Page 13 of Spring Break with a Bass Player
And winks.
The bastard.
That move might work on other women, but not me.
Definitely not me.
I’ve been lucky enough to avoid this particular establishment on the nights Tin Can Aficionados were playing. The ska band had made Love Beach their new home for the foreseeable future, leading me to order no less than six different supplements and essential oils guaranteeing me to sleep like a baby. They hadn’t been on tonight’s schedule.I checked.But TCA isn’t playing, just Bridger.
The worst part?
Iliketheir music—just not when the bassist with panty-melting good looks lives next door. Bridger Cole is everything I’ve sworn off in men because I’ve been with the guy who has women falling at his feet and I’ve endured the reckless, good-time guy.
And I lost so much of myself back then.
And now, I have a certain bass player under my skin.
Because of course I do.
“We had a cancellation, and Bridger was nice enough to fill in at the last minute,” Isaac says like he can read my mind. More accurately, though, it’s probably my scowl. “Isn’t that great?”
“I’m taking my tip back,” I grouse, making him and Vienna laugh. “Where’s your wife? Can’tshedeal with this one?”
“She had a stack of papers to grade,” Isaac says with a shrug. I’d met Reece through Vienna and liked her well enough, although she and Isaac were more disgustingly adorable than my cousin and Vienna.
It’s probably better I don’t need to deal with that tonight.
“How are we doing, Love Beach?” Bridger croons into the microphone. He’s traded his bass for an acoustic guitar and that might be worse. “I have a couple of songs lined up tonight so hit me with your requests, but I thought we’d start out with one of my favorites. Andthisone goes out to a friend of mine.”
Everyone in the bar cheers as the opening bars of “She’s so Mean” by Matchbox Twenty play and Bridger’s voice fills the room.
I hate that he sounds so good.
And I hate that I justknowthefriend…is me.
“He’s totally staring at you,” Vienna supplies helpfully. “My sister vouched for the guy.”
“Your sister did notvouchfor him. She went on one speed-date thing with him because the girl she was there with for moral support hit it off with someone else and they upset the speed dating balance.”
The story had been recounted for me more than once, and each time, Bridger was painted as this really great, fun-loving guy.
“Last Name” by Carrie Underwood is quickly followed by “Any Man of Mine” by Shania Twain and then “Hers Ain’t Mine” by Austin Brown, the last of which has me tapping my finger against the side of my glass. I’d heard it months before, and it quickly became one of my favorites, and he’sruining it for me.
With his stupidly good voice.
“You’re scowling,” Vienna says over the lip of her glass. “You need to sleep with him, work out all that tension you’re bottling up.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t do that. I’m looking for a nice, boring guy who wants to do the crossword with me in the Sunday paper.”
“You do the crossword?”
“No, but I would if the right guy came along.”
Vienna snorts. “You don’t want a boring guy. What’s so bad about Bridger anyway?”
