Unbreak My Heart (Unbreak My Heart #1)(86)
I let the question roll over and over in my brain, taking my mind off the things I actually should be worrying about, as Bram parallel-parked across from a dive bar. What the hell? There wasn’t much else on the street so I knew that was where he must be headed, but why?
Pulling around the corner, I parked in the smallest parking spot ever made and jogged toward the entrance of the bar. Bram had already gone inside, and when I glanced at the patrons smoking near the entrance, I groaned and looked down at myself. My jeans and flannel shirt were perfect for dinner at the Evans house, but I was going to stick out like a sore thumb if I tried to go inside.
I stepped quickly back around the corner as I unbuttoned my top, making a homeless guy down the street wolf whistle. Jesus. Keeping one eye on the man sitting on the sidewalk, I pulled the shirt down my shoulders and tied it around my waist, leaving me in a black cami. That should work. I bent at the waist and scrubbed my fingers through my short, dark hair, then rose back up as I reached inside my nose and pulled down my septum piercing so it was visible. The retainer was easily hidden when I was around Dan and Liz, and I didn’t think either of them even knew I’d gotten it pierced. I loved it—I thought it looked badass, but my foster parents really wouldn’t and I didn’t want to deal with their kind but scolding comments about my “pretty face.” I’d gotten enough of that when I’d dyed my hair blue my sophomore year in college.
Rifling through my bag, I pulled out a deep-purple lip crayon and used a rearview mirror to color in my lips and smooth my crazy hair a little. Perfect. I walked back around the building and made my way to the door as I slid my tongue ring in and twisted the ball on the end a few times to secure it.
The hipsters at the door ignored me as I walked past, acting like their damn clove cigarettes held the answers to the universe, and I couldn’t help but snort as I stepped inside. Acting like you don’t care doesn’t make you look cool; it just makes it look like you’re trying too hard. I could practically feel their bespectacled gazes on my flannel-covered ass. Take a good look, guys.
“Welcome to open-mike night,” a guy called into a microphone as I bellied up to the bar and slid my ass onto a stool. “For those of you who’re new here—the rules are simple. We don’t want to hear your song about the melting glaciers in Alaska or the time you drove your VW bus to the Grand Canyon. Covers only, folks. You sing an original song, we’ll boo your ass off the stage.”
The crowd laughed, and my lips twitched as I looked at the guy on a small stage across the room. He was tall and lanky with a short beard and a shirt that said, BEER ME. Good looking, if you were into skinny guys.
“Got a friend starting us off tonight while you pussies get up the courage to sign in. Abraham?” the guy called, looking off to the darkened side of the stage.
My mouth dropped open as Bram stepped on stage, a worn guitar dangling from his hand. What in f*cking f*ck?
“Hefeweizen,” I called, glancing at the pretty, tattooed bartender who was leaning across the bartop next to me. “A shot of tequila, too, please.”
She nodded and pulled her eyes away from Bram to get my drinks.
“Hello, Portland,” Bram said softly, making my stomach do a weird somersault. “Haven’t been on stage in a while, so you’ll have to bear with me.”
“Yeah, ’cause you’re an *,” the tall, skinny guy called out.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here now,” Bram grumbled, making the crowd chuckle. “Can I sing, or are you gonna keep running your mouth?”
“By all means,” Tall Skinny Guy replied, throwing his arms out.
“First song, you might not know—”
“No originals!” Tall Skinny Guy yelled as the bartender slid my drinks over the counter.
Bram went completely still and turned his head slowly toward the side of the stage while the crowd snickered.
“Fine. Fine. Go ahead,” Tall Skinny Guy said over the crowd.
“Jesus.” Bram shook his head. “And I worried I’d be late.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the way the crowd was eating Bram up. He was working them—Bram who rarely got along with anyone and walked around with a permanent scowl—and held the crowded bar in the palm of his hand.
“Like I said, you might not recognize this one—but it’s not one of mine so Jay can shut the f*ck up and let me do it,” Bram said, leaning into the mike with a small smile on his face as he settled himself more comfortably on the bar stool he was perched on. “This is ‘Thief and a Liar’ by Jeffrey Martin.”
By the noise of the crowd, I guessed they knew who he was talking about—but I’d never heard of him.
The minute Bram began to play, my heart began thumping hard in my chest. I couldn’t tell if it was nervousness or excitement. When his voice came through the speakers again, I think I stopped breathing.
He sang, his voice a little raspy but seriously good, and I spun away, taking the shot fast before chasing it with my beer. My hands were shaking as I pulled the orange off the rim of my glass and dropped it into the glass. I wanted to turn back around and see him, but for the first time since I’d walked into the bar, I felt weird about the way I’d followed him.
It was odd. I was watching Bram do something that he’d obviously not wanted us to know about, but I was the one who felt naked.