Read Online Last Call at the Nightshade Lounge by Paul Krueger - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Krueger
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Nightshade the night before, the one Zane had sprinted to meet. The woman peeled herself off the wall as Bailey and Zane approached. The mohawk guy followed a step behind.
“Glad you could make it, babe,” Zane called to them, and it was all Bailey could do not to make a face.
Babe?
“I thought you had to work.”
“I work where I’m needed,” said the woman with dreadlocks. She almost smiled. “So I’m here now.”
Then she drew Zane close and kissed him.
Bailey gaped. She’d believed in alcohol magic, soul-drinkingdemons, even memory obliteration in a shot glass, but Zane Whelan with a girlfriend? Did not compute. For most of their lives Zane had shown no interest in girls. She’d even wondered briefly if he was gay—not that there was anything wrong with that. But then came the graduation party incident, and he’d definitely shown interest in a girl, and it had been way too much.
But apparently not so much that he couldn’t get over her after four years. And make out with this gorgeous-looking stranger woman.
The mohawk guy coughed to grab her attention. “They’re better about it than a lot of the couples I’ve met,” he said. Something about the lilt of his voice sounded distinctly out-of-towny.
Bailey thought of her parents that morning and shivered. “Yeah,” she said faintly.
No
, she reminded herself,
this is good
. She didn’t want her grown-up friendship with grown-up Zane to be tainted with the remnants of his childhood crush. If only they made some kind of cocktail to make you feel better about stupid-bad romantic decisions.
Well, they do
, Bailey thought.
It’s called “any cocktail ever,” if you drink enough
.
The mohawk guy stuck out a hand. “Bucket,” he said.
“Haven’t got one,” she said.
He laughed. “No. That’s my name. I work up in Boystown.”
“Oh.” Bucket was rather a strange name for a person, but then again if anyone were to be named Bucket, it’d be this guy. “Wait. Boystown …” Bailey’s brain clicked. “Zane mentioned you.”
“Only good things, I hope,” Bucket said.
“Oh, of course,” Bailey said. “I just didn’t realize there was a whole midnight breakfast club.” Her voice had a little edge, and she shot Zane a sideways glance. Just to remind him that,
ahem
, midnight breakfast used to be their thing. As in, just the two of them.
Zane must’ve noticed, or he just got tired of kissing, because hebroke away from his
girlfriend
and puffed out his chest. “Actually, we call ourselves the Alechemists.”
“The Alechemists?” Bailey said with a snort. “Do you guys even use ale?”
“I told you,” said the girl. His girlfriend. Her.
“I still think it’s a cool name,” Zane muttered. “And yup, that’s Bucket. He’s at Long & Strong in Boystown.”
“Not ‘Long’ like that, eh?” Bucket said quickly. “It’s the owner’s last name. But I also accidentally saw him naked once, so, yeah. Long like that, too.”
“And this is my girlfriend, Mona,” Zane said. “She works out on the West Side.”
Mona’s smile was faint as a fingerprint on glass. “How do you do?”
“Well,” Bailey said, “I just narrowly avoided gentle brain damage at a bar. So I guess not that different from a normal evening, right?”
Bailey grinned and cocked her head, but Mona didn’t laugh. She didn’t even look Bailey in the eye, instead gazing slightly lower at the coat draped over Bailey’s shoulders.
Zane gave Bailey a light punch, which annoyed her for some reason. Like he was suddenly her big brother or something.
“Oops.” He retracted his hand and held up his buzzing phone. “One second.”
“Zane—” Mona started to say, but Zane shook his head.
“It’s Garrett. I have to.”
“Can’t he just send you a textual missive?”
Bailey frowned but apparently Zane didn’t notice Mona’s weird phrasing. He stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, his finger in his ear.
“So,” Bailey said, “how do you
“Glad you could make it, babe,” Zane called to them, and it was all Bailey could do not to make a face.
Babe?
“I thought you had to work.”
“I work where I’m needed,” said the woman with dreadlocks. She almost smiled. “So I’m here now.”
Then she drew Zane close and kissed him.
Bailey gaped. She’d believed in alcohol magic, soul-drinkingdemons, even memory obliteration in a shot glass, but Zane Whelan with a girlfriend? Did not compute. For most of their lives Zane had shown no interest in girls. She’d even wondered briefly if he was gay—not that there was anything wrong with that. But then came the graduation party incident, and he’d definitely shown interest in a girl, and it had been way too much.
But apparently not so much that he couldn’t get over her after four years. And make out with this gorgeous-looking stranger woman.
The mohawk guy coughed to grab her attention. “They’re better about it than a lot of the couples I’ve met,” he said. Something about the lilt of his voice sounded distinctly out-of-towny.
Bailey thought of her parents that morning and shivered. “Yeah,” she said faintly.
No
, she reminded herself,
this is good
. She didn’t want her grown-up friendship with grown-up Zane to be tainted with the remnants of his childhood crush. If only they made some kind of cocktail to make you feel better about stupid-bad romantic decisions.
Well, they do
, Bailey thought.
It’s called “any cocktail ever,” if you drink enough
.
The mohawk guy stuck out a hand. “Bucket,” he said.
“Haven’t got one,” she said.
He laughed. “No. That’s my name. I work up in Boystown.”
“Oh.” Bucket was rather a strange name for a person, but then again if anyone were to be named Bucket, it’d be this guy. “Wait. Boystown …” Bailey’s brain clicked. “Zane mentioned you.”
“Only good things, I hope,” Bucket said.
“Oh, of course,” Bailey said. “I just didn’t realize there was a whole midnight breakfast club.” Her voice had a little edge, and she shot Zane a sideways glance. Just to remind him that,
ahem
, midnight breakfast used to be their thing. As in, just the two of them.
Zane must’ve noticed, or he just got tired of kissing, because hebroke away from his
girlfriend
and puffed out his chest. “Actually, we call ourselves the Alechemists.”
“The Alechemists?” Bailey said with a snort. “Do you guys even use ale?”
“I told you,” said the girl. His girlfriend. Her.
“I still think it’s a cool name,” Zane muttered. “And yup, that’s Bucket. He’s at Long & Strong in Boystown.”
“Not ‘Long’ like that, eh?” Bucket said quickly. “It’s the owner’s last name. But I also accidentally saw him naked once, so, yeah. Long like that, too.”
“And this is my girlfriend, Mona,” Zane said. “She works out on the West Side.”
Mona’s smile was faint as a fingerprint on glass. “How do you do?”
“Well,” Bailey said, “I just narrowly avoided gentle brain damage at a bar. So I guess not that different from a normal evening, right?”
Bailey grinned and cocked her head, but Mona didn’t laugh. She didn’t even look Bailey in the eye, instead gazing slightly lower at the coat draped over Bailey’s shoulders.
Zane gave Bailey a light punch, which annoyed her for some reason. Like he was suddenly her big brother or something.
“Oops.” He retracted his hand and held up his buzzing phone. “One second.”
“Zane—” Mona started to say, but Zane shook his head.
“It’s Garrett. I have to.”
“Can’t he just send you a textual missive?”
Bailey frowned but apparently Zane didn’t notice Mona’s weird phrasing. He stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, his finger in his ear.
“So,” Bailey said, “how do you
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