What on Earth could I say to that?
When it came to fucking rock stars, my mom was an expert, which sadly, was the only reason I'd been born.
But that was a topic for another day. Right now, I was dealing with a different kind of trauma.
It was the mental image of Jax and my mom. Inexplicably, he was holding an electric guitar.Damn it.I squeezed my eyes shut and made a mental order for a bucket of eye bleach, industrial strength.
She said, "Are you listening?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to hear it."
I didn't want toseeit either. And yet, she went on painting the picture, making sly innuendos about the size of his feet and the fullness of his lips.
I was debating simply hanging up when she abruptly switched gears. "And you know how he made his money, don't you?"
I paused. "No." But suddenly, Iwascurious. "Do you?"
"Sure," she said. "I knew last night. I recognized him right away, you know."
Nowthatsurprised me. "Really?"
"Oh yeah," she said. "And I mean right there on the street. You really didn't know who he was?"
"Why would I?" I asked. "I'm not even from around here."
"God, you're so provincial," she said. "He's national, worldwide even. It shouldn’t matterwhereyou live. He's major bigtime."
I made a sound of impatience. "So, who is he?"
"Well, you know he has that brother, right?"
"Right."
"I wouldn’t mind takinghimfor a spin."
Oh, God. Just shut up.But I didn’t say it, because for once, I was dying to hear what she'd tell me. Correction – I was dying to hear what she'd tell meaftershe verbally molested Jax's brother.
Finally, when I felt like I couldn’t stand it another minute, she announced, "They're the Bishop Brothers."
"Huh?" This, I already knew. I tried to think. His last name was Bishop. He had a brother whose last name was probably Bishop, too. So of course, they were the Bishop Brothers. What was I missing?
"Oh, come on," she said. "You work in a sports bar. This isn't ringing a bell?"
I didn't bother pointing out that I didn't work there anymore – thanks toher, no less. Instead, I tried to think.What would the bar have to do with it?
And then, it hit me. "Wait a minute. You're not talking about that brand of beer, are you?"
"That's exactly what I’m talking about."
I felt my eyebrows furrow. "Oh."
"Oh?" she repeated. "Is that all you have to say?"
It was all Icouldsay, because for once, my mom was right. Hewasbigtime, even bigger than I might've guessed – and that was saying something.
