Gone Guy (Sand & Fog Series Book 5) Read online

  I ease back against the booth, arranging my body in a way that conveys I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. “What are you pissed off about, Hugh? If what you say is true, I’m the one who got brushed off. You’ve gotten your way thanks to me. You wanted to talk to the drummer and I just offered to buy him a drink. He’s probably going to have his ass parked in our booth before we get our beers. Relax. We’re not leaving yet.”

  Chapter Five

  Willow

  I PLANT A FAST kiss on the cook’s face. “Thanks for firing up the grill for me, Skip.”

  “No problem, Willow. But you’ve gotta learn to say no to people or they’ll walk all over you, girl.”

  I lift my tray made heavy with four plates of Mel’s fabulous cheeseburgers and fries, a specialty of Dad’s we’re known for. I should probably have asked the guys what they wanted and not decided for them. But it’d been a push having the kitchen reopened for one last order. If Jade had found out I was doing this, she’d have stopped it.

  Skip starts scrubbing the grill, the second time tonight.

  “This is the last time I ask you to reopen the kitchen after it’s been shut down. I promise,” I assure him.

  He makes a slight shake of the head, his gleaming gaze fixing on mine, and I can see he’s not buying it. “He better be worth it.”

  I flush. How did he know it was for a guy who made my knees weak with a single glance?

  Skip grins. “Willow, you have a soft spot for every stray dog who wanders in here. The locals know when we stop serving. Let me guess, he’s young, good-looking, flirted with you, and not from around here.”

  I pout, but the color on my face heats because Skip’s right. “Won’t happen again,” I repeat. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head, and my lips curl farther downward. “It won’t!”

  “Get out of here, girl. Serve that order while it’s hot. Those are the best Mel’s Monster Burgers I’ve cooked all night.”

  They are making my mouth water. “What is that I’m smelling?”

  “Mushrooms, sautéed onions, black pepper, and a touch of blue cheese mixed with the spread on the roll.”

  “Sounds wonderful. Maybe we should add it as a menu option.”

  “Mel won’t ever allow that. Your dad hasn’t changed the menu in twenty-five years. ‘Why mess with success?’ is what he always says whenever I suggest we modernize it.”

  I carefully balance my tray as I push against the swinging doors with my back. A blast of noise greets me, and my eyes widen.

  There’s hardly a spare inch of space in the bar. People are on their feet, and it’s like a giant wall of bodies between the counter and the dance floor.

  What the heck is going on in here? Maybe it’s the music that’s got everyone so fired up. I’ve never heard Ivy’s brother’s band wail that way before. I can’t imagine why they don’t; the room has a whole new level of intensity to it.

  I head toward the bar to grab four ales.

  Jade tosses the rag she was wiping the counter with and glares at me. “Damn it, Willow. You had Skip cook another order? If he clocked back in, we now have to pay him overtime. The kitchen closes at ten for a reason.”

  My face burns. I didn’t think of that. I crinkle my nose. “Sorry. Can you get me four beers?”

  “What table is this for?” she asks.

  “The four frat boys from California stirring things up here,” I hear Ivy grumble before she drops her tray on the bar beside me.

  My brows crinkle from the way she said California, like it’s the worst place in the world. “What makes you think they’re from California?”

  She pushes back her hair from her brow with her forearm. “Checked their IDs. Last two hours of the shift and we get Billionaire Boys’ Club at Mel’s, insulting everyone as that one with phony British accent acts like he owns the place and flashes hundred dollar bills around. God, I hate bored guys from Southern California. There’s just something wrong with them.”

  Ivy always sounds like she’s above every guy who walks into the bar, and as if she’s always right about everything, as if she’s lived a lot longer than I have, which in contrast makes me the naïve one, but she’s only five years older than me.

  “And, Jade, get them water. They’re all underage,” Ivy snaps.

  Jade’s mouth scrunches up as, double handed, she fills glasses with ice, then repeats, before filling them with water.

  “They’re not all from California,” I point out. “The cute one’s from the UK.”

  “If you believe that, then I’ve got a bridge to sell you,” Ivy taunts. “He’s just putting on an act because he thinks it makes him irresistible, which it doesn’t. Well, to everyone but Willow here.”

  Jade sets the waters on my tray. “Is he why you blew off Dean for later tonight?”

  As I grab silverware and condiments for the table, I rebuke Jade with my eyes. “He wasn’t even here when I texted Dean I was busy tonight.”

  Now they’re both glaring at me.

  “It’s the truth,” I insist hotly.

  Ivy studies me while sucking on her lower lip. The sound is grating. “Got to let her make her own mistakes, Jade. Maybe then she’ll learn.”

  Thanks, Ivy. Way to take sides with my sister and insult your friend.

  “I’m not about to do anything of the kind. Four guys were hungry. I got them dinner. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Like always.”

  Ivy gapes. “Is that so? And that the cute one was all handsy and flirty with you has nothing to do with anything.”

  How does she know he was handsy and flirty? “Yes!”

  “You opened the kitchen for him, didn’t you?” Jade counters.

  With the hamburgers between us it’d be pointless to deny that. “Where’s your Capitol Hill hospitality? I thought we were supposed to be nicer than people from California.”

  Ivy makes a face. “We are nicer, but try being smarter, too. Mark my words, that guy’s trouble. The faster we get him out of here, the better it is for all of us.”

  I roll my eyes. “You got all that from a driver’s license?”

  “Nope, he didn’t have fake ID like the rest of them,” Ivy replies. “Probably too broke to buy one—”

  “I thought he was flashing hundreds,” I interrupt.

  “Look how fast she defends him, Ivy. Yep, he’s her next mistake. And duh, Willow. A guy who flashes money never has money,” my sister points out in her oh-so-superior way. “Didn’t you ever listen to anything Mom said?”

  “And I didn’t need to see his ID,” Ivy finishes her sentence without missing a beat. “There’s been nothing but trouble in this bar since he walked through the door. Smart mouthed. Rude to everyone.”

  Nothing but trouble? What’s Ivy talking about? The place is packed and the room jumping like I’ve never seen before. The crowd is double the size it was a half hour ago, and it’s almost closing. By any standards this is a good night, and I’m sure when we tally the receipts the best Block Party Week Friday we’ve ever had.

  “You should have heard the shit he said to my brother while they were talking,” Ivy continues, leaning closer into Jade. “It’s amazing Joey didn’t punch him. The jerk acted like he’s God’s gift to music and important or something. Blah, blah, blah. Such a bunch of bullshit. We’re looking for a drummer, mate. Would you be interested in the gig? Then insulting the rest of the guys, telling them they needed music lessons. Then when the boys began their last set, he stood on a table, clutching his heart and shouting, ‘Put me out of me fucking misery. You don’t play another man’s anthem unless you know how to play.’ Flashing his smile, thinking that’s going to keep a fight from breaking out. Now he’s on stage playing lead guitar, schooling them on how that song should be played as if he’s Alan fucking Manzone himself. You can count on it. There’s going to be a fight here before we shut the doors.”

  “Go into the kitchen, Ivy. Ask Skip to stay. We
don’t have a bouncer and we might need him later.” Jade’s gaze moves to me like a laser. “Can you please tell me what it is about guys like that you find so appealing?”

  The color moves from my cheeks down my neck. I’ve had about all of this I want to listen to. Both my sister and my best friend like nothing more than to be critical of any guy I show an interest in. And jeez, I don’t even know his name yet. As for him being trouble, I don’t see any evidence of that. Everyone looks really caught up in whatever the Brit’s doing on stage.

  I take my tray from the counter, carefully lifting to balance it on one hand before I weave my way through the customers. Shouting “excuse me” with every step, it’s almost impossible to get through the throng on the edge of the dance floor.

  A broad back stops what looked like a neat hole to slip through, and I tap the guy’s shoulder. “Please, can I get by? I have an order here.”

  “Oh, sorry. My boy’s tearing it up on stage.”

  “Your boy?”

  A face turns to me and I recognize the short, wiry blond as one of the three with the Brit. “Eric. He’s a tornado 24/7, but put a guitar in his hand and the world stops.”

  “Eric?” I peek around to see what everyone’s staring at. Long leather jacket gone, t-shirt clinging to his chest damp with sweat, and strong upper arms straining from working the strings, the sexy Brit is standing with the band. And Jesus Christ, he’s even more mesmerizing on stage beneath the lights. “Your friend’s a musician?”

  I flush because that sounded stupid since it’s obvious, but the guy laughs. “Not just a musician. The greatest guitarist I’ve ever known, bar none.”

  It’s like my eyes are glued to him and I can’t tear my gaze away. He’s sex on two legs when he’s playing. The guy studies my face and laughs again. “You should hear him sing.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Yep, that good. Fucking bastard.”

  I giggle because I can tell this guy likes Eric even from how he says a criticism. “Been friends long?”

  “All our lives. I’m Linc, by the way. Though it doesn’t look like you’re interested in knowing my name. But it doesn’t matter. Your girl Ivy’s more my type.”

  I giggle again, ignoring the discomfort of having been read so easily for the amusement of wondering what Ivy could have possibly done to attract the interest of Linc. Ivy doesn’t flirt with guys; she gives them smackdowns.

  “Ivy and my sister think Eric’s trouble.”

  Linc cocks a brow. “Which one’s your sister?”

  “The red-headed bartender.”

  He looks over my head, and I can tell when he spots her. His eyes go wide in that wow way I’ve come to expect when guys see Jade. “Your sister’s got good eyes if she could figure that out all the way from over there.” His gaze shifts back to me. “You should probably listen to them.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Oh, he’s trouble.” He smiles at me in a knowing way. “My boy’s into you.”

  Holy shit, and I hate that I can feel my face lighting up from him telling me that.

  Linc dips his head toward me. “I’m thinking I shouldn’t have told you that…” His voice trails off with a small laugh.

  I lift my nose. Eric starts staring straight at me and whatever I was going to say is lost from the hold of his dazzling blue eyes. It feels like he’s touching me while his fingers fly across the strings, and my body begins to tingle from head to toe.

  I’m not even into musicians and I’m practically fangirling. But he’s not like any guy I’ve ever met. Not in any way. There’s something different about him. Special. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it.

  “Are those burgers for us?”

  Linc’s voice snaps my attention away from the stage.

  “Yes, they are. If you block while we walk I’ll deliver them to your booth.”

  Linc smiles. “That’s got to be heavy. Why don’t I take the tray myself? We’ve put you to enough trouble tonight.”

  His offer surprises me. What a sweet guy Linc is. I’m not sure why Ivy doesn’t like these guys. But if you can judge a guy by his friend, then Eric is a good guy.

  Chapter Six

  Eric

  THE STAIRWELL DOOR inches open. Willow’s face peeks around the edge. “What are you doing out here? Your friends have finished eating, they’re looking for you, and your food’s getting cold.”

  Slowly, I exhale my smoke, then drop my cig and stomp it out. “Just needed some air. It gets hot beneath the lights when you’re performing.”

  “You were amazing on stage.”

  “Was I?”

  Two adorable pink circles appear on her cheeks. “I thought you were.” She crinkles her button nose. “It’s probably too late to tell you that it’s illegal to smoke indoors in Seattle, even in a stairwell.”

  “I didn’t know that. Different laws, different countries. Hard to keep up. You’re not going to turn me in to the authorities, are you?”

  She shakes her head.

  I’m lying to this girl. I knew it was fucking illegal to smoke in the emergency exit, I just don’t give a shit. I wanted to meet up with her somewhere alone and I knew she’d search me out if I disappeared after being on stage.

  I should probably feel bad for keeping the accent and the bullshit going with her—I don’t—or at least have my usual reaction, annoyed, that she’s as predictable as most girls are, but again, I don’t.

  In her case, I don’t give a fuck.

  Her smile slowly unfurls across her lips, and first her shoulder appears, then her arm. She’s holding my plate. “I brought you your dinner. It’s probably cold, but the kitchen’s closed.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Like I said, I’ll eat anything you bring me, love.” I add a wink.

  Her entire face colors and she takes her lower lip into her teeth. It’s a stupid double entendre and she’s acting like it’s sweet. Or maybe she just thinks I’m being flirty and not serious.

  Oh baby, I’m serious. I didn’t come out here to eat a burger. I pat the concrete step beside me. “Sit with me while I eat.”

  “Out here?” She looks appalled.

  I laugh. “Yes. It’s quiet.”

  It’s also private—that I don’t say.

  “Willow,” I whisper because she hasn’t moved from the door. She looks momentarily uncertain, and I briefly wonder what I did to make her that way.

  A short laugh precedes my smile. “Are you afraid I’m going to try to have a romp with you in here? Credit me with some manners. No guy would try to give a girl a toss someplace like this. Too much light. Too many stairs. Outside of the fact it’s filthy. Doesn’t anyone ever sweep out the stairs?”

  Her pupils widen as she sucks in a breath of air. “Romp? Toss? Do those mean what I think they mean?”

  This time I bite my lip. “What do you think they mean?”

  “Sex.”

  “Oh, Willow gets an A on British fuck terms,” I tell her, my voice low and raspy. “I wonder if it’s safe for me out here with you.”

  Her head tilts as she chides me with her eyes. “Are you this bad of a flirt with every girl you meet?”

  “No, just the ones I find beautiful. Back to your question. Or your real question. The one you didn’t ask. It’s safe to join me. I don’t fuck in stairwells.”

  She laughs and brushes the hair from her face. Seeing her push past the door and drop to sit next to me, I feel a millisecond of regret because fucking in this stairwell’s exactly what I’m hoping is on the menu tonight.

  While I know nothing about Willow, I’ve spent enough time with her to know she falls into the real and sincere category of girls, and deserves more from a guy than what I have planned for her.

  I take my plate from her hand and set it on my lap. I quirk a brow. “No silverware, love?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Eat it with your fingers.”

  “My mum would
be so aghast.”

  “Bullshit. They have burgers and fries in the UK. Even McDonald’s. You’re just playing with me again.”

  I grin. “Do you mind my playing with you?”

  She plops her chin in her palms and watches as I pick up my burger from the plate. “No. I sort of like it. It makes you unpredictable. That’s a rarity around here.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  Her dark eyes flare as they hold mine. “If it ends up being in a good way or a bad way. Are you really British?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Ivy thinks not.”

  My early suspicion confirmed: Ivy doesn’t like me.

  I decide to tell Willow something true. “Half. My dad’s British. My mum is American.”

  “Where were you raised?”

  Her question feels like the kind a girl asks when she’s on the fence about a guy, and it blows me away. That’s never happened before. In fact, girls throw themselves at me and I don’t have to do more than lie back and enjoy the show.

  Ivy must have said a few things to Willow and tried to throw a cockblock in my direction. “Half the UK and half California.”

  She presses her lips together to hide a smile, the gesture so subtle I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been watching for it. My answer pleases her, like she’d prefer to believe me but respects her friend’s opinion.

  Her brows furrow. “Then why do you speak with an accent?”

  “Don’t know. Why do you?”

  “I don’t,” she says with a lift of her nose, and her bubbly grin tells me I passed whatever test that question was.

  “To me you sound like you have an accent.” Truthful again. People in Seattle don’t sound at all like people from Southern California.

  She giggles. “I suppose I do. To you. How old are you?”

  “Twenty.” Her expression changes into something I can’t read. “What’s that look for?”

  “You seem older, much older than me.”