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“No, just taking my new guitar to the bar.”
“Have fun,” Skye said.
I loved playing the guitar, and performing was the best way to unwind and put the day behind me. I hadn’t scheduled anything for this evening because I didn’t know how long I’d be here. I walked out of the store, looking around and taking in the surroundings through the lens of an analyst: the location was excellent. It had decent foot traffic and attracted both locals and tourists. My sisters had experience in the industry. They had a great shot at making this work. It was early March, so they’d missed out on Valentine’s Day sales, which was huge in their industry, but if they managed to open by April, as planned, they could still make a killing with Easter sales.
I headed straight to the Northern Lights, the bar where I performed from time to time. It was crowded tonight. Happy hour had started a while ago, and a bunch of suits had come in right off Wall Street. When I was on stage, watching the crowd relaxed me. When I had to make my way through it, not so much.
“Rose, I have something for you,” I called to the bartender on shift. She was also the manager. I placed the guitar on the counter.
“Oh, brought your new toy for safekeeping. Can I take a look at it?”
“Sure.”
She opened the case, gasping. Yeah, I was proud of it too. Some people collected cars. I had a weakness for guitars. This one was a brand-new electric model. The sound was sleek, with a smooth undertone.
“Ryker Winchester, you’re always full of surprises. Love how you always change things up. You’ve never brought an electric one before,” she murmured. I liked challenging myself—it gave me something to look forward to.
“I’ll play on it this week.”
“Want to take the old one back?”
“No, leave it here too. I’ll just switch things up from time to time.”
“Want a beer?”
“Sure!”
She filled a pint glass with draft beer, sliding it to me. Before I took the first sip, a raised voice reached me.
“For fuck’s sake, you’re not my wife. You’re not even my girlfriend anymore, so none of that is my responsibility.”
I looked around for the source. What douchebag spoke like that to anyone? I located him a few feet away, and the woman he was talking to. She had round eyes and dark brown hair. Damn, she was beautiful. Her shoulders were hunched, and her gaze darted to the nearby patrons apologetically.
I left my beer on the counter and marched toward them.
“Apologize to the lady,” I said, voice calm and collected.
“What the fuck is your problem?” the guy asked.
“My problem is that you’re a douchebag. Apologize to her.”
Up close, she was even more beautiful—full lips, wide, green eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but next thing I knew, Douchebag pushed me into the crowd behind us that was waiting to order a drink.
They moved out of my way but someone’s shoulder brushed my cheek in the process. My elbow hit the pint, sending it flying over my brand-new guitar. Beer spilled all over it. Rose threw napkins at me, and I wiped the liquid off immediately, but I knew some of it had reached the electric circuits. Fuck.
I inspected the strings, but it was impossible to tell the extent of the damage. When I finally lifted my head, I realized Douchebag wasn’t in his spot anymore.
“Gil threw him out,” Rose explained. Gil was the security guy. I looked around, trying to locate the woman who’d been with him, but she was nowhere to be found. Damn. I really wanted to make sure she was alright.
“That thing still working?” Rose asked, pointing to the guitar. The surface was sticky from the beer.
“I don’t know. I’ll take it to my repair guy, see what he has to say.”
“This sucks. Brand-new and all. Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay. Do you know them? The couple?”
“No.”
