“We get diehard fans coming in to get their pictures taken on the stage pretty regularly.” She plated up some sort of stuffed chicken breast, spinach and soft cheese oozing out of the middle. “Some are a bit wacked, kissing and stroking it. Eric and Joe had to throw one guy out for trying to hump it. We’re pretty sure he was high as a kite. Still, can you imagine the splinters he would have gotten? Ouch.”
I snorted. “Ouch, all right. That’s amazing that you saw Stage Dive so early.”
“Vaughan was in school the same year as a couple of the guys. Had some classes with them. Ask him about it sometime.” Nell paused, grimaced. “Maybe don’t, since his band’s broken up and they’re bigger than ever.”
“Think I’ll keep my mouth shut. Can’t be easy, being a musician and coming from the same town as them.”
A couple of women in tight-fitting dresses were at the bar, flirting with Vaughan. Not that someone flirting with him was any of my business. Mostly. The amount of alcohol-fueled sex offers bartenders must get … though those guys had a lot going for them no matter the situation. Tattoos, muscles, general coolness. Us normal folk never stood a chance.
Why would they settle down when they could live the free and easy lifestyle forever?
“It’s great that this place has such a rich history,” I said, making myself look away from him. Maybe I should tape my head to the wall. Use a staple gun, perhaps.
Again, Nell made that short sharp almost startling sound of joy and/or amusement. It was hard to say if she was laughing or yipping or what. “Oh, there was history. You should have seen the amount of mirror tiles and velvet wallpaper and shit we had to pull down to get it back to the original brick and wood. Right, Boyd?”
Nothing from Boyd.
Nell didn’t even seem to notice. “I wanted to rename it, but Pat and Eric outvoted me. Probably for the best. The whole town knows it as the Dive Bar.”
“You might have gotten haunted by the old man.”
“Yeah. Andre Senior would not have been impressed.”
On the other side of the room, I watched Vaughan mix a couple of bourbon and Cokes, passing them to Rosie. (Hey, I’d avoided looking at him for a solid thirty, forty seconds.) Joe tapped him on the arm, telling him something. Then, with a nod, Vaughan moved on to the next job. His lean angular face seemed fierce, determined. I felt for him. Learning a new trade was never easy—especially on such a busy night.
“Jesus, you’ve got it bad,” said Nell.
I snapped to attention, spluttering, “What?”
“You keep watching him.”
“I do not.”
“Oh god, yes, you do,” said Nell. “Tell her, Boyd. It’s kind of nauseating.”
Boyd didn’t even bother looking up from the pot he was stirring.
“He saved my big butt yesterday. He’s my friend and this is his first night on a new job,” I said, trying my best to be nonchalant, noncrazy. “I want him to do well, that’s all.”
The redheaded woman raised a single brow.
“Fine.” I took a deep breath. “Nell, I hate to be the one to have to tell you this. But your brother is hot. Like smokin’ hot. Honestly, it’s kind of impossible to have a vagina and not look.”
She barked out a laugh.
Boyd frowned, continuing to cook. At least I’d gotten a reaction. I stirred my drink with the straw, chasing a cube of ice around the glass.
Hands always in motion, Nell moved on to the grill, tending to thick cuts of steak. “Has he said anything more about selling the house?”
Yikes, not safe territory. “You need to ask him about that.”
“He’s busy. I’m asking you.”
“Yes. And I’m telling you to ask him.” The woman could give me all the hard-eyed looks she wanted. I wasn’t giving away a damn thing Vaughan had confided.
Lightbulbs suspended from the two-story-high ceiling turned on and filled the Dive Bar with a warm glow. I could have happily settled in at a corner table and read for hours. It just felt like a nice place to be.
Until it didn’t.
A slick-looking man with a man-bun marched in, face crankier than thunder, his voice louder than all hell. “What the fuck, Nell?”
Unperturbed, the petite chef smiled. “What the fuck what, Eric?”
“He isn’t working here.”
“He is.”
“No.” The man, Eric, put a hella lot of emphasis on the word. “I’m an owner here too. You need to run this kind of shit past me, and I’m telling you no.”
“Eric.” The other waitress, Stella, hovered behind him, waiting. “Can I have a word with you?”
“Not now.”
“It’s important.”
Eric didn’t get a chance to answer, however, with Nell on the warpath.
“We hired Joe, your brother,” she said.
“We all agreed to hire my brother. Only person I see supporting this decision is you.”
Eyes as cold as the arctic, Nell picked up a particularly long dangerous-looking knife. “We need help. He needs a job. It’s a win for everyone.”
“We’re doing fine. And that asshole can rot as far as I know.” He moved forward, looming over Nell. It was kind of impressive how little fear he had for his life.
“He’s. My. Brother.”