She scoffed. “No? What else do you call staring into space and sighing at regular intervals?”
“Reflecting.” Jax flipped another chair upside down onto a table.
“Reflecting? Interesting euphemism for contemplations about the beauty of a man’s ass.”
Jax fluttered a hand over his heart. “Kayla, you wound me! I would never.” She rolled her eyes. With a rueful shrug, Jax admitted, “I’m much more intrigued by the dexterity of his fingers and the practical applications thereof.”
That made Kayla pause. “Oh, damn you. Wow, I’m gonna be thinking about—Jax, why have I never slept with a violinist?”
“You live with Naomi.” Kayla made a contemplative face, but Jax didn’t mention how poorly that could end. “So I honestly have no idea.ButI call dibs on this one.” He moved on to a new table.
Kayla cocked her head. “One, don’t saydibs, that’s gross. Two,everyoneis aware. Three, even discounting that Naomi would probably kill me for trying, I’m pretty sure nothing about this”—she waved a hand to encompass her five-feet-six-inches of curves and red hair—“is his type.”
Considering that Ari appeared to be both gay and not into one-night stands, Jax suspected that was true.
“My darling, how could anyone say no to you?” He stepped closer and took her into his arms for a quick spin about the floor. Since the tables hadn’t been placed to accommodate dancing beyond gyrating in place, it did not go smoothly.
Laughing, she pulled herself from his arms. “Idiot. Tell me you’re coming to the party. Naomi and I are putting together a backyard shindig.”
“What’s the celebration?”
“It’s a ‘Big Fucking Party Because We Can’ party.” She glowed. “And we want all our favorite people there, which includes you. So you better come over and eat barbecue, mister.”
Touched that she considered him a favorite person, Jax grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good.”
“Besides, I love a barbecue—so many sausage-and-bun jokes just waiting to be made.”
“You better make those in front of Murph and Hobbes—otherwise it’s all wasted potential.”
“Done.”
ARI CAMEback the next night, missed the one after, but came on the third.
Jax stopped telling himself that he wasn’t looking for him whenever he walked into the bar or took the stage.
Every time Ari came in, he ordered a Sparkling Conversation from Jax and stayed long enough to get the other kind.
And did their conversation ever sparkle—it sizzled and popped and left Jax high on adrenaline.
Someday soon, Jax would kiss that smirking, sassy mouth.
Between sets and serving drinks, Jax slowly learned all about Ari. The “oops” baby of immigrant doctors from Iran, Ari had an older sister who acted as his manager and a difficult time keeping his supportive and well-meaning parents out of his personal life. Jax hadn’t had much to offer to that—his own mother stayed out of his, not because she wasn’t interested or didn’t care, but because, he thought, it didn’t really occur to her to ask. Instead he talked about Sam and George and Alice, named for his and Sam’s favorite storybook character growing up.
He learned Ari had attended the New England Conservatory of Music, where he double-majored in strings and composition, and that he still had friends in Boston. Jax wondered briefly what it would have been like if they’d ever run into each other in the city, but Ari would have graduated long before Jax started at MIT.
“Did you always know you wanted to be a musician?” he asked between sets one night, chasing droplets of condensation down the sides of his water glass.
Ari raised an eyebrow, and Jax realized they’d had a version of this conversation before. “Did you always know you wanted to be a bartender?”
Jax did his best to maintain a smile, but the words stung. He wasn’t ashamed of his job; it was the unfinished PhD he was ashamed of. But he couldn’t put it into words. Telling people about his degree opened him up to questions he’d rather not answer. On the other hand, keeping his mouth shut made it impossible for people to actually know him—the whole of him—and sometimes led to him feeling like he’d been reduced to a stereotype. Ari wasn’t doing that—he didn’t seem to care as long as Jax was happy—but Jax still couldn’t make himself fess up.
But before he could say anything, Ari shook his head and the eyebrow went back down again. “I didn’t always know, no.” He lifted a shoulder, then his drink. “But when I was younger, I sometimes had a difficult time expressing myself. A teacher suggested to my parents that I might find an outlet in music. And I did. It helped me process my emotions and think about what I was feeling.”
That was a gift, Jax knew—a real, honest, vulnerable answer—not something he should use to build a cheap line. With a gentle tease in his tone, hoping that thethank-youwould come across, he said, “And of course, you were a prodigy.”
Ari inclined his head. “And I was a prodigy,” he agreed.
