Forget (17 page)

Brooke shakes her head with a laugh. She’s walking toward me, her gaze shooting daggers into my chest. She mouths, “Paybacks. Are. A. Bitch.”

I grin—wide and completely amused—more than willing to see her kind of payback.

Once she’s on stage, I introduce her to Alex.

“Dylan has told me wonderful things about you,” he tells her engagingly.

She beams. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

Brooke holds her hand out. Alex shakes his head, and without even asking, pulls her in for a big, tight hug, saying, “Handshakes are for business meetings and suits. Hugs are far more appropriate for this meet-and-greet, sweetheart.”

Perverted bastard.

Brooke giggles, taking it all in stride.

“And please, don’t hesitate to put this sod in his place.” He smirks at me over her shoulder, flashing an appreciative look, and mouths, “Bloody hell.”

He can shove his appreciation up his arse.

The hug lingers a few more beats than I like. Brooke steps away, laughing.

Jesse is beside her. “Good to see you, Tinkerbell.”

“Oh, hey there,
arsehole,
I didn’t see you back there. I guess you were the blur behind the drums.”

“You fucking know it!” he exclaims, pulling her in for a tight embrace. Jesse swings her around in a circle. Her long legs nearly kick me in the face.

I think I need new friends. And a new brother. I toss them both a less than friendly look and make a mental note to fuck with them later.

Once they’re done pawing at Brooke, they hop off stage and head for the bar.

She sits beside me. Her hand moves to my rib cage, and she pinches the skin hard enough to leave a bruise. “Christ, woman,” I mutter, holding my side.

“There’s more where that came from.” She points a finger in my direction. “And you’ve got some nerve getting me up here again. Good thing, Lindsay and I stopped at the bar across the street because of a sign she
thought
read half-priced shots. It wasn’t, but we drank anyway . . .” she pauses her rambling for a moment. A self-deprecating smile crosses her lips. “Liquid courage seems to be the only thing to get me on stage, especially in front of a crowd.”

I make a show of glancing around the room. Crowd is a generous word.

She waves a hand at me. “Oh, don’t be a dick. You know what I’m tryin’ to say.”

The word
tryin’
tips me off. Brooke is tipsy
.
“Are you snookered, Little Wing?”

She nods in two slow movements. A lazy grin covers her mouth.

“Well, I have no desire to ruin your fun. Let’s use this liquid courage to our advantage. What are we playing?”

She snags her bottom lip with her teeth, mulling it over for a bit before her eyes light up. “I got it,” she says, hopping to her feet. “You mind if I use this?” she calls towards Alex, reaching for his guitar.

“Be my guest,” he encourages from the bar, holding his beer in the air.

Instead of sitting down, she moves her vacated bar stool out of the way and adjusts a mic to her height. Her confident movements—maybe just a tad on the drunk side—are so different from the anxious woman I saw the last time we were on stage together.

“Stand up,” she demands.

I do, grinning at her, completely entertained, and if I’m being honest, quite turned on by her self-assurance. Confidence is the sexiest thing a woman can wear.

She moves my bar stool out of the way and scoots another mic in front of me, adjusting it to my height. I want to laugh at the fact that she’s playing the part of stagehand right now.

“Get your ass up here, Jesse!” she yells towards him.

His brow rises in surprise. He’s standing beside a seated Lindsay, who’s also watching Brooke with intrigue.

She motions towards him with impatient hands. “Seriously,” she voices,
more like yells,
into the mic. It screeches in response. A few patrons put their hands over their ears. She’s oblivious to it, too busy insisting Jesse returns to the stage. “Get your ass up here. We need your drums.”

He grins, sets his pint down, and strides towards us.

“Lindsay, you can come too. Oh, and bring your green hat!” She giggles at herself.

A few people in the bar stare at her, confused.

“It’s from
Old School,
” she explains into the mic.

No response.

“
Will Ferrell?
” she asks the crowd.

“You’re my boy blue!” Jimmy yells from his coveted table.

“My man!” She points towards him. “Your drinks are on me tonight, Jim-bo!”

Christ, she’s too much. If we didn’t have an audience, I’d pull her in my arms and kiss her breathless.

Lindsay joins us. “All right fuckers, what’s my part in this circus?”

“Your job is to sit on his lap.” Brooke points to my brother. “And help him with the drums.”

Jesse’s face lights up like Christmas “Bloody brilliant plan, Tinkerbell.” He pats his lap. “Come on, Linds. Our new manager is demanding you sit on my lap. She seems like a woman who won’t take no for an answer.”

She follows Brooke’s demands, glancing over at me with a grin on her face. Apparently, I’m not the only one amused by this.

“So, are we going to play or are you just going to invite more people up here?” I’m only half-joking. I think Brooke might invite the entire bar up on stage before we even start a song.

She flips me off.

I grin at her, chuckling.

Alex’s guitar is around her shoulders. Her fingers get adjusted to the chords. “All right, I’m going to start playing, and you guys join me.”

“Slow your roll, Tinkerbell. What song?” Jesse asks without lifting his eyes from Lindsay’s tits.

Brooke crinkles her nose. “You’ll find out once I start.”

I choke on a laugh. “We don’t even get a hint?”

“It’s an eighties song.”

“Really narrowing it down there.” Jesse chuckles behind me.

She sighs, annoyed. “It’s only the end song to one of the best eighties movies of all time. Does that answer your question?”

“
Sincerely Yours, The Breakfast Club,
” Lindsay chimes in, quoting the final line in the movie.

“Hell yes!” Brooke tosses her fist in the air, mimicking the legendary scene.

I think spontaneous, carefree Brooke might be my favorite human being ever. I’m half-tempted to throw her over my shoulder, sprint to my apartment, and have my wicked way with her.

“Drunk Brookie is the best!” Lindsay cackles.

Brooke grins. “Aw, I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only you, darling. Only you.”

She blows Lindsay a kiss, and then focuses her attention on Jesse and me. “Tell me you guys know the song?”

Don’t You Forget About Me
by Simple Minds?

Of course, I know that song.
Everyone
knows that song.

I give her an “Are you kidding me?” look and say, “All right, Little Wing, let’s do it. You lead us, and Jesse and I will fall in with you.”

With shoulders back and a confident glint in her eyes, her fingers strum the opening chords like a fucking pro. As she starts to sing, her angelic voice quiets everyone in the room.

Jesse and I follow her lead. I’ve only played with her twice, and both times, it just comes naturally. I wonder if she even realizes how talented she is.

I can vaguely hear Lindsay giggling behind me. My gaze stays on Brooke, refusing to see what’s happening by the drums. I’d guess Jesse is using her ass in his lap to his advantage.

But mostly, I’m too focused on the gorgeous woman singing beside me to notice anything else. Her eyes glance towards me. A playful smile crests her lips.

Christ, she’s beautiful.

I don’t join in, refusing to let my voice drown out the beauty of her sexy vocals. Her voice is grainy and soulful and smoky around the edges. It’s the kind of voice that shouldn’t be wasted. Her name should be in neon lights with thousands of fans screaming her name.

I’ve never paid attention to the lyrics of this song, but my ears hear every syllable passing her pretty lips. My mind dissects each word, and I can’t help but think,
I’d let her tear me apart if it meant she’d put me back together in the end.

It’s well past two in the morning. Alex left around one with a red-head wrapped around his side. Not sure how he’s going to make his early flight to London in the morning, but that’s none of my business. He’ll be the one that has to deal with Zach if he misses it.

If it weren’t for Zach, our band wouldn’t have its shit together. He’s the sole force behind getting our name out there.

Au Fait usually closes its doors by half past one, but we decided to make an exception for Brooke and Lindsey. It also helps that they’ve drawn a crowd. Bruno propped the door open, letting the boisterous sounds from our bar filter out into the street. We might as well be the flame, pulling people leaving other bars in like moths.

My father will be ecstatic when he checks the profits next week.

And the girls are still going strong. They’ve been singing their hearts out while Jesse and I serve as their instrumental support.

They’ve even gone as far as to naming our new band.

The conversation went like this.

“We need a band name!” Lindsay shouted.

They’d just finished singing
Jessie’s Girl
by Rick Springfield. They changed up the lyrics but weren’t on the same page. While Lindsay sang, “I wish that I had Jessie’s Boy,” Brooke sang, “Where can I find a man like that.” And when Brooke sang, “Cause she’s watching her with those eyes,” Lindsay sang, “And he’s loving him with that body . . .”

The song was more gender crisis meets crossdresser meets drunken giggles than anything else. Jesse and I were crying with laughter by the end.

“Yes! We need a band name!” Brooke agreed. She snapped her fingers. “I got it! Bonus Fry!”

“Hell yes!”

“
Bonus Fry?”
Jesse asked.

“It’s genius, Brookie,” Lindsay ignored my brother. “There is nothing like finding a bonus fry . . .”

“After a late night of drinking your ass off,” Brooke finished. “You start to gather up your trash, sad and depressed the meal has ended, and then . . .”

“You look in the bag. And it’s like finding the Holy Grail of fast food. Nestled inside is one little . . .”

“
Bonus fry!
” Brooke exclaimed.

“Every time I find it, I tell whoever I’m with that I need a minute to be alone with my bonus fry. It takes me like twenty-five bites to finish. I never want it to end.”

“And my bonus fry
always
gets its own ketchup packet.”

“You get your own ketchup packet bonus fry!” they both shouted.

“Bonus Fry? Why don’t you go ahead and start talking about Hot Pockets, too, Jim Gaffigan?” Jesse teased. He’s a huge Jim Gaffigan fan; probably one of his favorite comedians and the girls had just stolen his material.

“Oh, fuck off, Jessica,” Lindsay said.

“Hey now! Only my brother gets to call me that,” he called back.

“Aw, did I wound your frail male ego?” she asked.

“Yeah, you did.” He held his chest, wincing in pain. “Come over here, sweetheart. Sit on my lap again and make it all better.” She laughed and did as she was told. Arguing is like a weird form of foreplay for those two.

Surprisingly, Jesse and Lindsay did
not
fuck on stage after that conversation. Once she disentangled herself from my brother, the girls kept singing.

Consider it eighties night at Au Fait. Lindsay’s vocals leave a lot to be desired as she finishes
Like A Prayer
by Madonna. Brooke told her to take the reins while she proceeded to perform an interpretive dance to the song. Reserved Brooke has long left the building. Christ, I’m not sure she was ever in the building.

The drunken crowd hollers for more. It’s not every day you get a show quite like this.

Popular model + Brooke’s insane vocal range = an entire roomful of male appreciation.

“Thank you, thank you,” Lindsay voices into the mic. “We’re Bonus Fry. And we love every single one of you.”

Bonus Fry
. . . Bloody hell, they’re a trip.

Ten songs later, we convince the girls to take a break.

Bruno switches on the jukebox while Lindsay signs autographs from Jesse’s lap.

Brooke sits beside me at the bar. “What’s your band’s name?”

I hunch over the bar, putting my head in my hands, and flash a devilish grin. “Careless Cockups.”

“
The Careless what-ups?”
she questions.

“
Care-less Cock-ups,
” I say, slowly pronouncing each syllable. Her cheeks turn pink over the word cock, and I wish I could whisper filthy things in her ear.

Bruno places two pints on napkins and leaves us to them.

“Careless Cockups? Is that slang for something?”

“Cockup is Brit slang for a mistake.”

“There has to be a story behind a name like that.” She brushes a lone curl out of her face. I remind myself to beat her to it next time.

I hesitate, looking into her intrigued eyes. I doubt there’ll ever be a moment where I won’t want to give Brooke whatever she wants. “Jesse became notorious for his cockups back in our uni days. See, he seemed to make a sport out of shagging any professor with a skirt. There was one in particular he had his eye on. Elizabeth Archer. She was in her early forties, very pretty, but all prim-and-proper. It was like being taught by the Queen.