Listen To Me - Kristen Proby Page 0,2
comfortably spend.”
“That’s not bad. Let’s just hope we find someone. I already put a sign in the window too. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Okay. Let’s do this.” Kat leads us out of the apartment.
“Have fun,” Riley says and waves as she walks to her car.
“This is gonna be fun,” Kat says, then fist-bumps me and leads me to her car.
“CAN I GET you another chardonnay?” the waitress asks Kat, who shakes her head no.
“I’ll just take a Diet Coke.”
“Same for me.”
The waitress nods and moves on.
“Wine not good here?” I ask Kat with a grin.
“Tastes like piss,” she replies. “I totally understand wanting to serve an inexpensive bottle, and there are some delicious ones out there. There’s no excuse for serving subpar wine.”
My smile grows. “It turns me on when you turn on your wine-speak.”
“It’s what I do.”
“And you do it well.” And she does. Kat is the best sommelier in the Pacific Northwest. She knows wine.
“What do you think so far?”
We are seated at a high table, near the stage, in the center of the room, so it’s easy to see the acts. Right now a young woman is singing a Trisha Yearwood song off-key.
“I haven’t heard anything to write home about.”
Kat nods in agreement, then glares at the man who just grabbed her ass as he walked by. “Keep your hands to yourself, buddy.”
He shrugs and smiles unapologetically, then keeps walking.
“Men are gross,” Kat mutters.
They sure can be.
The off-key girl finishes her song and we applaud. Next up is a throwback from 1967. Except the guy is young—maybe twenty-two. His dreadlocks fall to the middle of his back. He has a beard. His clothes are dirty.
He’s probably a homeless guy who usually sings on the street.
But then he starts to sing, and oh my word. He has the voice of an angel, singing “Hallelujah” as if he were singing it from heaven. We’re mesmerized as he plays his guitar and sings.
He’s amazing.
When he finishes, the applause is deafening.
“Wow.” Kat turns her wide blue eyes to me. “Did you hear that?”
I nod. “We’ll get his contact info. If we could clean him up, he could be perfect.”
“If he’d be willing to clean up,” Kat replies. “This could be what he wants.”
Several more lukewarm acts play, then a duo take the stage. A man and woman, who look at each other with stars in their eyes, and sing a love ballad. Their harmonies are smooth as silk.
“I like them,” Kat says as she leans my way. “They have the right look. And they’re in love, which will bring a sexy chemistry to our place.”
“I agree.”
I want them. Like, want them. They’d be absolutely perfect.
“I’m going to go talk to them.” Kat nods, turning her attention to another act already singing.
They’re not nearly as good as the duo who just finished.
“Excuse me.” They turn to me, and I paste on my best smile. “I’m Addison. I’m the co-owner of Seduction, a new restaurant in town, and I’d love to talk with you about a possible weekend job at my place.”
They glance at each other and grin. “Thank you. I’m Rebecca.” The small blonde shakes my hand. “And this is my husband, Paul.”
“You’re both very talented.”
“It’s all her,” Paul replies and stares down at Rebecca with heart eyes.
“I need an act for Friday and Saturday nights. I’m paying five hundred a night.”
“Five hundred each?” Rebecca asks, her eyes suddenly shrewd.
“No.” I shake my head. “For the act.”
They glance at each other again, and Paul shakes his head. “Sorry. We’re worth more than that.”
“What do you normally charge?”
“Oh, we haven’t taken any jobs yet. We’re new to the area.”
I raise a brow. “You’re worth what someone is willing to pay. It was nice to meet you.”
Without glancing back, I return to our table. “Egos,” I say simply and shrug.
“Bummer.”
“It happens.”
A man walks onto the stage and sits on the stool, strums his guitar. The MC didn’t announce his name.
The singer is wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. No shoes. A hat is pulled down his forehead, shadowing his face.
But I’d recognize those tattoos anywhere.
“Oh my God, I think that’s Jake Knox,” I whisper to Kat in disbelief.
“The tattoos,” she breathes and I roll my eyes. “God, I used to be in love with him. I had his posters on my walls when I was in high school.”
“Most did,” I reply and watch as his fingers play the strings on his guitar as if he’s making love to a woman. “God, he can play.”
“What’s he doing