Strut the Mall (Love at Westbrook Mall #4)

12. Number One Fan

12

Number One Fan

I couldn’t go up to him like this. He was busy with the band. I didn’t recognize any of the other members. Some unshaven guy in plaid fiddled with the amp until it shrieked. I winced.

Zack twisted around and barked, “Don’t touch those, I already set them up so we wouldn’t get feedback.”

“Sorry, I thought we might get better acoustics if I angled them,” the guy said.

Did Mr. Lumberjack think he knew better than Zack?

Not that I was personally invested. I sat on a stool at the bar and crossed my legs, turning my back to the band.

What was I supposed to do? Force myself into their conversation? Stay for their set?

A bartender toweled off the counter. “Can I help you?”

The menus had some kind of yellow-ish coating I didn’t want to handle any more than I had to. “Is the food any good here?” I hadn’t had dinner.

The bartender shrugged. “It’s half-price appetizers right now. I’d go with the wings.”

It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but I ordered them anyway. What was one more impulse in the grand scheme of my new year?

A drummer tapped a countdown, then the band blasted into a cover song. What the hell? They didn’t even do an introduction. I propped up my chin and angled to listen better.

Zack kicked and strummed, twisting his body around the guitar as if they were dance partners. He was super into it, not paying attention to his potential audience. I kinda appreciated that. The music mattered. It wasn’t bad. The guitar riff was actually pretty impressive.

Without thinking, I cheered for him.

He set his feet shoulder-width apart and whipped his gaze straight at me.

For a second, I froze. I was used to being invisible, or at least anonymous, around him. Why had I drawn his attention when I didn’t have a plan?

My fingers crept across the bar. Maybe I could cancel those wings and bolt.

But Zack didn’t seem put off by my presence. His neck and ears reddened. He nodded a greeting and kept playing the set. Instead of dancing, he paced and bobbed his head.

Okay. Nothing bad happened. Maybe we were kinda, almost friends.

I smiled and settled in at the bar to catch up on social media while I enjoyed the set. A new notification wrinkled my insides.

Theo: Baby, please talk to me. Can I come over tonight?

I huffed and jabbed the screen.

Me: No.

Theo: Can we meet and have a drink at least?

Me: Go have coffee with Miss Zeezy’s.

Theo: I told you, she doesn’t mean anything to me! I love YOU baby [pleading face emoji]

How mean would it be to react with the eye roll emoji?

I wasn’t sure it would hurt him or take away the sting of his schemes. Still, the idea tempted me. There were worse things I could do. Public things.

The bartender slid me a plate of wings and set a glass of water on a napkin.

“Thanks,” I said. Maybe I was hangry. I needed to eat and make some money. I messaged a few clients. Nothing terribly exciting, although I did hit up a few who were into music stuff.

Me: I’m listening to a KISS cover band and thinking of you ;)

Anon66: No way! What are they called?

I didn’t want my clients using a band name to scout my location. Besides, in my mind, this group was just ‘Zack’s band.’ If they wanted people to remember their names, they ought to have branded better.

Me: I didn’t catch the band name. What’s your favorite song? I’ll put in a request 3

The lead singer announced, “Thanks for listening. We’ll be back after a quick break.”

I sat upright and clapped, one of the few in the bar who did more than a half-hearted hoot. What was wrong with this crowd? Zack’s band was great. The next round of darts could wait until patrons applauded the entertainment.

Zack gently set his guitar down and glanced in my direction.

If I wanted to talk to him, now was the time to do it. I straightened my spine and scrunched a napkin between my fingers, but to my surprise, he walked up to me first.

He half-sat on the stool next to me and kept one foot on the floor. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I replied. A half-second of awkward silence bubbled into an eternity, so I held up a piece of chicken. “Would you like a wing?” They were bright orange but synthetically tasty.

“No, thanks.” He tapped his foot against the wood floors. “How was the rest of your New Year’s?”

“Good, and yours?” I nibbled on a wing, hoping the meat wouldn’t melt off the bone and smear sauce on my chin.

“Good, thanks.” He wiped his palm on his knee. Was he nervous?

“Your band is really good,” I said.

His mouth lifted on one side. “Thanks.”

“You don’t believe me?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We enjoy it.” Scratching his ear, he glanced at the set. “Did you come to see us or…?”

“I had to pick up my car.” No other reason. Of course, I did walk in because I saw the hoodie on a bouncer. Whatever. I didn't come here for him. Or his band. “This was just a happy coincidence.”

“Right.” He frowned at the counter. “Sorry. I should’ve thought about how you’d get your car back after I drove you home.”

I sipped from my straw. “Please, you did me a favor. I probably owe you a drink.”

He squirmed and shot a nervous glance my way. “Actually, could you do something for me?”

I braced myself for something horrifying. Clean the bathrooms? Slice lemon wedges over my bare, broken-skinned feet? What if he wanted me to offer the bartenders from last night an apology for wasting their drinks?

“It’s not weird,” he assured me. “And feel free to say no.”

I didn’t think it’d be something sexy.

I hugged my glass and bristled. “What is it?”

He leaned closer. “Could you be a reference for me?”

“A reference? For what?” Figure drawings?

“For Fancee’s,” he said with startling sincerity.

I chuckled in disbelief. “You want to work with me? At Fancee’s?”

He lifted one shoulder. “I’m not passionate about shoes or anything. But you said they have part-time benefits. I could work in the warehouse, get some forklift certifications, that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” I spun the straw around my finger and tilted my head. “You want to drive a forklift?”

“I don’t know.” He glared across the bar and scooted closer, his voice quiet and rumbling to the point the air seemed to prickle with tension. “I’m sick of breaking up fights and dealing with drunks all the time. My resume is pathetic. No one’s gonna hire a bouncer. They think we’re thugs with cash bonuses.”

“No. If anything, you stop people from getting arrested,” I teased.

He gave me a long look. “I want to set a good example for my little cousins, work somewhere they can actually visit.”

Well, that was fucking wholesome. “Why don’t you get a security gig?”

“I’d have to work downtown. It’s too far, and the hours are bad. It’d be like New Year’s Eve shifts every night. I’m conditioning a bit for the cop test, but I’d still be dealing with deadbeats and crap shifts.” He hunched over the counter. “I mean, what if I got night shifts? I’d have to quit the band. My family would worry every day, and I’d never see them. I don’t want to put them through that.”

“I get it.” Retail was crap hours, but at least it was relatively safe.

He dragged himself out of the seat and stood. “Listen, it’s okay if you’d rather not be my reference. We only re-met recently, and saying no could put you in a weird place with Shelby. Plus, if I wasn’t great at it, it’d affect your boss’s opinion of your recommendations. I don’t want to mess up your job or friendship, so–”

“Don’t be so dramatic," I said.

His eyebrows shot up. “Says the girl who threw a lemon wedge.”

I rolled my eyes, then primly faced him. “I would be honored to be your reference. As long as you promise to be a gentleman.”

He snorted, but smiled. “Does that mean chewing with my mouth closed?”

“That’s a start.” I held out a wing.

He took the chicken and moved it as if we shared a handshake via transference. A weird warmth flared through my veins. Maybe it was the tequila from last night reactivated by proximity. That could be a thing.

Zack tore off a hunk of chicken with his teeth and licked the sauce from his lips. His dark eyes shone with triumph.

Damn. Did he have to look so confident?

“You also need to get a haircut.” I wiped my hand off, then pointed at his face. “And not something cheap.”

He laughed and a piece of meat flew free before his fist could catch it.

I dodged, nearly falling off the wobbly stool. “Ah, you just spat food at me.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” He grabbed my forearm and yanked me upright to steady me. “Do you have a pre-approved barber shop you’d like to refer me to as well?”

“Maybe.” My heart thumped faster the longer he smiled at me. Why was he staring? Face hot, I raised my chin. “If you could refrain from speaking while you’re eating–”

“Sure. Any other rules, your majesty?” He nudged my shoulder.

I hid my budding smirk behind a napkin. There was only one more rule, and it was for me: Don’t fall for any more lines just because the guy smiles pretty.

Theoretically, that should be easy.

Once he got the job, Zack would be done with me, and me with him.

This was a one-time, no-feelings, openly using me kind of thing.

Still, part of me was tempted to cheer during the rest of his set just to make him blush again. It’d be sweet revenge. Or maybe just sweet…but I wasn’t sure I should risk any more flirting. I wouldn’t want him to think I was interested or anything.