Page 21 of Just Between Us

A tiny blonde wearing a birthday sash steps up, followed by a procession of loud friends who likely pregamed before heading here. She announces it’s her twenty-first, and after checking her ID, I wish her happy birthday and swipe her debit card, making a mental note to keep an eye on how much she and her friends order tonight.

Finally, there’s a lull, and I turn back to Cassie, one eyebrow quirked.

“What’ll it be?”

“How about a martini, extra dirty.” The way she says the words “extra dirty” sounds salacious falling from her lips, like foreplay, and by the glint in her eyes, she knows it.

I mix her drink and hand it over, allowing my fingers to brush hers. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, but she avoids eye contact as she takes a sip of her martini.

Leaning on the bar again, I study her. She’s twisting her gold hoops, something I’ve quickly learned she does when she’s nervous.

“You okay, Cassie?” I ask, voice a low murmur.

She looks up, shoulders rising with a small sigh. “The last hour was a lot. In the past, I’ve watched my brother struggle from a distance. Having a front seat to it hit differently. I’m still not sure I should be here. Austin looked a wreck. But he told me he was fine, and I know how he is. So, here I am.”

“Here you are,” I repeat, tapping my knuckles on the wooden surface.

And thank god she is.

We fall into light and easy conversation while she sips her drink. A sitcom plays on the television behind me but it’s muted, and Cassie laughs when I narrate plot lines and dialogue out loud. Soon though, she’s joined me and before we know it, we’ve gotten the characters entangled in an entirely fictitious story involving spies and espionage with some light bribery and subterfuge.

Every few minutes I’m called away to pour a beer, run a tab, or wipe down a table. But I always return to my place in front of Cassie.

Two hours slip by, while Cassie’s laughs come easier and there’s a light in her eyes that has nothing to do with the martini she drank and everything to do with having a place to relax for a while. The worry isn’t erased entirely. How could it be? It’s more like it’s softened around the edges.

She’s just opening her mouth to say something when the doors burst open and all heads turn to the entrance. A guy, probably mid-twenties, hair gelled within an inch of its life, comes striding in talking loudly to his buddies. Loud enough I can hear him over the crowd.

“Dude, that was totally him. I swear on my life it was Austin James.”

His buddies scoff, but the guy keeps talking.

“I was in the pit last time he was in Nashville, you fuckers. I know what he looks like.”

They reach the bar, still talking back and forth about whether or not it was actuallytheAustin James, when I interrupt them.

“You saw Austin James? In Singing River? Highly unlikely, pal.”

The whole group turns to me and the loud one starts up again.

“Maybe he’s just passing through. Who knows? But I was walking into Lucky’s Liquor Store and there he was at the register. Dude was lookin’ rough, too. Like he’s one bottle away from rehab.”

Jaw ticking, I plant my palms on the bar top, leaning in to be sure he hears me.

“Maybe let’s not talk about things you know nothing about,” I say, trying to keep the bite out of my voice.

He raises both hands, eyes widening. “What? I’m just saying?—”

“We all heard what you said. Now, how ’bout you drop it.”

Across from me, Cassie has stiffened, face pale and eyes blinking wide.

“I need to go,” she says in a rush and grabs her purse.

“Cassie, wait!” I call after her.

Sheila, overhearing the commotion, steps up, leaning in so only I can hear her.

“I’ve got this, Liam. Austin needs you two more than I do.”