Black Rainbow (Rainbows 1)

I downed the whole thing in one shot, before coughing and taking a deep breath.

“You could say that,” I sighed, waving for him to pour more.

“Please tell me you’re not a recovering alcoholic,” he half joked, pouring more into my glass.

I smiled at that. “Maybe.”

His brown eyes brimmed with worry, and I rolled my eyes. “My mother died two months ago. Today is her birthday, and right now, I really don’t want to be at home, alone with all of her crap. So just keep them coming.”

“I’m sorry.”

I’m not sure if I made him feel better or worse, but this time he filled the glass, and I tried to be more civilized.

“What’s your name? Because I believe you and I are

going to be very close by the end of the night,” I muttered sipping.

“Tristan,” he said, then added, “I’m sorry about your mother, hon.”

“Don’t be, she was a horrible person,” I muttered truthfully. “I’m Thea.”

“Nice to meet you Thea. Drinks are on the house.”

“No, it’s okay, I don’t want any pity.”

“It’s fine. I’m screwing the boss,” he said, dropping me a wink, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“If you keep giving away drinks, you will be screwed alright.”

“You’re the first customer I have ever had that’s fought me on free drinks.”

“I’m sure but—”

“No buts,” he replied cleaning a glass. “Drinks are on the house.”

“Fine. How about the house pays for the first three drinks, and I pay for the rest?”

“How many do you plan on having?”

I shrugged. “As many as it takes until I’m numb?”

“Are you always this honest?”

“Only to the person who’s controlling the booze.”

He laughed, shaking his head at me. “Fine, the first three are on the house. Did you just move to Boston?”

“Yes and no.” That was all I was giving him, and he nodded, accepting my answer as good enough.

I was just about to ask for a couple slices of lime, when the lights in the place dimmed. A blue light illuminated the stage as a very attractive man, took center stage with nothing but a guitar in his hands. His hair was dark, almost black, like a starless night. His eyes were a deep emerald color, so striking that even in the dimly lit bar I could see them. Every time the light hit them, I felt myself being drawn in more and more.

Sitting on a stool, he played softly, almost as though he was trying to put us all at ease.

“This song isn’t dedicated to anyone… yet,” he whispered into the microphone, which gained him a few whistles and claps.

Rolling my eyes, I turned back to my drink.

“I carry a smile when I’m broken in two, all because of someone like you,” he sang and I stopped for a moment before turning back to him.