“Say what?” Gally shrieked as he physically leapt a foot away from Sticks.
I whirled to gape at the drummer, shocked to be shoved into the conversation this way.
Sticks shrank lower into his stool, his eyes darting with fear like a cornered animal before he cried, “The hell if I did.”
I lifted my eyebrows. He was acting way too guilty to be telling the truth. “Are you really gay?” I couldn’t help but ask, “Because that would actually be great.”
“Say what?” Gally repeated, spinning toward me as if I’d lost my mind.
“What?” I glanced between him and Heath, confused by their shock. “It would give us more diversity since we’ve been accused of being such a cliché lately.”
And yes, that accusation from the girl still bothered me.
“Diversity?” Gally yelped “Shit, if we wanted diversity, we could’ve just hired that punk rocker chick who wanted to play with us.”
I scowled at him for bringing her up.
“What chick?” Sticks asked, suddenly too curious for my comfort.
Ignoring him, I scowled at Gally. “You’re the one who refused to even listen to her play.”
“Like you wanted a girl in the band either.” Gally glared back.
I gave a dismissive shrug. “Never know. She might’ve been good. But yeah, one of us—meaning you—probably would’ve nailed her, and she would’ve taken off within the week. Then we’d be back at square one, looking for another drummer.”
Sticks opened his mouth to say something, but I lifted a hand to stop him. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. We’ve got Sticks now.” Smiling congenially at the new guy, I added, “Problem solved.”
Sticks didn’t seem so flattered, though. He lifted a censorious brow. “So...you didn’t even let someone try out just because she was a girl?”
I heaved a sigh, and pointed meaningfully at Gally to pin the blame on him. “He didn’t. Not me.”
Gally scowled at Sticks. “Oh, shut up, queer. No one asked you.”
I was about to snap at him for being so offensive, but Sticks frowned right back. “I never said I was gay.”
Gally lifted his hands. “Well, do you prefer cock over pussy or not?”
Sticks winced. Then he ducked his chin and mumbled into his chest, “Yeah, I guess I do.”
Hating how Gally was making the newest member to our group feel ashamed, I slapped the bass guitarist hard in the chest with the back of my hand and told the drummer, “Ignore him; the rest of us do. He never did find the wizard to grant him a brain.”
As Sticks sent me a small, grateful smile, Gally frowned in confusion, mumbling, “Huh?”
“Never mind.” I didn’t have time to explain the Wizard of Oz to him. “I gotta go. See you guys tomorrow at Forbidden.” When I glanced meaningfully Sticks’s way to make sure Gally hadn’t scared him off yet, he nodded, and relief bloomed in my chest.
The band was back.
Thank God.
I slid into a parking spot with ten minutes to spare before we were set to open, but I was surprised to find as I hurried inside that I wasn’t the last to arrive. Everyone but Mason milled about, doing assorted tasks.
It was Thursday, ladies’ night, so aside from the doorman and cooks in the back, only us bartenders worked, waiting tables and tending the counter. Knox and Noel prepared things behind the bar, while Ten and Quinn took chairs off tables.
“About time you decided to show, rock star,” Ten called to me.
“Oh, hey, Ten,” I called back, snapping my fingers, then pointing at him. “Before I forget, could you let Caroline know she left one of her shirts at my place last week?” When Ten narrowed his eyes at me for bringing up his wife, I grinned. “It’s that tight, white little number with all the red lips on it. You know the one I’m talking about, right?”
“Fucker, I’ll cut you.”