Winter (Four Seasons #1) (9 page)

“
Last song!
Let’s grab some water for our parched musician,” a voice announces
over the speaker system. A series of moans and boos are chanted by
the crowd.

“
Screw the
water, get him a beer!” a woman yells.

Another woman
cat calls, “Tequila body shots!”

Whoever is up
there is causing quite a stir. I laugh to myself, looking over my
shoulder to find Noah. He’s leaning over the bar, talking to the
bartender who just so happens to be a smoking hot chick with a
ridiculously low cut top. She’s biting her lip, an openly slutty
indication that she’s interested in more than just his drinks
order. Her eye catches mine, a smug grin on her face, as she
removes the caps off two beers and leans over unnecessarily far to
place them in front of Noah. He pays her and is smiling when he
turns around and makes his way back to the booth.

“
Forget the
menus?” I ask as he places a beer in front of me.

He shakes his
head. “Nah. I just ordered you a veggie burger. You said you were
vegetarian, right?”

I burst out
laughing, picking up my beer bottle. “Very funny.” We seriously
talked about my addiction to rare steak only minutes ago as we
walked over here, so I know he’s joking. Only when I take a drink
from my bottle and put it down, I see that he’s not. He’s not
joking at all. There’s an awkward look on his face.

“
Oh God, I’m
so sorry. You’re gonna think I’m such a dick now aren’t
you?”

Man, the
bartender’s rack must have really distracted him. I give him a
smile—an
it’s no big deal
kind of thing even though it sort of is. “It’s
okay. I’ll just go ask to change the order.”

Noah flinches.
“Sorry, Avery. I’ll go.”

“
No,
seriously. It’s fine.” I get up, beer bottle in hand, and head over
to the bar. There are way more people waiting for service now that
the musician’s taking a break, and a group of five college girls
stand at the end of the bar placing tequila shots and sliced up
lime wedges onto a small tray. They really weren’t kidding about
the body shots.

“
What can I
get ya?” the woman asks me, still smirking, like she thinks I’ve
come over here to give her a piece of my mind about flirting with
my man. Another perfect opportunity for an eye roll, but instead I
smile sweetly. No point in being a bitch when Noah isn’t my man at
all, and this woman is in charge of whether the chef spits in my
food. I’ll be nice as pie. If she doesn’t want to be nice back,
then that’s her problem.

“
My friend
just ordered me a veggie burger. Could you please see if there’s
any chance I could change it to a regular hamburger?”

The bartender
looks puzzled. She clearly expected something else out of me. She
pouts, her lip-gloss a completely over the top shade of pink.
“Order’s already gone into the kitchen, sweetheart. Boyfriend
obviously doesn’t know you that well, huh?”

I don’t rise
to the bait. “Yeah, actually we’re just friends. And no, we don’t
know each other all that well.”

“
Well, either
way, there’s nothing I can do about it now. As soon as the order’s
put in, that’s it.”

“
Claire,
surely you can stick your head through the door and change the
order.”

I start at the
familiar voice beside me. Luke Reid tips a bottle of water to his
lips, sweat beading on his forehead. My knees buckle like someone
just took a sledge hammer to them. His dark hair is damp and messy,
ruffled in that
I don’t give a fuck
style only a few guys can pull off
convincingly.

“
Luke?”

He screws his
mouth up to one side, raising his eyebrows. How the hell does he
make that rued look so…so…

“
Hey,
Beautiful.” He sets the bottle down on the bar and frowns at
Claire, evil slut bartender from hell. “Greg’s not even in the
kitchen right now.” He points over to a tall guy in a motorhead
t-shirt, talking to a group of girls, legs clad in checkered pants,
the kind only chefs wear. Claire tucks her hands into the back
pockets of her jeans, thrusting her chest out. She twists her torso
from side to side, pouting like a little girl.

“
I was only
playing, Luke. Of course it’s no problem.”

My mouth falls
open as she literally skips over to Greg the chef. I turn to Luke,
who is he rubbing a green guitar pick furiously in between the pad
of his thumb and his bent index finger. “Um, thanks? I didn’t know
you played here.” I feel the need to clarify that, just to make
sure he knows I’m not stalking him or something.

“
Yeah. I
sometimes play here before a night shift starts. Amps me up. The
twelve hour shifts can drain you sometimes.” He nods over to Noah,
still sitting behind me. “You on a date?”

“
No. No, of
course not.”
Of course not?
What am I, some kind of virginal nun? I can be on
a date if I want to be. I pull my shoulders back, standing a little
straighter. “Well kind of. It might be. I’m not really
sure.”

Luke, still
staring at Noah, frowns. His expression is a dark one. “Haven’t
defined the relationship, huh?”

“
No, it’s not
a relationship. We don’t have…” I’m floundering. Wow, this is
terrible. Luke bends the guitar pick in his hand so hard the green
plastic turns white. He tosses it onto the bar.

“
Okay, well
good luck with it, whatever it is. I gotta go. I have one last song
to play.”

“
Sure.”

He tips his
head to one side and half-closes his eyes, staring at me intently.
“Sorry about the thanksgiving text, Ave. I meant it, though. If you
need anything just holler. Especially if you need anyone’s kneecaps
breaking…” he shoots Noah a pointed glance when he says that. I
haven’t told him people call me Ave now. It just falls out of his
mouth like it’s obvious. He backs away, taking four steps before he
turns around and disappears back into the crowd. The people part
for him like he’s freaking Jeff Buckley reincarnated or
something.

“
Who was
that?” Noah stands behind me, propping himself up against the bar
by one elbow. He’s smiling, but his forehead is
furrowed.

“
Just a
friend,” I tell him.

Claire walks
back behind the bar, shooting daggers at me as the crowd erupts
into cheers and whistles. From this position, I can just about see
the top half of Luke’s upper body as he climbs onto what must be a
small stage in the corner. He places a guitar strap over his head
and sits down—I’m assuming there’s a stool there.

“
What are the
chances, huh? You know the guy who plays here,” Noah says, leaning
close so he can speak directly into my ear. His breath skims across
my neck, hot, and I have to fight the urge to take a step back.
It’s not that it isn’t nice. It is…but, I don’t know. Something’s
stopping me from enjoying his proximity as much as I might have
done twenty minutes ago. I’m not stupid enough to pretend I don’t
know what that something is. Or
who
. I just refuse to admit
it.

“
Thanks for
being so welcoming tonight,” Luke says softly into the mic. His
voice is sombre, and a hush falls over the sea of people between
the bar and the stage. People whisper to each other, like it’s
imperative they hear every last word out of his mouth. “I only have
one more song to play tonight. It’s not one of mine, it’s a
classic. This song means a great deal to me, so I hope you enjoy
it.”

Luke strums a
few chords out on his guitar, staring down at the frets, even
though I’m a hundred percent positive he doesn’t need to look to
find exactly where each of his fingertips should be. It takes a
moment before I recognize the slow progression of the chords he
strums out, and when his foot starts tapping out a familiar rhythm
against the stage my throat begins to close up. It’s Blackbird.
Blackbird by the Beatles. The only song my father knew how to
play—his favourite. Luke’s brows pull together and upwards as he
starts to sing, and my stomach lurches. Oh God. His voice is
beautiful. Rough and perfect and full of emotion. He sings like
it’s his heart that’s on the floor right now, not mine. The
words—about fixing broken things, broken hearts and broken wings,
learning to fly—each one of them punches through me until I feel
like I can’t breathe.

“
Can we…do you
mind if we sit down again?”

Noah nods and
gives me his trademark smile, guiding me back to the booth. It’s a
short song so I only have to struggle through two more minutes of
Blackbird before it’s finally over and the screaming college girls
are doing what they do best again: screaming.

“
He’s good,”
Noah says, slugging back some of his beer. The words themselves are
complimentary but his tone doesn’t necessarily marry up with
them.

“
Yeah. He is.”
He really is. But why…
why
did he have to play
that
song?

“
Encore!
Encore!”
The body shot girls have clearly
had at least one more round of tequila and they don’t seem keen to
let Luke off the stage without another song.

Noah laughs,
watching the scene play out with bemusement. “What is this,
fricken’ Madison Square Garden or something?”

I risk a look
behind me and Luke is holding up his hands, doing his best to
navigate his way off the stage without offending anybody. Doesn’t
look like he’s going to be successful, however. The girls bar his
way, high-heeled feet tapping with expectation. Luke drops his
hands, resignation settling in on his face. He sits back down on
his stool. “All right, all right. One more song. Make it a cover,
though. You guys decide.”

“
What can you
play?” someone shouts close by.

Luke smiles,
his teeth flashing in a genuine smile. “Anything you
got.”

“
Radioactive!”
the same guy calls.

“
Yeah,
Radioactive!”

“
Radioactive!”

Luke just nods
his head. This time he doesn’t look down at his guitar. He lets his
eyes roam over the bustling bodies in front of him as he starts to
slam out a bluesy, raspy version of the popular Imagine Dragons
song. This performance is so different to the one I just witnessed.
That one was filled with tangible pain, while this one is playful
and electric. I get goose bumps when he mimics the part where Dan
Reynolds sings, ‘
breathing in the
chemicals’
.

“
Food’s here,”
Noah says, drawing my attention back to the booth. Wow. I’ve been
staring at Luke and completely ignoring the guy who brought me
here.

“
Sorry, I’ve
just never seen him sing before,” I apologize, as Claire drops our
burgers off at the table. She doesn’t spare either of us a
glance—Noah’s entirely forgotten. She’s too busy ogling
Luke.

“
You known him
long?” Noah asks, picking up his burger.

“
We grew up
together,” I say. “He’s older though, we never really hung out or
anything.”

“
Hmmm. Another
Ohio local in the big bad city.”

“
Huh?” I’m
inches away from blowing my cover completely when I begin to ask
him what he means. I remember just in time. I’m from Ohio now,
which means Luke now has to be from Ohio, too. Man, this is getting
complicated. We eat our food as the whole bar sings along to the
chorus of the song. When it’s done, people disperse and talk in
groups, ordering more drinks and food from the bar. I feel the
intense pressure of Luke’s gaze as he packs up his guitar and walks
silently out of O’Flanagan’s. He doesn’t even say
goodbye.

The awkward
moment between Noah and I passes as soon as we leave the bar, and
he insists on walking me back to the apartment. He doesn’t hang
around for an invitation inside; he just leans forward and
carefully tucks a strand of hair gently behind my ear.

“
You know,” he
says, “if I didn’t like you, now would be the time that I tried to
kiss you.”

“
What?” I
can’t help but laugh, especially because of the fake serious look
he has trained on his face.

“
Oh yeah,
that’s right. I’d be all over that if I didn’t like you. Kissing,
lip biting, hands everywhere, the works.” He wiggles his fingers at
me and winks.

“
That’s…that
makes absolutely no sense,” I laugh.

“
It totally
does,” he disagrees. “If I didn’t think you looked like some kind
a’ angel with all that blonde hair and your ridiculously cute nose,
I’d definitely be trying to sleep with you right now. But as it
stands, my hands and my lips are going to behave themselves
tonight. I want more than one shot at giving them what they
want.”

I blush and
tuck my chin into my jacket, knowing he’ll still be able to figure
out that I’m grinning by the way my eyes are crinkled at the
corners. “That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“
What?”

“
That you
think my nose is cute.”

Noah tips his
head back and laughs, attracting the attention of a couple walking
by on the street. They smile at us when they pass and Noah holds
his hand out. “Wait up a second, can I ask you guys a question?
Don’t you just think this girl has the cutest nose? I’ve told
her
twice
now but
I think we need an outside opinion.”