He slid a glass across the counter to me. “None. But taste it anyway. There’s a chance it could be good.”
I took a sip, and my mouth puckered. “Holy hell, Moses. That’s...sweet. I think you forgot the sultry part.” Ducking behind the bar, I doctored the drink up, adding a few more ingredients. Mo stood back, arms crossed, pretending to be offended.
I handed him the glass after I’d taken my own sip. “Taste.”
He did, then gave me a reluctant nod. “I mean, I guess it’s fine.”
My hand came down on his shoulder in a playful slap. “Fuck you, you know that’s delicious. I am a trained bartender, as you know.”
“Trained? Did you watch that old Tom Cruise movie...what the hell is it called?”
“Cocktail,” Santiago provided.
I pressed my hands to my cheeks and gasped. “I am outraged. Of course I didn’t. My training came directly fromCoyote Ugly. How else was I going to learn to dance on top of bars and spray beer at my patrons and down my tight T-shirts?”
Murray leapt from his seat. “Did someone say tight T-shirt?”
Santiago threw his book at him, hitting his shoulder. “Sit down, you fool.”
Murray flopped back, laughing. “Apologies. I’ll try to control myself.”
Mo passed the glass to me, and I drank a little more. “Thanks. I’m feelin’ slightly less nauseated.”
He turned to me so we were face to face, speaking in a low voice. “We hired you because you’re talented as hell. I saw you perform that night in New York. Youknowhow talented you are. This is a big audience, yeah, but you’re not out there alone. The three of us are nervous too, but we’ve gotten used to the nerves. The thing about this band—the thing you’ll learn after a while with us—is as much shit as we give each other, and we do give each other a hell of a lot of shit, we’ve got each other’s backs. That’s onstage and off. We’re with you out there, Maeve. You screw up, we’ll cover for you. But you’re not going to screw up, because you’re Maeve motherfucking O’Day.”
I had to bite my lip to hold the tears at bay. Heat spread through my chest, surrounding my rapidly beating heart. “That was really sweet, Mo. Exactly what I needed.”
“Yeah, well…” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish again, “don’t tell anyone. After the bloody face incident, the fans all think I’m a badass. Can’t be having them think I’m the type to give sweet pep talks.”
I wrapped my arms around him, laughing as we hugged. “As long as you don’t tell anyone how nervous I was tonight. I need my badass reputation to remain intact as well.”
Murray crashed into us, pulling me away from Mo to curl his arms around me. “No one told me it was hug time.” He petted my hair and rocked me side to side. My face was smooshed into his chest, and honestly, it didn’t feel terrible. “Feeling better, Mae-Mae?” he murmured.
“Yeah, I am. Although, I’m waitin’ for one of your embarrassing stories.”
“Ah…well, the thing is, I don’t get embarrassed.”
I pulled back, tilting my face to look up at him. “Never?”
He smiled softly, booping my nose with his finger. “Never, princess. It’s not my bag.”
Our tour manager stuck her head in the door, calling five minutes. I tensed again, and Murray took my hand, squeezing it in his. “We’ve got you.”
I squeezed him back, feeling a bond forming between us that hadn’t been there in rehearsals. This was real. He was my bandmate. And so was Mo, who grabbed my other hand, gripping it in his for only a moment. Santiago had gotten up and stood to the side of us, watching but not joining in.
Murray smoothed his hand over my ponytail. “Let’s go. Time to rock, babe.”
Mo went first, followed by Murray. I trailed behind them, with Santiago on my heels. When we stepped into the dark backstage, Santiago laid his hands on my shoulders and brought his mouth next to my ear.
“Blow them away, Maeve.”
Goosebumps raised on my flesh, and a chill ran through me all the way to my bones. I reached for his hand on my shoulder and brought it down to my side, giving it a squeeze as I turned, just as I had my other two bandmates. His dark eyes found mine, and I leaned into him for a moment, circling my free arm around his waist in some semblance of a hug.
“You too, Santi.”
Instead of releasing my hand, he linked our fingers together and brought our joined hands to rest over his thundering heart. “I get nervous every fucking time.”
I pulled our hands to my chest, to my slower heart. “I’m doin’ a whole lot better now that I’ve got my boys.”