Love Resolution - By Michelle Mankin Page 0,67

with the guys in the back, and we’ll decide on a place to eat.”

“I’m sorry he said those things to you,” Bryan apologized when War was out of earshot. “He’s got no regulator on his mouth.”

“It’s ok,” she said, glancing away. “I was so focused on getting away from Marcus, I didn’t think about how my being here might make things awkward for you.”

“It’s not.” He turned her face back toward his. “I like having you here. We were having a good time until a couple of minutes ago, right?” he whispered, sifting his fingers through her hair.

“Yes.” She sighed.

“Can we just agree to drop it then?”

“Ok, but…” She trailed off, distracted by her cell lighting up with an incoming message. She went to the couch and picked it up. It was a text message from Sam.

Sam: FYI. Marcus is PISSED about the bus.

Avery: 2 bad.

Sam: Right…You ok with them?

Avery: Yes. Why?

Sam: Just checking. CU soon.

“Everything ok?” Bryan asked, watching her face.

She lifted her chin. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

They both glanced up as the pneumatic pocket door to the back slid open and a rumpled Dizzy stumbled in, flopping down on the couch beside them. His white blond hair was all smashed down on one side.

Sager wandered in after him, pulling a brush through his thick dark hair. “Dude,” he said addressing Dizzy, “fix your hair. We’re gonna stop at Hooters. Looking like that you’re gonna scare all the chicks away.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m chick nip. They don’t give a fuck what my hair looks like, bro. It’s what’s down here,” he grabbed his crotch, “that draws ‘em in.”

Bryan rolled his eyes.

When they pulled into the parking lot at Hooters, there was a crowd of people lined up in front of the restaurant. As they exited the Tempest emblazoned bus, several people held out cells and took pictures.

“Shit. I forgot it’s a Friday night,” Bryan said to Avery.

“Avery Jones,” a guy in a Brutal Strength t-shirt yelled out, walking toward them.

Avery stiffened.

“Fuck,” War mumbled as they watched everyone in the crowd turn to stare. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

Avery signed the piece of paper the guy handed her and posed for a picture with him. Then she turned to Bryan. “I should have stayed on the bus. Can you give me the key? I’m not really hungry anyway.”

“No way.” Bryan reached for her hand and squeezed. “We’ll just find another place. Come on guys. This place is too crowded.”

Grumbling, they filed back onto the bus. After driving down the road a little further, they found a bar called Nate’s in an industrial section of town. At least, she thought it said Nate’s. With half the lettering missing from the neon sign, it was difficult to be sure.

“This is more like it,” War said to Bryan.

“Yeah,” Dizzy agreed. “Reminds me of Footit’s back home. Our kind of place.”

The adobe building had a sagging porch precariously held up with rustic wood beams and a tin roof. “Yelp says this place has the best burgers in Phoenix,” War declared.

As soon as they stepped inside the hostess informed them it was still happy hour. The guys high fived each other, immediately sold.

She led them to a corner booth. The smoky interior seemed especially dark through the mirrored sunglasses Avery had borrowed from War. She scooted to the middle of the booth after him. Bryan sat on her other side with Dizzy next to him. Across the table, King’s lips quirked up. It was the first time the cut drummer had ever made eye contact with her. At least she thought he did. The glasses made it difficult to be sure.

“She looks better in that scarf than you do, Warren,” King commented.

Avery smiled.

“Definitely,” Bryan agreed, running a finger over the wide swath that lay over her forehead and following the material down to the tail end where the gauzy black material lay over her chest. His knuckle skimmed lightly over the top of her breast.

She sucked in a breath and shifted closer to War, who gave her a puzzled look.

A young waitress in a low cut top and tight jeans came over and took their order. Her gaze moved repeatedly over the group, her eyes eventually widening in recognition. “Hey aren’t you the opening band for Brutal Strength?” she asked.

“Yeah, baby,” Dizzy bragged. “We’re playing tomorrow night at the US Airways Center. Why don’t I help you enter the order, and we’ll talk about getting you some good seats for the show.”

“How long did