Page 3 of Steady Stroke
The place wasn’t too crowded yet, so Lincoln snagged a spot at the bar. He vaguely recognized both the male and female bartenders from last year. It didn’t take long before the guy, a hot number with spiky black hair and very sharp cheekbones, asked what he was drinking.
“What local on tap would you recommend?” Lincoln replied.
The bartender winked, then grabbed an empty glass. He returned a moment later with a pale ale with a light head. “Tab?”
“Sure.”
He didn’t plan on getting wasted, but it was easier than sliding his debit card over and over. Not that he had an endless amount of money in there, either. He hated knowing every penny in his account was a gift from Dominic’s parents and tried to use as little as possible. Tonight he needed to fucking unwind.
“You look familiar, man,” the bartender said while he mixed another drink order. Just Lincoln’s luck he sat near the man’s workstation. “Been here before?”
“About a year ago.”
“Welcome back.”
“Thanks.” Lincoln sipped his beer. Perfectly chilled, malty with a nice, crisp finish. Not bad. “What is this?”
“Dogfish Head,” the guy replied without looking up from his garnishes. “Firefly Ale.”
“Weird name.” But a good beer.
Hot Bartender handed off his two drinks, then took cash to the register. On his way back, he said, “Named it after a local music festival.”
Ah-ha, that made sense. Lincoln had been to the Firefly Music Festival a few years ago as part of the general audience, and it had been amazing. It had also been a dream of his to see XYZ perform there. That wasn’t happening ever, and not just because the festival had shut down.
He hummed a few verses of “Don’t Dream It’s Over” while he sipped his beer and crowd-watched. Groups of women at the tables, a scattering of guys. Eight was pretty early for the typical bar crowd, and he had no idea if the place attracted a lot of queer patrons. Lincoln was just as interested in the music as in a physical talent search.
His phone buzzed with a text alert. Photo from Dominic. Cute selfie of him and Trey outside of some Memphis bar advertising Bar-B-Q in bright neon.
Hope you guys have a redneck set for that crowd.
He sent a thumbs-up emoji as reply.
Movement right in front of him made Lincoln jump and nearly elbow his drink. The male bartender was grinning at him while wiping a glass with a towel. “Thought I recognized you, man.”
Lincoln raised an eyebrow.
“You were in that band XYZ,” the bartender went on. His smile faded away. “Shit. You were in that accident, right?”
“Yeah, I was in that accident.” Lincoln held his temper,waiting for the pity or the sad looks, questions about his general health.
The guy surprised him by offering his hand. “Van Holt.”
Lincoln shook. “Lincoln West.”
“Look, next one’s on me, okay?” Van pointed at his half-empty glass.
“I appreciate it, thanks.”
Van went about his work, smoothly dancing around the back of the bar with a short female. He had a seriousness about him that gave his angular face an almost angry look, but he smiled and flirted with his customers, lining his pockets with tip money. Lincoln no longer trusted his gaydar after getting it blown to pieces by Trey coming out last summer, so he shelved Van under Undetermined.
The eight o’clock act ended up being a girl with a guitar doing folksy renditions of pop hits. She wasn’t awful, but Lincoln wasn’t sure that anything other than local stages were in her future. He spent most of her set picking apart her arrangements and redoing them in his head on a guitar he could no longer play.
Not that he’d forgotten how or had lost control over his hands from the concussion. Traumatic brain injuries were crazy tricky, and for some reason that his neurologist could not explain, the vibrations of the guitar strings made him dizzy. It sucked ass, because he loved guitar. It had been his focus instrument since he was ten years old, and now his sat in its case in a closet at the Bounds house. Doing nothing.
Should’ve pawned the damned thing.
A slinky female number in a tight blue dress eased onto the empty stool next to his, angled toward him. “What are you doing out all alone on a Friday night?” she asked.
