Page 16 of Irresistible Temptation
“So, you go to shows a lot?” I asked Sarah, taking the last sip of my drink before setting it out on the wooden bar top.
“A few times a week.” She nodded. “New York has such a vibrant music scene. I try to see as many shows as I can. Jazz, rock, R&B. You’ll find it all here. Any night of the week.”
“Which is your favorite?” I asked.
“I love it all. Although punk is mostly my scene.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed. I had never met anyone like Sarah, especially in the world of accountants. Most of them were boring. I started feeling a little boring beside my new friend, which was probably why I gestured for the bartender and ordered a round of shots for the girls. We cheered excitedly, slapping the countertop, as the bartender threw together three lemon drop shots. This got Jeremiah’s friends’ attention and they cheered us on as we threw back the shots. As the strong taste of vodka and tartness of lemon went down my throat, I tried not to think about how I was probably going to regret that in the morning.
Chapter 8
Chester
Twenty minutes later, I hurriedly stepped out of the limo, not waiting for Jenkins to open my door for me. As I buttoned my suit out on the sidewalk, I noticed the bystanders in line sending curious glances my way. They were probably wondering who the hell was arriving to a show in a blacked-out limo. I straightened my suit and nodded a thank-you to Jenkins, ignoring the murmurs of those I approached in line.
I was overdressed in comparison to the jeans and ripped t-shirts I spotted in the river of people wrapped around the venue. The line went around the club to a back alley, and I had no intention of waiting in it. Will was already impatient as it was. I could just see him pacing backstage nervously, and didn’t want to make him wait any longer.
I approached the front of the line where a very large bouncer crossed his arms as he eyed me up and down. I was six feet tall, but he was still a good head taller than me and had quite a bit more weight on him. He puffed his chest out, but I ignored his intimidation tactic. These guys were all bark and no bite, and there was nothing they wouldn’t do for a little cash incentive. I slipped my wallet from my jacket pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. His eyes widened slightly and his tough guy façade fell, just as I knew it would.
With a slight smirk, I tucked the bill into his still crossed arms. “Thanks,” I said, walking past him without another word. I could hear the people behind me cursing and groaning, which made me chuckle. It wasn’t my fault they couldn’t afford to pay the door guy. I walked through the club’s small lobby and through the two open doors leading to the dimly lit bar and dance floor, just past that the stage. To my pleasant surprise, the stage was empty of the loud, horrendous music I had heard over the phone and was now being set up for the next act. Will, I supposed.
I squinted as I peered toward the side stage, pushing my way past people trying to get the best spot for the show. I tried to get a glimpse of my friend and soon spotted him tuning his guitar just behind the black curtain of the side stage. I headed for the stairs to the right of the stage and was about to walk up when security stopped me. Another roided-out dude on a power trip. I rolled my eyes as he stepped in front of me, arms crossed.
“Talent only,” he said gruffly.
“I’mwiththe talent,” I said impatiently. I was about to slide out another hundred, although I was growing tired of handing theselowlifes money, when Will peeped his head out from behind the curtain.
“He’s with me!” he called out.
The security guard turned to face him, annoyed that he couldn’t continue with his tough guy act, before looking back at me. He let out a satisfying “harumph” and stepped aside. I walked up the steps and joined Will backstage. He picked up his guitar and gave it a strum, listening to the notes with a look of concentration before a content smile spread across his lips.
“Not bad, huh?” he asked, nodding past the curtains that separated us and the club.
“It’s bigger than you let on,” I said, raising a brow as I thought about how he told me it would be “small” and “intimate.”
“How else was I going to get you out here?” He laughed as he ran a hand through his unruly light hair. His musician hair, I liked to give him shit for. He said it went over well with women.
“Tell me you have drinks back here,” I said, looking around the dark space of the backstage area.
“Beer. Bourbon. Vodka.”
“Bourbon,” I said.
Will set down his guitar in its stand and walked toward a small blue cooler. Lifting the lid, he rummaged through its contents, ice sloshing, and plucked out a small bottle of bourbon. He grabbed a red cup from a stack on the table beside him and poured me a generous amount before handing it to me.
“Classy,” I muttered, looking down at the red cup and having flashbacks of college, all the nights we stayed up late playing beer pong or flip cup.
“It’s the musician life.” He shrugged, replacing the bourbon in the cooler and pulling out a beer. He flipped the tab, and it hissed as the air escaped.
“Cheers,” he said, holding up his frosted silver can.
“Cheers,” I said, tapping my cup to his beer.
We both took a long sip.
“How was your first day?” he asked, leaning against a nearby pillar and eyeing me curiously.
“Long,” I replied with a sigh.
