I do the same, but when I set my glass down I ask another question. “Have I done something to offend you in life?” I ask, stressing the word life.
Guitar chords are being played, but the band has their backs to us, seemingly still in a dispute. After pouring yet a third round, he leans even further back on his barstool. “Where should I start,” he says, twirling his glass on the table, some of the liquid spilling out.
“Let’s see . . . First, I’m a little pissed at my brother right now. He had a radio interview on Sunday morning here in LA that he blew off.”
Xander looks directly at me for the first time since sitting down. He actually seems more peeved at me than at his brother as he continues, “I called him all fucking weekend and he never answered his goddamn phone until today.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” I say, having no idea why I’m apologizing. I look up at River who has started to play again, but still turned to Nix. He’s singing a song I’ve never heard.
“You know what?” he asks, but I don’t answer because it seems like a loaded question. He continues anyway. “That’s not even what really pisses me off.” He drinks another shot, this time straight and refills the glass again.
Drinking my shot straight now as well, I force back the bile coming up my throat and know I have to stop. “So, what is it that pisses you off Xander,” I say, equally as coolly now. I have had enough of his shit.
“You,” he says, not taking his eyes from mine.
“Me! What have I done to you?”
“You don’t know do you? He didn’t tell you? No, of course he didn’t,” he wryly says, pushing a fourth shot my way.
River has turned around and is staring at me with concern. I give him a little smile and return my eyes back to Xander. He’s playing his guitar now, but I have no idea what he’s singing because I am not listening to the words. The alcohol is flowing through my veins and my judgment is more than a little off.
I give Xander a measured glance and push the glass back toward him as if to say enough and I don’t just mean the alcohol. His games need to stop as well. “Know what?”
I can see by his glazed over eyes he’s more than drunk. Leaning forward he turns to face me, but I lean away. “You should be flattered that I call you Muse. In fact I’ve referred to you that way for a long time.”
Sighing heavily, he looks up at River for a moment then continues, “That song he wrote about you is why the band is successful today, so you were his muse.”
“He did tell me that,” I say, feeling the need to defend River and myself. I honestly have no idea where his anger is coming from.
Shooting me an irritated look, he says, “No. Not about the song.”
He says it like I’m an idiot.
“Then what?” I ask, even though I need to excuse myself to use the bathroom. I stand up, and the room starts to spin.
He snorts as he answers, “River had brought Bell to the bar the first night you met him. Rather than bring her home himself, he asked me to do it so he could stay and talk to you. She was in a hurry to meet some guy at her apartment, and I wasn’t ready to leave so my sister left without me.” His sad tone draws me back into the conversation.