Arrogant Bastard - Julie Capulet Page 0,40

Gage and gives him a huge hug. “My favorite cousin’s in town and no one even told me?” she squeals.

Gage kisses her on the cheek. “Last time you saw Bo you said the same thing to him, and the time before that you said it to Caleb.”

“Well, tonight you’re my favorite cousin. It’s been way too long.”

Gage sets her down. She notices me and the way Gage is standing so close to me, and she gives me a curious once-over. Gage makes the introductions. “Roxie, this is Luna LaRoux, my brand new business partner. Luna, my cousin Roxie. She’s the youngest in the family and the manager of the band.”

“Nice to meet you, Luna.”

“You too, Roxie.”

“What kind of business are you in?” she asks. By this point we sort of have to shout to hear each other. The place is filling up.

“I own a bar, not too far from here,” I tell her.

I would guess that Roxie is around my age. She’s gorgeous, with the same dark hair as Gage and Vaughn, and violet irises. She blinks long eyelashes at Gage and shakes her head. “Since when are you in the hospitality business, cousin? Wait, let me guess. As soon as you laid eyes on this one.” She laughs and I’m about to explain—again—that she’s got the wrong idea. “She seems way too nice for you, Gage.”

“I’m nice,” Gage says, as a wolfish smile lurks at the corner of his mouth. “Most of the time.”

The waitress arrives and places five shots on the edge of the pool table.

Roxie puts her hands on her hips. “Vaughn Tucker, I told you no more shots.”

Vaughn smiles at her impishly and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, messing up the shiny mop of it even more. “We always have three before a show, you know that, Rox, and so far we’ve only had one. Otherwise we don’t play as well. Three is our lucky number.”

“Lucky number, my ass,” Roxie says. “I said we’re changing that rule.”

“Just because you don’t drink doesn’t mean we can’t.” Their companionable bickering makes it clear they enjoy each other’s company. It’s easy to see that Vaughn is a guy who pushes every boundary. And that he can get away with it nine times out of ten. He laughs, handing a shot to Gage and one to me.

I’m about to refuse the shot, but how often do I get a dose of the Tucker brothers’ good luck? Besides, I’m more of a Jack Daniels girl than a champagne enthusiast.

Vaughn passes shots to his two brothers and all four of the men tip them back.

I drink mine and it burns all the way down.

“You guys are on stage in five,” Roxie tells the band. “We have to start earlier than planned because it’s all over Twitter that we’re playing here tonight and security is getting nervous. We might have to bail early.”

“Shit,” says Vaughn. To the waitress: “One more round, then.”

It’s probably not a good idea, especially after two glasses of champagne, but I go with it anyway. I hardly ever drink or go out or do anything besides work so why not live a little, I figure.

We follow Roxie into the main room where the band takes to the stage. Gage leads me through the crowd to the best table in the house, to the left of the stage. There’s a reserved sign on the table. Gage and I take our seats as the lights dim. The place is completely packed. There’s a line of security guards barricading the door. It makes me wonder how many people are waiting outside, trying to get in.

“Thanks for comin’ tonight,” drawls Travis. He strums a familiar chord. “You know we love playing to smaller crowds like this because they remind us of where we came from. They remind us about what’s important in life, like close friends and a good laugh. Like a Nashville sunset. We’re going to sing a song for you now about exactly that. It’s called Tennessee Sundown.”

The crowd cheers.

I love this song. It’s one of their old ones, from their first album.

As they start playing and I listen to the words I know by heart, I feel that pang I sometimes do, the one the comes along with having a broken family, a pieced-together life of my father’s and stepfathers’ infidelities and my mother’s quiet desperation. A life that never included a sense of belonging to something bigger than myself and my own grit. That’s why Josie’s family