s . . .
I see Rudy walk to the edge of the stage and crouch down so he can hear Stacey more easily. She says something that makes him laugh. Dammit, he’s laughing. I lower my eyes and begin to study our tabletop in great detail.
Jerk.
I hate Stacey.
And I fucking hate the jealousy that’s spreading through my body like a poison.
I’m not stupid. I know I only hate Stacey because I’m feeling jealous.
So the question is: why am I jealous? It’s not like I want anything from Rudy.
I mean, aside from wanting him to abandon his principles and sing Christmas songs to people who make more money in one hour than he can piece together in a month.
He’s not my type. He’s clearly not my type at all.
I don’t fall for young musicians who wear ripped jeans and hate the most wonderful time of the year.
My phone chimes. It’s a text from Sebastian: I’m here. Where are you guys?
I look over my shoulder to see him standing by the door.
His hair is all messy from the strong fall breeze that’s been whipping through the city.
As he brushes a few leaves from his collar, he looks around the bar with a bright smile on his face.
Thankfully, the news of Ed de Vries’s cancellation and our need to hunt for a new location didn’t have any lasting effects on his mood.
Sure, he was pretty disappointed when I first broke the news, but he quickly recovered when I told him I had an even better option—a.k.a. Rudy—up my sleeve.
Sebastian! I call out as I wave him over. Over here!
That move doesn’t only catch Sebastian’s attention, but also that of a certain lead singer.
A piercing squeal fills the air as every person in the room sucks in a sharp breath.
Looking toward the stage, I see that Rudy has dropped his mic to the ground.
And he doesn’t seem interested in picking it up.
While Sebastian casually strolls our way, Rudy’s eyes flash from Sebastian over to me.
His eyes narrow and a grim expression appears on his face.
I get up to greet Sebastian and he gives me a hug. As he wraps his long arms around me, I can almost feel Rudy’s glare burning a hole in the back of my head. When Sebastian lets me go, I notice Patrice is giving me an odd look, too.
Right.
I just hugged our client. Even though we haven’t seen each other since our . . . What was that even? Our coffee date? Coffee meeting? Just a cup of coffee? Either way, I haven’t seen him since.
Sebastian seems oblivious to all of this as he takes a seat. Rudy has picked up his microphone and he’s wiggling it back into the mic stand while he keeps a close eye on us.
What a quirky little bar. Not really my usual scene, Sebastian says.
His gaze lingers on a group of people with enough face piercings to smoothly rob all the local souvenir shops of their entire magnet supply. A disapproving frown appears between his eyebrows before he moves his eyes to the stage instead.
Is this them? he asks. I confirm with a nod.
He looks like he came here straight from work, even though it’s already nine thirty. He’s still wearing a suit and carrying his briefcase.
Lewis couldn’t make it, he says, so I decided to take on this lovely task solo. Can I get you two anything to drink?
This man is such a contrast to the guy on stage who’s now holding his microphone with both hands as he wrings and twists at it.
Sebastian looks like he’s about to meet the king for tea—nothing at all like the kind of guy who would leap into a crowd to be groped by women as they lift him up and float him around over an ocean of people.
Drinks are on us, I quickly reply, getting up from my seat. Beer?
I’d actually love a martini, he replies before turning his full attention to the band, not that they’ve started playing yet. I notice him staring at Lauren. If her expression is anything to go on, she’s still premeditating the murder of Joey’s date.
Iced tea, please, Patrice says. As she follows Sebastian’s gaze, a knowing look appears on her face. She gives me a covert thumbs up, suggesting that he will definitely okay us booking the band based on Lauren’s appearance alone.
The bar is slowly starting to fill up. Some people are showing up straight from their office for a few after-work drinks, others are here just to see Rudy’s band. Those folks try to snag a spot as close to the stage as possible, looks of anticipation on their faces as they watch the band get ready.
Hey! I yell out for the fourth time, trying to flag down a bartender with an impressive moustache.
He keeps overlooking me in favour of people who walked up to the bar well after I did.
He doesn’t hear me. As I try to squash my frustration, I lift up onto my toes to seem at least a little bit taller.
This is how things always go. Even at the movies, I somehow never fail to pick a seat right behind the tallest person in the theatre.
As a result, I see virtually nothing of what’s happening on-screen.
From several minutes of observing him, I’ve concluded that Moustache is a boob guy, but just as I’m contemplating whipping up my shirt for attention, I feel someone come up right behind me.
A lot closer than the average stranger would ever do, despite how busy it is in here.
I turn back slowly to find myself staring straight into Rudy’s hazel eyes.
The intense way he’s looking at me makes my heart skip a beat.
His face is only a breath away from mine as he holds me captive in his gaze.
Who’s that? he asks with a nod toward our table, but never taking his eyes off me.
That? Uh . . . that’s Patrice. My coworker, I reply, breathless.
I’m rarely lost for words, but Rudy’s attitude is screaming, I’m about to mark my turf by peeing a circle around you, and it’s throwing me off completely. I have no idea where this is coming from.
His eyes glide down to my lips. You know exactly who I was talking about. The other one. Mr. Smooth in the slick suit.
I blink a few times. Oh, him. He’s someone I know from work, too.
Hm. His barely-there response tells me I haven’t eased his mind at all, and he already has a follow-up question ready to go. Do all your coworkers grab your ass when you meet up with them?
I . . . What? He didn’t grab my ass, I snap. And even if he had, how would that be any of your business?
He opens his mouth to respond, but he’s interrupted when Joey appears behind him. Yo, are you coming? We’re supposed to go on.
His nostrils flare, then he takes a big inhale and nods. Before turning away, he calls out to the bartender. Hey, Walter, can you help her out over here?
Moustache gives him a thumbs up and Rudy follows Joey back toward the stage. I can’t help but notice the giggles and whispers of the groups of women in the bar as he walks by. These guys must be more popular than I realized.
As I carry our drinks back to the table, the air fills with the sound of Rudy’s voice. Thanks for coming out tonight. We are New Dawn and this is our latest single, Break Select!
And with that, he slams his guitar pick down onto the strings.
The intro hints a bit at Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones, but it doesn’t take long to realize this band has its own distinct vibe.
Everything sounds richer with an edgier undertone.
And once Rudy’s voice enters the equation, I feel the little hairs on my arms stand on end.
New Dawn . . . I mutter, tasting the words on my tongue. I like it.
These guys are great! Enthusiasm leaps from Sebastian’s face as I set his martini down in front of him. They remind me a bit of a band I saw on vacation in Santa Barbara a while back, but the singer is so much better. This guy is seriously talented.
They really are amazing, Patrice agrees, taking a sip of her iced tea. Way to go. She shoots me a grateful smile, relieved that we have a potential live band for the Christmas party in our sights.
Sebastian shakes his head in disbelief. I’m almost glad that Ed guy cancelled on us, he says as he continues to take in the show.
Lauren’s attacking the drums like her life depends on it as her long, sleek hair jerks and sways around her face. She’s seemingly in her own little bubble, filled to the brim with nothing but music. Her eyes are closed as she soaks up every second.
Meanwhile, her twin brother seems to be fuelled by all the screams and whistles coming from the crowd. Their excitement is contagious as he dances across the tiny stage, microphone in hand, guitar slung across his torso.
When Rudy finishes his final note, his voice raw and sexy, Sebastian looks at me, completely elated.
Yes, he says. Absolutely yes. I want this band.
My lips spread into a wide grin and out of the corner of my eye, I can sense Rudy watching me with an unreadable look in his eyes.
I raise my drink and, with a smug smile, I clink it against Sebastian’s martini glass. I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself right about now.
Perfect. Let’s make it happen.