Kincaid’s lips parted on a gasp. “That’s why Lucas called you Jamez! You met him here? He saw you sing?”
She shrugged. “He saw me freak out onstage and bail. Yeah.”
Kincaid set her chin in her hand, a look of wonder and delight on her face. “It’s like I don’t know you at all. I need to see this singing Taryn. I need that in my life right this minute.”
“Not happening. I’m retired.” Taryn accepted a complimentary bowl of homemade barbecue chips and her drink from the waitress and took a long sip, the sweet and salty liquid cooling her dry throat. “It was a stupid thing to do that night. It brings back…too much crap. That was the person I was in high school, before everything. It just brought back painful memories.”
Kincaid frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. Is that why you freaked out onstage?”
“Pretty much.”
“Ugh,” Kincaid said, leaning back in her chair and grabbing a few of the chips. “Trauma sucks.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Taryn said wryly. “But at least we can sit here and listen to a sure-to-be-stellar rendition of ‘Billie Jean’ by that guy.”
Kincaid looked to the stage where a very paunchy white dude with a biker vest was gearing up for some Michael Jackson. She groaned. “Oh Lordy, I’m going to need a lot of liquor for this.”
However, to their surprise, when the biker actually started singing, he turned out to be pretty damn good. Good voice and much higher-pitched than anyone could’ve guessed. He was hitting every hee-hee with perfect pitch. Taryn found herself bopping her head to the music and enjoying the performance. But when he turned to the side, beer belly on full display beneath his T-shirt, and busted out his moonwalk, she and Kincaid almost lost it. Taryn put her hand over her mouth to stanch her laugh. “Oh my God, he’s so nailing it.”
“I take everything I said back. I love this place,” Kincaid said, clapping and letting out a whoop. “It’s my new favorite.”
They listened to the biker do a few more songs and enjoyed another round of drinks, but when the audience demanded yet another encore, Taryn had to excuse herself to go to the restroom. Kincaid waved her off, her attention still riveted to the stage.
Taryn did what she needed to do, and when she stood in front of the warped mirror in the tiny bathroom to wash her hands, she found she had a smile on her face. The margaritas had given her a pleasant buzz, making her feel warm all over but not drunk, and the performance had made her forget about her crappy week for a little while. Just what she needed. This idea had definitely been better than cake.
After reapplying her lipstick, she stepped out into the dark, narrow hallway to return to her table and not miss more of the performance, but before her eyes could adjust to the low light, she bumped into a wall of a person. An oof escaped her, and she raised her palms in apology. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—”
But when she looked up, familiar eyes were staring back at her, looking just as surprised as she felt. Lucas blinked. “Taryn?”
“Lucas.” She frowned, taking in the full view of the man in front of her, her brain verifying that she wasn’t imagining things. “What are you doing here? I thought Rivers said you were taking night classes.”
His wince was slight, but she caught it before he could cover it. He cleared his throat. “I am. They’re done for the night. I was just stopping in for a drink before I went home.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the main entrance of the bar. “My apartment is across the street. I’m kind of a regular here.”
“Oh.” She chewed on that for a moment, her gut telling her there was more to the story. “Cool.”
He tucked his hands in the pockets of his well-worn jeans, making his pale-blue T-shirt pull tight against his chest. “Uh, how was your workout?”
“My what?” Seeing him was making her thoughts scramble.
He made a motion with his arms, mimicking lifting weights, which only distracted her more because it made his biceps flex. “The workout. Did you go?”
“Oh. The gym. Yes. I did. It was brutal. And…enthusiastic.”
“Yeah, Kaya’s got a lot of energy.” He shifted on his feet and glanced past her shoulder, obviously uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”
“Right. I’m sure you are.”
His gaze jumped back to hers, obviously catching her tone. “What?”
“Sorry.” She sighed, his behavior confirming her suspicions. “I’m not good at talking around things. Can we not do this?”
He frowned. “Do what?”
“Play pretend.” She pointed to herself. “Don’t forget I’m a psychologist…in forensics. You’re kind of terrible at this lying thing.”
“I—”
“Look, I was hoping we could get past the awkwardness of what happened the other night because I liked training with you, but clearly it’s still freaking you out. I don’t know if you actually have night classes or you just didn’t want to be my trainer anymore, but either way, it’s fine. You don’t need to lie about it or make a thing out of it. It’s not that big of a deal.”