Page 10 of Lost Love on 6th Street

At first, I’m not able to spot Eleanor, but then there’s a glint of something in the corner and I realize it’s the light bouncing off her glasses. She’s hidden in shadow, but she’s leaned over her table, watching the band with all the attention she can muster.

I’d say she’s enjoying it.

I make my way up the stairs to the balcony, giving the security friendly nods and pats on the back. It’s much quieter up here than the floor and for that, I’m grateful. You can actually hear yourself think up here, maybe have a conversation if you’re lucky.

The VIP crowd at my events is always a mixed bag. Some people show up dressed to the nines, others are just fans who didn’t want to deal with the annoyance of general admission. It’s very Texas, a mishmash of everything our fine state has to offer. Beauty queens and blue-collar workers.

I head to the bar, knocking my knuckles against it to get Cressida’s attention. “How’s business, Cress?”

Cressida turns to me, a sprig of her violet hair sticking out of her bun. “Tips are shit.”

“Aren’t they always?”

She smiles and leans on the bar, showing off her cleavage. “What can I get you, Luke?”

It’s an old routine at this point. She’s been on the scene a bit longer than me and bounces from venue to venue depending on who is offering better pay. Old friends, nothing more, even if she does like to shimmy her chest up to the bar and tease me with it. “What’s my friend drinking over there?”

Cressida peers around me, her eyebrow raising. “That’s your ‘friend?’”

“New friend,” I say. “And I know that sounds like a euphemism, but—”

Cressida snorts and grabs a glass to start on a fresh cocktail. “I know, Luke. New month, different girl.”

My insides twist. “That’s not totally true.”

She looks at me from under her long, dark lashes. I can hear her without her speaking. You’re joking, right?

I straighten out my jacket. “For your information, it’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone.”

“I never said dated.”

I bite my lower lip. Been a while since that, too. Just because I don’t have time for a relationship, doesn’t mean I don’t have time for other extracurriculars. But in the past couple of years, the whole “new month, different girl” mentality that Cressida has pinned me with has lost its luster. I’m 35, and I’m not getting any younger. I want it all. Want the job, want the family.

I just haven’t figured out how to balance that quite yet.

Cressida slides a Yellow Rose of Texas onto the bar followed by a Shiner Bock. She snaps the metal cap off with her bottle opener. “Enjoy, pretty boy.”

I give her a smile. “Put it on my tab.”

“Bah,” she replies in annoyance, tossing a manicured hand my way before moving on to her next customer.

I turn to head over to Eleanor’s table and find myself pinned by her stare. She smiles and wriggles her fingers at me.

I smile back and stride over to the table, placing her drink next to her empty glass. “I heard you were drinking a Yellow Ro—”

“What kind of beer is that?” she asks, jabbing a finger toward my bottle of beer.

I glance down at the yellow label. “Uh . . . Shiner Bock?”

“Shiner Bock?” she repeats, leaning closer, her voice rising in volume.

I chuckle. “Yes, Shiner Bock. It’s a Texas beer.”

Her eyes shimmer as she looks at the beer. “Oh, like how Pabst is a Chicago beer. Well, it’s from Wisconsin, but. Yeah.”

“You want to trade?” I ask. I’m not one for overly sweet cocktails, but her piqued interest is too cute to withhold from her.

Her eyes widen, brows jumping over the frames of her glasses. “You sure?”

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