Page 89 of Need You
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Colt got to Old Glory early. A couple of friends of the bass player had volunteered to set up their equipment and Colt wanted to do a sound check while the bar was relatively quiet. Most of the town was still at the talent show.
“You good to go?” Boden asked as he set up rows of glasses on the back-bar shelves. The night would be busy. It always was for the End-of-Summer.
Colt sat at one of the stools. “I think so. As soon as the guys get here we’ll test things out. What happened to you and Ingrid on the river?” For a while he’d been tied with Boden. Then, boom, he looked up and Boden was gone.
“We were taking on water and I couldn’t find the leak.” Boden lifted his shoulders. “At least we didn’t nearly drown.”
“Chip.” Colt shook his head. “Man, what was he thinking wearing that bear thing? Now, the lederhosen . . .” Colt leaned his head back and laughed his ass off.
Boden had changed into his regular uniform. Jeans and a flannel shirt. Ingrid had kept on her St. Pauli Girl dress, which showed a great deal of cleavage. Colt figured the outfit would ring in a heap of tips.
“You drinking tonight?” Boden grabbed a pint glass from under the bar.
“Yep. Jack’s on call.”
“But he’ll be here, right?” Boden proceeded to fill the glass with a local lager that Colt particularly liked.
“As long as nothing big goes down.” He’d have to keep his eye on his phone all night, though. They really needed another person to handle call duty, someone with supervisory experience.
“I reserved the two big tables by the stage for your posse.”
“Thanks, Boden.”
A couple of members of the band trickled in and Colt went over to the stage to discuss their set list. When the rest of the group showed up they tested their mics and equipment until he was satisfied with the sound quality. Not that a bar band required much.
They sat around shooting the breeze in a small room behind the stage where Boden stored his extra liquor. Colt hadn’t seen some of the guys for a while and took the opportunity to catch up before they had to perform. Boden or one of the bar’s staff would let them know when it was time to go on. It wouldn’t be long. Even with the door closed, Colt could hear the place filling up.
At nine they got the cue. Without a warm-up band, they were scheduled to do four sets. They walked out on stage with the floor packed so tight that Boden had to open all the doors so people could watch from the street. Colt figured it was just a matter of time before the fire marshal showed up.
There was a lot of hooting and hollering and requests for songs. Some the band regularly played, others Colt had never heard of. They launched into a raucous rendition of Credence Clearwater Revival’s “Travelin’ Band.” Before Lisa left, they’d played a lot more often and could rip through a set like it was rote. He’d worried that without much rehearsal they’d be sloppy tonight. But the band felt tight, falling into a familiar rhythm that came with years of playing together.
He scanned the crowd, looking for Delaney, and saw her sitting at one of the reserved tables with Hannah and his brother. A smile played on her lips and he got so caught up looking at her that he stumbled over a chord.
He quickly looked away so he could finish the song. Throughout the night, he continued to sneak peeks at her, taking in the way her hair shimmered in the dusky lights and how her face shined with animation every time he sang a tune.
Since Josh’s dinner and his idiotic phone call, he’d been avoiding her. She was too tempting and he only had so much willpower. He was hoping that the whole out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing would work. That’s why during the band’s first three breaks he went outside with the drummer, who smoked, and circulated among people he hadn’t seen for a while.
Evasion wasn’t having the desired effect, unfortunately. Because he couldn’t stop glancing her way every now and again—or constantly—to see whom she was talking to or what she was doing. God, she was killing him.
For the last set, he climbed the stage, trying to keep his mind on the music. The audience grew even noisier than before—their last chance to yell out requests for favorites that the band hadn’t yet played. For the most part, Colt tried to be accommodating, but when the crowd began chanting, “‘Crazy about You,’” he felt the blood rush from his face. The rhythm guitarist gave him a pointed look.Are we doing this?
Hell, no, they weren’t doing it. The room grew louder. More impatient. “‘Crazy about You’!” they yelled over and over again, clapping their hands and stomping their feet. “‘Crazy about You’!”
Colt stared out at the sea of faces and held TJ’s gaze. His brother gave him an emphatic nod, urging him to do the song. The crowd made such a ruckus, Colt couldn’t concentrate over the din. For a minute, he stood there paralyzed, then his attention fell on Delaney. Her black hair, her blue eyes, and it hit him like a lightning bolt.
“ ‘Galway Girl,’ ” he told the band. They’d never played it together before but they muddled through the first quarter. By the second, they were feeling the groove, laying it down like it was one of their standards.
Colt locked eyes with Delaney as he belted out the lyrics and saw the moment when recognition washed over her face. He was singing about her. About how he wanted her ... a night together.
Red stained her cheeks but she never turned away, holding eye contact with him as he sang the chorus. The words resonated through the hall as if they were the only two people in the bar. And a shot of desire arced through him like shock waves.
At the end of the song, concertgoers jumped to their feet and shouted for an encore, shaking him out of the moment. Their moment.
Boden climbed the stage and yelled, “Last call for alcohol, and according to city ordinance, the music was supposed to end fifteen minutes ago.”
A collective, “You suck” went out.
