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She has no fucking idea. But I don't tell her that. Instead, I walk away from the booth, chuckling.
"I need a favor."
"Hello to you too, Memphis," Riley says, amusement dripping from her tone as soon as she answers my call. "I'm doing fabulous. Thanks so much for asking. The kids are great, too. And Cash is amazing. It's so great to catch up with you!"
I smirk, running a hand through my overly-long hair as I lean against a post near the back of the bar, in direct line-of-sight of Kylie's booth. She's still reading, oblivious to everything but her book. How the fuck she manages to concentrate with so much noise, I don't know. But I'm fuckin' impressed. "Are you done giving me shit now?"
"Are you done acting like you have no manners?" Riley retorts. "Because I can do this all night, but judging from the sound of things, you're at the bar, which means you have other things to do. So it's up to you."
"Did anyone ever tell you that you could run your own fuckin' gang?" I mutter, my dick throbbing when Kylie glances up from her book, peeking around as if she's looking for me. As soon as her eyes land on me, she quickly looks back down at her book, her cheeks turning pink.
She was looking for me.
A grin stretches across my face.
"Who needs a gang when I have to put up with you, Kasen, Bentley, and everyone else? It's enough work already. I don't want more." Riley huffs. "Besides, orange isn't my color and I've seen shows about the weird food they make in prison. It's a no from me, Memphis."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "So prison food and the clothes are why you're opting out?"
"Top two on the list. Why are you calling me? What is this favor?"
"I've got a girl in my bar—"
"I'm not hiring one of your strippers, Memphis."
"They aren't strippers. They're topless waitresses. And she doesn't work here."
"Honestly, I don't even know why you decided to open a topless bar. You cause me way too much stress already."
"Because it's a lucrative business, Riley," I say instead of going into the details. She already knows exactly why I opened this place. No need to discuss it again now. "I can't play the drums forever. When I retire, I have a backup plan. But I'm not asking you to hire or listen to anyone. This girl doesn't work here."
The mere thought of her walking around topless, all eyes on her, has jealousy sliding through my veins.
Huh. That's new.
"Well, that's good. And it may be lucrative, but it's still a bad idea. This isn't Los Angeles. It's Nashville. People can be judgy about what country musicians do."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not a country musician, isn't it?"
"Uh, I hate to break it to you, but what, precisely, do you think you've been doing for the last five years?"
"Playing drums."
"Yes. With some of the most popular country musicians in the world."
"Doesn't make me country, sweetheart. Besides, if people don't like the bar, they'd really hate to know that I was a one-percenter, wouldn't they?"
Riley huffs at me again, but we both know I'm right. Which is exactly why she ensures my past is kept as hush-hush as possible. There are things about me even she doesn't know—things no one does. But what she knows is more than enough.
"Tell me about the girl," she mutters.
"She's here every night, reading the fucking Wizard of Oz. She gave me a fake name. I want to know who she is."
"And you're calling me why?"
It's a good question. I don't know how the fuck Riley is supposed to help me out here. But there's a reason Kylie gave me a fake name and is reading in my bar every night. I want to know why. Riley knows everyone in this city. If anyone can help solve the mystery, she can.
I hope.
