Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(72)

“Yeah. These next six weeks are going to make my year, though.” He beats on his chest with one fist. “I’m ready! Bring it, drunk music lovers! I am here for you!”

I laugh, because Danny hasn’t changed since our high school days.

“You could put on an apron, you know,” he says. “Stop drinking sissy drinks and help a guy out. I think you still owe us at least a shift.”

“I’m on vacation. I’m supposed to be having fun.”

As if I could, though. Delilah is somewhere in this town right now, and I’m supposed to be beside her.

“Here’s what I need to know, then.” Danny sets his beer down on a cocktail napkin. “Why was Delilah Spark sitting right where you are and asking me about you last night?”

I actually stab myself in the chin with my straw as I lift my drink. “What? Really?”

Danny gives me a look that suggests I’m as pathetic as I feel right now. “I must have looked familiar to her, because she asked me point blank if I’d heard from you.”

My flinch is swift. “Yeah, that’s a long story I’m still trying to sort out. We’re kind of a thing. Or I hope we’re a thing.”

“Dude.” The young bartender gapes at me. “That’s even cooler than being a hockey player. She’s hawt. Little weird to order your beers unopened, but…” He shrugs. “Stars gotta be a little eccentric, right?”

I sigh.

Danny clicks his tongue. “Somebody looks bummed. Did you two fight?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated. And it’s been that way since I met her three years ago right here.” I pat the glossy wood surface of the bar.

“Nothing comes easy to you,” Dicky says. “And I mean you specifically. Always gotta fail spectacularly before things start looking up.”

That sounds accurate.

“Gotta say, she looked pretty sad, too,” the chatty bartender offers. “Her bodyguard kept trying to get her to leave, but she stayed a while before settling up. Good tipper, though.”

Goddamn it. I hate the image of her sitting here alone, wondering why I stood her up.

“Does this have anything to do with Brett Ferris?” my oldest friend asks. “I heard they broke up, and he’s not happy about it.”

“Sort of,” I admit, looking over my shoulder just in case. Darlington Beach is a really small town.

“Now that dude is not a good tipper.” The bartender grins. “Not a half hour after Delilah Spark left with her bodyguard, that asshole comes in. Sits down right there.” He points at a barstool. “Orders a club soda.” He rolls his eyes. “Leaves me fifty cents because he’s too lazy to pick up his change. And then? He takes a stack of cocktail napkins and tucks them into his pocket, like somebody’s grandma.” The kid mimes this part. “Like he’s too cheap to buy his own. Rich people are the weirdest.”

Danny chuckles, and I sort of chime in. But my mind is stuck on something he just said. Cocktail napkins. They’re pretty much useless, unless you want to advertise your bar, and catch the condensation that rolls off your beer glass.

Or if you want to be a creepy stalker and terrify someone.

My body goes totally cold. I set my half-full cocktail down carefully. “Did he leave after that?” I ask, and my voice sounds tinny.

“Yup.” The kid mops the bar. “Good riddance.”

I’ve heard enough. “Danny, I think I have to go find my girl.”

“Aw.” He claps me on the back. “Would you please come in for lunch tomorrow, though? I can take an hour off to hang with you.”

“Sure,” I say absently. “Sounds great.” I pull my wallet out as I get to my feet.

“Your money is no good here,” Danny says.

I toss a twenty onto the bar. “That’s for Dick-who-isn’t-really-a-Dick, then. See you boys tomorrow.”

And I run out of there and into the salty air of Darlington Beach. I need to find Delilah. Right away. I know which hotel she’s staying at, of course. It’s about a half mile away.

I break into a jog.





Delilah





“Charla is not going to like this,” Becky points out as I slip on my shoes. “She wouldn’t want you to negotiate anything without her.”

“I won’t,” I insist. “And I’ll use her as an excuse if he pressures me.” I tuck my hotel key into my clutch. “But I think Brett needs to release Lucky Hearts. Maybe he can’t afford to wait any longer. And if he can save face by meeting with me in person instead of dealing with a snarling manager, then I will throw him this bone.”

Becky flops backward on my hotel bed. “He wants to throw you a bone, all right. His.”

“Not happening.” I run a Chapstick over my lips. “Doesn’t this outfit say, ‘casual but not offering anything’?” I look down at my plain black top and unassuming jeans.

“Sure. But that man doesn’t read signals very well. Please text me if you need backup of any kind.”

“Don’t worry so much. I can handle myself, you know.”

“Call me when you’re back. We can watch some bad TV together and not think about tomorrow at all.”