Page 42 of The Final Deal

We head down the street a couple of blocks to a bar, where Zak rushes forward to hold the door open for us. Of course, Ican’t pass without paying the butt-grab tax, and when I peer over my shoulder, he flashes that naughty grin I love so much.

I smile widely at the realization that I’m the object of the Ramos twins’ affections, even in public.

A girl could get used to this.

“Hey!”

My expression brightens on the large group of people wearing all black in the center of the bar. They clamor with excitement, arms thrown up in the air and jumping up to greet us with hugs and handshakes. Shannon and Robbie are already here with Andrea sitting in between them.

Zak pulls out a chair for me and asks what Dree and I want from the bar. Adrian flips my skirt up so he can sneak underneath and rest his hand directly on my bare thigh.

“Stephani motherfuckin’ Wade,” someone says from across the table. Jake Bishop, the drummer for Bottomdweller, beams at me. Blond hair falls over his forehead and green eyes, swept in a way that draws attention to the small X tattooed under the corner of his eye. “Glad to see you back with the boys.”

“Yeah,” I offer as I bump into Adrian’s side. “Me, too. Didn’t know what to do with myself without ’em.”

Zak sits down with three glasses—two look like the twins’ usual rum or Crown and Coke, while the third is obviously a margarita on the rocks.

“Seemed like you were doin’ pretty well at Dirty Peach,” Jake comments.

Fuck, will Atlanta everstay in the past?

“Yeah, well, had to move on,” I brush off, hoping Zak and Adrian let it slide. Just for that comment, though, he’s going to get it served right back to him. “How’s Amanda and Skylar doing after that wreck?”

Jake’s dark blond brows furrow. “Skylar?”

I return the confused expression. “Your unborn daughter?”

Anger flashes through his eyes; I think I hit a little deeper than intended with that comment. He shoves his chair back—it scrapes loudly against the concrete floor below, sending a chill down my spine—and bolts outside with his phone in hand.

The table falls silent. I break the lull with a question that always leads to a long conversation: “How’s the road treatin’ y’all this time around?”

Their guitarist, Scott, points in the direction Jake stormed off. “Like that.”

I grimace as Adrian says, “Guess they disagreed on that, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Liam replies. The heavyset, bearded vocalist leans forward against his elbows on the table; his umber skin is adorned with black and red tattoos that stand out so brightly that they seem fresh. “The press hasn’t helped, either.”

Discussing Jake and Amanda’s unsteady relationship and abortion argument makes me squirm in my seat, so I ask, “How’s Bex doin’ these days? Feel like we haven’t spoken to her ages.”

Scott gulps down half his beer, and Liam gives him a side eye. “She’s with us on tour, actually. Doin’ pretty well, all things considered.”

The way Scott focuses on the people up front belting bad karaoke pop makes me think he’s probably part of the “all things considered” ordeal for our former manager. And when Jake returns with a reddened face and grabs Scott for another round at the bar, more of the pieces fall into place: Bex probably turned Scott down,again, for not getting his drinking under control.

I polish off my first margarita and rest a hand on Zak’s thigh. Maybe it’s fucked I’m dating twin brothers and we’ve all made deals with the devil, but I kind of think I’d rather keep my shoes and not trade for Bottomdweller’s.

Giggles of a little girl a couple of seats down have me leaning on my elbows to get a better look at the little princess betweenher daddy and Uncle Robbie. She stares up at him with a big smile, like he’s the only thing in her world.

Robbie catches me watching, so I ask, “Brandy sittin’ this one out?”

“Yeah, she’s not feelin’ too hot. Morning sickness been kinda rough on her.”

I refocus on Andrea. “Hey, princess, I’m gonna steal your uncle for a minute, okay?”

“Oh.” She pouts. “Okay.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll bring him back in a jiffy.”

Adrian squeezes my thigh before I get up with Robbie. We make a beeline for the bar for another round and step away until we’re out of earshot of curious listeners.

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