“Redheaded Sluts. I need abuzz.”
The blonde relays the order to me like I didn’t just hear it myself, and adds, “We were going to pregame, but we wanted to get here early and get a table.”
I open my mouth to ask her why in the world they thought they needed to get here early to get a table, but the front door swings wide and another group of girls, six this time, comes in and makes a beeline for the other large empty table.
Earl, Pearl, and Jim’s heads all turn in unison, confused expressions marking their features.
Me too, guys. Me too.
“Party time. Party time.” Esteban is practically bouncing on his perch at all the action.
What in the world is going on?
But I’m too busy to ask because another group of girls arrives and pushes two tables together. I pull out my phone and call Dory, but she doesn’t answer. The door opens again and I shoot a desperate text to Carter, another friend of mine who has helped me out before, then hustle to make drinks and deliver them before taking more orders. I’ve made more girly shots in the last hour than I have in the last year. We don’t usually even get bachelorette parties, but it’s like Vanderbilt’s sorority row threw up in the Fishbowl tonight.
“Do you have a drink called the Fishbowl? I mean, if this were my bar, I totally would. Just think of how cute the pictures would be. All those straws in an actual fishbowl. Totally Instagrammable. You know?” This is from another college-age girl whose ID I had to check twice just to be sure it wasn’t fake.
“Sorry, I don’t have any fishbowls handy right now, but how about some shots?”
A cheer goes up from the table, and I’m taking orders and making drinks as fast as I can. We’re down to three empty tables when Carter walks in the door.
“Thank you, baby Jesus. Dory hasn’t replied yet, and I’m dying for some help.”
Carter, a skinny twenty-three-year-old who came to make it on Music Row, takes in the packed bar, and his eyes go to the stage platform in the front corner that’s been empty since my mom died.
“They’re not here yet? This place is about to be even more packed.”
“What?” I can barely hear Carter over the voices and the music that I turned up.
Earl, Pearl, and Jim are looking cranky at their normal seats at the bar, while other customers try to squeeze between them to wave money in my direction.
Carter bursts into action, and I’m slinging drinks and delivering them as fast as I can.
Not fifteen minutes later, it all makes sense when the door opens and the bar patrons burst into cheers.
Oh. No. He. Didn’t.
Frisco and two other guys I’ve never seen walk in, followed by four huge guys dressed in solid black.Security?
But they’re carrying guitar cases, and one has a hand truck stacked with square black cases ...
What the hell?
“Hey, Fishbowl! We’ll get set up and be ready to rock your world in a few!” Frisco yells as I take three more drink orders and nearly run into Carter.
He lays a hand on my arm and takes in my shocked expression.
“You didn’t know?”
“Do I look like I knew?”
“But how?”
I shake my head. I don’t have time to talk to him right now. I’ve got drinks to make, and then Zane Frisco has a hell of a lot of questions to answer.
26
Boone