Pieces For You (16 page)

“If I am playing footsie with anyone at this table, it’s not Griffin.  He doesn’t have feet—those things are boats,” Hunter said.

“No need to be jealous of my size fifteens, man.  I’m sure your feet are perfectly—what was the word you used, Ev?  Oh yeah, I remember—
adequate
.”

Hunter’s gaze snapped to Ev.

“What?  It was during our break and I was mad at you.”

He shook his head before leaning over to whisper in her ear.  Her eyes widened and she nodded so vigorously she looked like a bobble head.

“Before you two get any further with your post-dinner plans, I have a request,” I said, capturing everyone’s attention.  “I want to go to The Stop tonight like we used to, all of us.”

“I’m in,” Griffin answered immediately.

Hunter and Ev exchanged a look with one another, a silent conversation.

“We’re in,” Ev finally replied.

“Yes!” I said enthusiastically.

“Boys, you’ll have to do since you don’t have access to a wardrobe.  Ev, I expect an ensemble that reflects the celebration of our first night out in months.”

I ran to my room, nearly tripping over my feet in excitement.  I flung open my closet door and surveyed my options.  I wanted an outfit that was sassy and bold, something that illustrated the parts of myself I had reclaimed.  The moment my eyes locked on the black Balmain leather pants, inspiration struck.  I wriggled into the skintight butter-soft leather and tucked in my fitted, off-the-shoulder black shirt.  As if by magic, I had curves and cleavage that didn’t really exist—sultry without being slutty.  I should live in this outfit.  I located a stunning pair of sky-high red Jimmy Choos.  A wide black cincher belt and silver cuff bracelet added a little edge.  I surveyed the effect in the mirror—perfect!  It was the modern-day version of Sandy from ‘Grease’ in the classic carnival finale.

I quickly applied my make-up, taking care so my eyes would sparkle against the blended kohl rims.  I twisted my hair up and pinned it in an effortless style that exposed my neck and shoulders.  Proud of my quick transformation, I exited the bedroom to get the troops moving.  As I approached, all conversation stopped.

“Oh damn,” Hunter grumbled.

Ev clapped her hands and squealed with approval.

Griff was frozen.  I don’t think he breathed for at least a minute.  When he finally thawed, it was only to blink…repeatedly.  He finally turned to Hunter.

“I’m gonna have to close down the damn bar…again.”

“I think you may be overreacting,” Hunter advised.

“Have you looked at her?  The guys are going to go into a frenzy and I’m going to spend the whole night bloodying my knuckles.”

I leaned into Ev’s side, “Can he really close down the bar?”

“Oops, I guess I forgot to mention that Griff’s parents own the bar…well actually, they retired so I guess Griff owns The Stop now.  It was major drama when he decided to get his Master’s in Clinical Psych, but he has managed to balance the two.”

How did I not know this?  Not that it made a bit of difference to me if Griffin was a guy bartending his way through school or the bar owner, but he was so low-key about it.  As I thought back, the staff at the bar did seem to look to him for guidance, and he was there a lot during the day…but still.  Wouldn’t most men use the position to their advantage?

“It’ll be fine.  We’ll both be there to keep it cool.  It’s a Thursday night, the vibe is always relaxed,” Hunter reassured an unconvinced Griffin.

Griff muttered what I assumed was a string of profanities though I couldn’t hear the specific combination.  He studied me again, shaking his head.

“If you didn’t look so damn spectacular, I’d ask you to change.”

I hit him with my best smile, a blend of sweet and sexy, while gazing at him through my lashes.  It was my best ‘come hither’ look.

“Stow that smile and the bedroom eyes before I change my mind,” he cautioned me.

Yep, I still got it!

We arrived at The Stop, or The Bus Stop if you actually read the marquee, a little after eight.  It was perfect timing.  The dinner crowd for the restaurant was finishing their meals, and a fresh stream of people were drifting in to enjoy a relaxing night of live music.  The Stop served grill and pub cuisine during the day and transitioned into a more traditional bar at night.  It’s been a staple in the community for the past thirty years, always maintaining a young, casual vibe.  The patrons were a mixture of undergrad and graduate students, along with local, young professionals.  During the week, The Stop focused on drawing a crowd with sports nights, evenings dedicated to live music, tournaments for pool, darts, and foosball, and even karaoke and trivia nights.  On the weekends, The Stop focused on dance music featuring local DJs.  The biggest appeal for women was that it never felt like a meat market.  The owners—well, I guess Griffin—strictly enforced the legal drinking age and didn’t hesitate to eject anyone whose behavior negatively impacted the enjoyment of others.  There was zero-tolerance for drugs and lewd behavior that was so prevalent in other bars and clubs. 

The ambiance was exactly what you would expect for an upscale pub with a hint of Irish tradition.  Perfect for the upper-middle class neighborhood and neighboring Ivy League university.  The Stop excelled in small details and the bar was meticulously maintained.  Hedges and shrubbery decorated the front entrance and bordered the outdoor patio of the distressed brick building.  While it appeared similar to many of its kind, when examined more closely, the quality of the materials used and small accents made the interior shine.  The mahogany bar, leather benches, artwork, sconces—every choice was perfectly balanced.  I can’t remember a time when any of the thirty-plus flat screen televisions, bathrooms, or game tables were out of order.  I don’t even recall ever seeing a single light bulb burnt out in the funky overhead droplights.  Even the lighting throughout the parking lot was carefully selected to be attractive and functional.  To think Griffin held this level of responsibility and executed the daily operations with such precision was impressive.

We entered the bar and Griff took my arm, leading us to a booth near the stage that had been roped off.

“Is this the VIP section?  Do we get bottle service?” I teased.

“It is tonight.  There is no way the four of us are killing a bottle of anything and making it to work tomorrow, but drinks are on the house.”

“Yes!” Ev cheered.  My budget-conscious roommate was a huge fan of free, a by-product of growing up just above the poverty line.

Hunter chuckled at her excitement.  She was financially stable now and he made enough to cover any drink she ordered, but free Stoli tasted twice as good, according to Ev.

A waitress I hadn’t seen before approached our table and walked to Griff’s side, resting her hand on his shoulder before leaning over to take his order, displaying her artificially-inflated friends.  She’d better be careful or my claws may come out and pop those airbags.  I was about to tell her to step off when Griffin gave her a look that could not be misinterpreted—back off or get out.  I wanted to stand and cheer when she scrambled back several steps. 

Not ready to admit defeat, she attempted to engage Griffin in conversation to the exclusion of the rest of us.  He held up a hand to stop her drivel.

“Candy, this is my
friend,
Sam.  Please take her order along with that of my other guests.  I would appreciate it if you undertook this task with the professionalism expected of all Stop employees.”

Candy?  He hired a girl named Candy with floatation devices permanently strapped to her chest?

After she took our drink orders with her best interpretation of professionalism, she scurried back to the bar.

Griffin groaned quietly.  I raised an eyebrow, prompting him for an explanation, words unnecessary after that spectacle.

“Candy’s sister—her very normal, kind, hard-working sister who has been a waitress here for three years—broke her arm last week.  She asked if Candy could cover her shifts for the next six weeks.  I didn’t want to replace her, but I needed the coverage or I’d get stuck working the extra hours myself.  No good deed goes unpunished.”

I laughed at his dilemma.  I guess it wasn’t easy being the boss man.

Candy returned with our drinks, placing them before us politely, with only a small look of longing in Griffin’s direction before departing.

We sipped our drinks and chatted for a bit, all of us laughing and joking—it was perfectly normal, and I was delighted.  Our banter was interrupted when another employee came to snag Griff for help with some urgent matter.  Ev, Hunter, and I carried on with our fun, sharing stories about our day.  The room grew quiet and we directed our attention to the stage, ready to enjoy the live music.  We were shocked to find Griffin on stage, guitar in hand.

“Hey everyone, welcome to The Stop.  For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Griffin.  You can usually find me serving you drinks behind the bar, but every so often an act will flake and I find my way up here.  Be kind, this was a last-minute thing so I’m winging it.”

Day-um, he looked incredible on stage.  The spotlight was, well, spotlighting every one of his numerous assets.  I’d only heard Griffin perform once before and it was eight months ago, but I remember it vividly.  He seemed uncomfortable on stage last time, but his set had been brilliant.  Tonight he was at ease, as if the stage had become a second home.

Ev and I looked at one another and both broke into the seated version of the happy dance.  I’d always wanted an opportunity to say ‘I’m with the band,’ even if Griffin was a one-man show.  There was just something about musicians.

Griff strummed the opening chords of one of my favorite country crossover songs, “
Cruise
” by Florida-Georgia Line.  I bounced in my seat excitedly, thrilled he’d chosen a feel-good song to open his set.  I was singing along and miming the words, having a ball.  When he sang the final chorus, Griffin looked right at me as he belted the part about a pick-up truck looking better if the girl climbed inside.  I pulled a total fangirl, screaming and cheering.

He continued his set with quick transitions, expert guitar accompaniment, and effortless vocals that evoked emotion with each word.  He held the room captive.  Each song poured from him as if he had written it himself.  Like the last time he performed, I quickly jotted down his set to make a playlist the next day:

“
Gone, Gone, Gone
” by Phil Phillips

"
If You're Going Through Hell
" by Rodney Atkins

“
I Won’t Give Up
” by Jason Mraz

"
I Dare You To Move
" by Switchfoot

"
To Make You Feel My Love
" by Garth Brooks

“
Start of Something Good
” by Daughtry

Griffin paused in his set to address the audience.

“I’ve never played this last song, but I was inspired tonight by a particularly beautiful woman.  It was written as a duet, so I’ll need you all to help sing the girl’s part.”

He strummed a chord before singing the words, “I’ve got,” acapella-style.  On the word “chills,” the guitar joined him in a fantastic interpretation of the classic "
You’re the One That I Want
" by John Travolta from the movie ‘Grease’.  As he sung he winked at me, and I laughed so hard I couldn’t sing along with the enthusiastic crowd.  Every woman in the audience was screaming the words, having a ball with a song most know by heart.  I was glad my Olivia Newton-John style was recognized and appreciated.

The crowded went wild, cheering and demanding an encore.  Griff smiled as he settled back on his stool, willing to oblige their demand.

“I was hoping you would enjoy the set and ask for one more song.  I’ve wanted to perform this one for a while now, but I was waiting for the right time.”

As he played the opening chord progression, I recognized the tune as the same one he had hummed to me that first night after Thursday dinner.  I hadn’t been able to place it at the time but I knew it immediately this time—“
Fix You
" by Coldplay.

He began to sing and I felt a hand take hold of mine, then another joined on top.  I didn’t have to look to know that it was Ev and Hunter, offering me support and echoing the meaning of the song.  I was so moved by the love and support of my friends—my family—I found myself unexpectedly choked up.  As Griffin sang the last lines of the song staring straight at me, I heard Ev and Hunter quietly singing along—for my ears only—as they both squeezed my hand.  God I loved them, all three of them.

I finally returned my attention to Ev and Hunter.

“He was on fire tonight.  I could see the emotions and energy pouring off him.”

They stared at me dumbly.

“What?”

“I think everyone could see his emotions, Sam.  He was broadcasting them with laser precision right at you.  I don’t think he even looked at the rest of the audience the whole set,” Ev informed me with conviction.

“The song selection was suspiciously appropriate and I did notice him looking this way a lot, but I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions.”

“Short of him saying ‘Samantha Whitney, this set is dedicated to you, and I want you…bad,’ I don’t know how he could have been more blatant.”

She had a point.  Still, what was I supposed to say to him?

Did I want Griffin?  Hell yes!  Was I ready for a real relationship?  I didn’t know.  I wanted one if it was with Griffin, but I wasn’t certain I could uphold my end completely—fulfill all of the expectations of a normal relationship.  I forced myself to acknowledge the biggest concern lurking in my subconscious—would I be enough for Griffin?  Could he be content settling for what was left of me?

The crowd parted as he made his way toward the table.  If this was a movie, I would be running across the room to launch myself into his arms, no questions, no hesitation…but this wasn’t a movie.  He was stopped several times as patrons paid their compliments—every second stretched out into eternity, the anticipation of his nearness electrifying my already buzzing nerves.