Page 17

She’d heard a whole lot about The Pour House.

It was one of two bars in the entire town, and it was well known to be the seedier of the two—the kind that most people liked to avoid unless their primary goal was to get plastered, or where they went when they already were.

Luckily, it was also the closer of the two and mostly downhill from her house, so when she arrived, she wasn’t totally burned out from the ride.

When she entered, a cloud of smoke and the hazy dim bar lighting hit her in the face. The brightest light in the area was focused on the half-a-foot-tall stage, which was empty aside from a drum set.

Now that she thought about it, she had no idea who played what in the band aside from Barrett. He played guitar and, from the sounds of it, was also the singer. Or maybe they were all singers. She guessed she would find out.

Walking to the back of the bar, she found a nice spot away from anyone else, at a table that was sticky to the touch, so she kept her hands in her lap.

She’d expected more looks when she entered, but aside from a few double takes, most people seemed oblivious to her presence, too drunk to care. That was the way she preferred it.

Besides, a few other attendees seemed more out of place than she did.

Right up against the stage was a group of about five girls who looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, sporting wicked, teased hair that in some places looked spiked.

When she focused on their faces, she saw dark makeup rings around their eyes.

She was glad she wasn’t around them because they looked like they could rip her to shreds.

They didn’t seem at all interested in sitting down. Instead, they all hugged the stage like they were afraid someone was going to sweep in and steal their spot.

When a door on the side of the stage opened and the girls started screaming at the top of their lungs, she realized that they were there for the band.

The shrill pitch of teenage girls fawning over the band made her jump and wince.

She wasn’t the only one. Several of the bigger men at the bar turned around to see the commotion, sharing confused looks, but none of them seemed to understand what the big deal was.

A few of them rolled their eyes, scoffing at the display.

Toni was at the front of the line, two drumsticks in his hands, frozen in the doorway. The girls continued to scream and giggle, and Toni stared like they’d grown a second head.

When Dennis and Paulie managed to push him forward into the room so they could see what was happening, they looked the same way—like they were starstruck, completely astonished by the sight.

So this was not normal, she supposed.

Finally, Barrett came out with his guitar, and the girls acted like they hadn’t already been screaming. Nell chuckled, shaking her head in astonishment as their piercing yells echoed in her ear. Nell wondered if she would be able to hear the sound of the guitar over all this racket.

But it was entertaining nonetheless to witness Barrett and his friends try to figure out what to make of the spectacle as they stepped onto the stage and the lights illuminated them.

Barrett walked up to the microphone that sat front and center, and grabbed it, his eyes not leaving the group of girls. With all that happening, Nell doubted he would notice her sitting at her dark little table in the back. She’d just have to make it a point to approach him after the show.

“Uh, it looks like we’ve got quite the crowd tonight,” he said into the microphone, and the five girls who had settled long enough to listen to his talk gave yelps of encouragement.

A couple of drunk people did the same. Feeling motivated, he pulled the microphone closer to his face and raised his guitar into the air. “We’re Seventh Circle.”

There was a crash as Toni smashed his sticks into the cymbals, and suddenly Nell was thrown into the cacophony of instruments playing together. The thrashing and noise should’ve sounded bad, except that they all had a surprising amount of control of the rhythm.

She didn’t know the song, but she thought she might have heard it before in passing. Maybe from one of the records Barrett or one of the others had shown her the other night. She’d heard so much metal music that it all blended together.

For a while, it was just that: instruments harmonizing and creating the upbeat, uptempo sound. She wondered if it would stay like that, until Barrett stepped forward to the microphone again and began singing.

It wasn’t that she’d thought Barrett would be a bad singer; she just wasn’t expecting him to sound so . . . good.

Her back straightened, and her mouth opened slightly.

His voice had a certain rasp that most people would never be able to pull off, but for him, it worked so well. Combined with the way he handled his guitar, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back . . . Scott Barrett was attractive .

There. She’d said it.

She must have a thing for guitar players.

Her eyes clung to him, watching him move across the stage like he owned it. And he did. It was like those lights were lit for him, the stage built for his gait, and the crowd was pulled in because he was there.

The patrons who had been otherwise uninterested even paused their conversations to take the band in.

The girls screaming for the band took her back to a happier time in her life.

She remembered screaming over Bowie on television with KC, Sam, and Minnie when they were sophomores.

They’d all been rabid for the man. Nell had never imagined she’d witness a similar phenomenon, and for someone she personally knew.

Dennis was the closest to Barrett; both were playing the guitar back-to-back during a complicated portion of the song.

While Barrett’s eyes closed as he lost himself in the music, Dennis scanned the crowd—first, the girls at the front, making them convulse with a wink, then squinting through everyone else.

Considering how bright those lights on them were, Nell was startled when she realized he could see past the stage into the dim bar and eventually directly at her, alone at her dark table.

He grinned and used Toni’s drum solo as a chance to turn to Barrett and whisper in his ear.

A second later, she was staring into Barrett’s passionate and surprised brown eyes. His face instantly took on his lopsided, goofy grin, and he winked. Nell shrank some, her cheeks burning, but gave a small wave anyway.

At the last crash of Toni’s drums, Barrett picked up his guitar and put every ounce of himself into that instrument as she watched, entranced. And to think that was only the first song. She could only imagine how incredible the rest of the show was going to be.

* * *

People seemed to genuinely enjoy the band. Several drunk patrons had even joined the girls by jumping around and getting into the music with them, head banging and singing along to the more familiar songs.

As far as Nell could tell, Seventh Circle did mostly covers of popular rock songs, which was useful for engaging drunk metal fans.

Not that she could really tell the difference between an original song or not.

She lacked knowledge about the genre, but based on people’s reactions, she could assume they were radio hits.

After the band left the stage, the audience scattered back to the bar area, save for the girls who parked themselves outside the stage door, waiting for the boys to emerge.

Nell didn’t know any better either, so that was exactly where she was as well.

Not closer than ten feet behind the group of girls who fawned loudly over the performance and the “hot singer” and “killer drummer”, she stayed back and waited for the band to come out.

About five minutes later, someone finally did.

Barrett’s hair was mussed up and tangled from swinging it around on stage. Whether he didn’t notice or didn’t care, the messy rockstar look suited him. His eyes found her in an instant, and she waved, smiling nervously.

Why was she nervous?

Barrett’s lip ticked up in the corner, and he started to move toward her as best he could before the girls, or groupies, surrounded him and started bombarding him with introductions and questions.

“We saw your set in Bellevue,” one of them said, her hand grabbing onto Barrett’s toned upper arm. “You guys were sick.”

The other nodded in agreement, and Barrett looked away from Nell with a surprised look. “You came from Bellevue?”

“Yeah,” another one piped in. “We’re your fans.”

His face grew contemplative, and after a long moment, a grin spread. “Fans?”

“Can we come back and hang with you guys?”

Nell didn’t want to intrude since that would be rude. She did, however, find herself wanting to push the girls aside and tell them to go home and leave Barrett alone. He’d come looking for her, after all, and they were being rude for blocking his way.

“Nah, we’re tired. We’re leaving now. You guys should too.”

They whined, trying to convince him otherwise. Barrett was remarkably patient and coaxed them to leave. After what felt like ages, they left, and he was finally free to make his way to her.

“You came.” He grinned, his voice light like he was out of breath.

“Of course, Scott . You invited me,” Nell teased, more relaxed now that it was just the two of them. “You guys seem pretty popular.”

“No.” He laughed and ran a hand through his tangled waves like he just now realized how messy it was. “Not at all, actually. This is the first time anyone has shown up for us.”

“That’s too bad,” she said, and his smile faltered in confusion. She crossed her arms nervously and forced herself to keep eye contact with his intense brown gaze. “That I wasn’t your first real fan, I mean.”

“If you want, I’ll tell everyone you were.”

“Will I need to do anything in return?”

“Just keep coming to our shows.”

Nell choked down the flighty feeling of her heart fluttering in her throat and smiled. “I wouldn’t be a real fan if I didn’t.”