“Hey, Char.” I stepped into the sitting room area and closed the door behind me.
Charlie paused in front of Zero’s studio. He gave a distracted glance my way as he pulled his buzzing cell from his pocket. He muted his phone and moved toward me. “I’m going to yank the Band-Aid off and ask now. Wish me luck.”
“No, it has to come from me.”
He made a face and sighed. “I admire your courage, Dec, but I don’t have the time or energy to play referee. I’ll ask him, he’ll say no. Then I’ll have Gray invite the band over for drinks after practice and I’ll ask again. Alcohol and repetition should help your cause, but—”
“Good thinking. So let’s get this over with and meet in a neutral zone. How about that bar around the corner?”
“The Zebra Den? It’s a dive bar.” Charlie wrinkled his nose in distaste.
“Perfect. Ask him to meet you there tonight.”
“I can’t. Ky and I have plans tonight.”
“I’ll show up instead.”
“He’ll be mad at me for trying to trick him, and he’ll still say no,” Charlie huffed. “I have to be there to moderate and make sure no one ends up in jail.”
“I’m sure that’s not necessary, but whatever. We don’t have time to go back and forth. I need someone now and…I know how to talk to Tegan if I can get him alone.”
Charlie studied me intently. “That sounds mysterious. Fine. I’ll arrange a meeting and text you the details.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m going to think of a Plan B and C option,” he sighed as he moved toward enemy territory. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
Yeah, I didn’t either.
I also didn’t have a choice. Charlie was right. Tegan was my best option. I had to make a deal with the devil or drop the song.
The Zebra Den was a true dive. The kind of place where folks went to escape reality with a stiff drink or four after a rough day on the job. The floors were sticky, the old leatherette barstools were cracked and repaired with electrical tape, and the only real lighting came from the neon signs hung throughout the small space, advertising beer brands I hadn’t touched since college.
Promotions, happy hours, and congratulatory get-togethers were probably best celebrated at the Chili’s down the street. But when you needed a glass of courage or a moment to ruminate about how fucked up life was, this was the place to be. The shadowy ambience made it difficult to appreciate any possible eye-candy, but in my experience, stories in the dark provided some serious inspiration.
I flashed a friendly smile at the bartender as I slid onto a wobbly stool near the corner of the padded bar, facing the entrance. She had to be my mom’s age—somewhere in her late fifties—with short, spiky red hair and a thick build. Not heavy, but not thin. I’d bet she’d been working this gig for decades. She had the saucy grin and flirty expression down to a science.
“Hiya handsome, what can I get you?”
I ordered a beer, then tapped the space beside me. “Make it two. Oh, and an ice water with lemon, please.”
She smiled. “Any man who has my order waitin’ for me before I walk in the door is a keeper. She’s a lucky girl.”
I snorted but didn’t bother correcting her. I wasn’t ready to give her my life story just yet. That would take more than a beer.
I scanned the room once more and pulled out my cell. I reread an earlier text message, deleted emails, skimmed through my favorite social media sites, and contemplated watching a thirty-second man-on-man porn clip. Bad idea. The last thing I needed was to greet my nemesis with a boner. I set my phone down and hummed along to the Elton John classic piped through the speakers as if I didn’t have a care in the world.
“Here you go, hon.” The bartender slid two beers, two waters, and a small plate of lemons in front of me.
I tore my gaze from the entrance and smiled. “Thank you.”
She winked. “Sure thing. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”
“I will. I—”
“Ah, I was right. It was you.”
I glanced over just as Tegan fell onto the stool beside me. I studied his profile as he greeted the bartender pleasantly, assuring her he was fine with water. Other than the prerequisite end-of-day stubble, he hadn’t changed much since this morning. His hair was unruffled, and his T-shirt was unwrinkled. T had always had a thing for neat and tidy. The dark hollows under his eyes might have been exhaustion. He looked tired. No doubt I did too. It had been a long-ass day.
“This is for you,” I said, pushing the second beer toward him.
“Gee, how thoughtful.” He ignored the beer, reaching for the water instead. He made a production of squeezing lemon into it before turning to give me an expectant look. “Why am I here?”