I’m blending
a pair of frozen daiquiris with one hand and shaking a martini with the other
when out of the corner of my eye, I see a solo blonde slide onto the barstool
at the end, near the beer taps. I finish what I’m doing and prepare the tray
for Carol to pick up before glancing over and seeing its Destiny.
A guy in the
middle of the bar makes eye contact and nods at his empty beer mug. I grab it
and start filling without really looking up at her. “Didn’t think I’d see you
again till closer to closing.”
“Sorry?” she
says. “Are you talking to me?”
The voice is
off—slightly raspy and a pitch lower than her usual. I look up again and squint
at her, wondering if she’s already started drinking. She’s taken her straight
hair down from the ponytail she always wears it in and it’s not as long as I
remember it from the other night—the only other time I’ve seen it down. There’s
also a fading blue stripe cutting through the platinum over her right ear that
I’ve never noticed before.
“What can I
get you?” I ask her instead of pushing it.
I’m already
reaching for the vodka and cranberry to start on a Madras, her drink of choice
last week, when she answers, “Rum and Coke.”
“That’s
different,” I mutter, shooting her another glance.
She gives me
a puzzled look. “Look, I really just wanted to find out if you hire
entertainment.”
My face
mirrors her puzzlement, I’m sure, as I try to process her statement. “Why?”
She hunches
to the side and pulls something up from her feet. I see it’s a battered black
guitar case when the narrow end peeks over the top of the bar. “Because I need
a gig.”
“Didn’t know
you played,” I say, pushing her drink across the bar to her.
That baffled
look is back as she pulls it toward her and takes a swallow. I can’t help
following the curve of her long neck downward toward a pair of large round tits
perfectly outlined by her snug, low-cut T-shirt. She is definitely hot, and if
we’re on the same page, then I’ve got nothing to feel guilty about. She wants
me to fuck her till she screams? I’m perfectly capable of that. She sets her
drink down and catches me staring. She cuts me that wicked smile again, causing
my cock to stir. I return the smile, sending the innuendo right back at her.
She props
her elbows onto the bar and leans forward, giving me a clear look down her
shirt. “Considering that we’ve never met before, I don’t find that surprising.”
I’m so
absorbed in images of my face buried in those magnificent tits that it takes me
a second to process what she said.
My eyes snap
to hers. “Wait…what?”
She reaches
across the bar, offering me a hand. “Lilah.”
There’s a
full second all I can do is stare, wondering if this is one of those split
personality things you hear about sometimes. And in that second, through the
dim lighting, I take in all the tiny details—a dark mole at the outer corner of
her right eye; her eyes, silver instead of blue; the missing white
crescent-shaped scar above Destiny’s right eyebrow; and lips, a little fuller
than I remember—which are smirking at me now.
“You’re not
Destiny,” I say as it all clicks.
It’s not a
question, but she shakes her head. “No. I am most definitely not Destiny.”
“Twins?” I
ask.
She cocks
her head playfully. “What do you think?”
“You’ve got
to be. You’re fucking identical except for the eyes.” I tap my forehead. “And
you’re missing a scar.”
Her perfect
blond eyebrow raises in amusement. “She’s the pretty one and I’m the smart
one.”
I bark out a
laugh as I reach across and shake her hand. “Bran Silo. Good to meet you.”
She doesn’t
let go of my hand for a second after we’re done shaking—just long enough to
send a clear message that she’s interested.
A knot forms
in my gut, and I realize it’s guilt. Destiny and I have an understanding, but
regardless, I’m pretty sure fucking her sister would be way outside the bounds
of gentlemanly behavior. Not that anyone would ever mistake me for a gentleman.
“Destiny never mentioned she had a sister.”
“Doesn’t
surprise me.” She takes another drink, nearly polishing it off in a few big
gulps.
I tip my
head at it her glass. “Another?”
“My limit is
one,” she says, pushing her glass toward me. “Just Coke this time, thanks.”
Carol sweeps
by on her way to the kitchen, dropping an order on my bar. “Thought you left,”
she says to Lilah without slowing down. “Careful or your favorite customer
might ask for you,” she adds, jerking her head at Mr. Hendricks as she
disappears through the swinging door.
I bark out a
laugh as I scoop ice into Lilah’s glass and fill it with Coke. “Good to know
I’m not the only one.”
Lilah
shrugs. “Happens all the time.” She slides out of her chair, lifting the guitar
case. “So do you want to hear me play or what?”
I look
around the crowded room, loud with chatter, drowning out the background music.
“We don’t generally have live entertainment,” I say, which is really an
understatement. We’ve never had live entertainment. But for some reason, I’m
not willing to shut Lilah down so fast.
When my eyes
find her again, annoyed impatience shines loud and clear out of her gaze. “So
that’s a no?”
I feel my
mouth pull into a cocky half-smile. “I didn’t say that.”
She opens
her case and pulls out her guitar, unabashedly climbing through the window I
left ajar for her. I watch as she sets herself up on the stool and rests the
guitar in her lap, gripping it softly but confidently. She starts strumming,
and I expect her to be discrete, since this is basically an audition, but
there’s not a shred of self-consciousness or embarrassment anywhere in her
disposition as she begins to belt out lyrics—an old No Doubt song that I can’t
remember the name of.
The way she
plays, as if on instinct; the passion in her voice, and the fact that she’s
really fucking good, starts to turn heads at the tables closest to us. As they
quiet and listen, more tables still, and soon the only thing she’s competing to
be heard over is the Kat Country on the speakers. But she doesn’t decrease her
volume. If anything, as eyes find her, she becomes louder, feeding off the
attention.
I reach
under the bar and click off the stereo, then lean onto the back counter and
cross my arms, listening as she finishes one song and launches into the next.
A guy at the
bar pulls a five from his pocket and flags me down with it. I grab his beer
mug, but he shakes his head. “Is there a tip jar?” he asks with a nod toward
Lilah.
I pull a
fresh mug from under the bar and he slips the five inside, then I set it at the
end of the bar near Lilah. She cuts me a smile and her eyes slide down my body
as she sings.
And fuck me.
I lean my hands on the bar and press against the lower counter when my dick
won’t yield to my will. Without a doubt, everything Destiny has going on,
Lilah’s got that and more.
