Good Time Bad Boy (8 page)

“My name is Daisy. Not darling or sweetheart or baby. You call me Daisy or I don’t answer.”

“Okay.”

“And since you’re going to be working here, you fill your own orders. You don’t expect me or any of the other girls to fetch you coffee or whatever. Put in your own meal orders and pick them up. We’re here to wait on the customers, not you.”

“Get my own coffee. Got it.” He turned to look at her. “Anything else?”

For several seconds all she could think about was the feel of his hand on her arm the other night, the weight of his flesh and the warmth of his skin. His dark brown eyes were full of shadows, the windows of a haunted house. This was a man who needed sunlight.

Daisy stepped on that thought before it could go any further. She’d learned the hard way there was no fixing people. People had to fix themselves, and that rarely happened. “I don’t know what you’re used to at the Grand Ole Opry, but you’re not likely to get it here.”

Wade flashed a heartbreaker of a smile. “I got kicked out of the Opry years ago.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks for all those tips, darlin’. Why don’t you bring me a cup of coffee while I set up.” It wasn’t a request. He let his hand slide down her shoulder blade a few inches before moving away.

Daisy shook her head in disbelief. “Those weren’t tips, jackass. Those were rules.”

He propped his guitar case against the back wall of the stage and began to examine the meager equipment. “Well, what can I say? I’m a rebel and I’ll never, ever be any good.” He looked up just long enough to flash that killer smile again. “Two sugars, one creamer.”

She just got this job back, she wasn’t going to get fired from it twice in one week. So instead of telling him what he could go do with himself, she pointed at the coffee urn behind the waitress station. “Make it yourself.” She turned on her heel to head into the satellite dining room.

Wade dropped handful of cables and rushed to get in front of her. “Hi.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“My name’s Wade, and I’m a jackass.”

“Got that right.” She fought the urge to smile.

“Look, you and I got off on the wrong foot and I’m not helping matters. Let’s start over.”

Daisy crossed her arms over her chest. “You get one shot.”

“Tough room.” He mimicked her stance. “Okay, first of all, I’d like to apologize for how I behaved the other night. I had no business putting my hands on you like that and I’m sorry. It was inappropriate and it won’t happen again.”

“So what was that just now when you put your hand on my shoulder?”

“That was me being on. I can’t guarantee I’ll always be able to curb that.”

Being on? What was that supposed to mean? “I don’t get it.”

“I’m a performer. Being Wade Sheppard on stage is a performance. But the stage doesn’t always end at the footlights. I have to sing in here tonight and I’m trying to wrap my head around that, and I’m not doing a very good job.”

Daisy considered this for a moment. “So the whole redneck, flirting and calling women darlin’, just generally acting like a pain in the ass, you’re saying that’s an act?”

He rubbed his thumb across his mouth, drawing her attention to his lips. She snapped her gaze up to his eyes and found that was no less appealing. He said, “It’s more of a persona. I was shy when I started out. Putting on a little bluster helped me get through it.”

Laughter bubbled out and Daisy threw her hands in the air. “Okay, whatever. Just keep your hands off my ass from now on.” She jerked a thumb at the coffee urn. “And make your own coffee.”

No way did she believe a man with bedroom eyes and a heartbreaker smile like his could have ever been shy.

Rocky Top was more of a restaurant and sports bar these days, so musical acts were rare. Once in a while a local singer or band played on the weekends. Some were good, some not so much. Daisy wasn’t much for country. Even so, she knew a good voice when she heard one. As she worked setting down chairs and placing silverware in the smaller dining room, she couldn’t see Wade preparing for tonight. The sound of him tapping on the microphone reached her loud and clear, though. He played something she didn’t recognize on his guitar. At first she ignored it, her mind on other things. Gradually the minor key, bluesy notes cut through her thoughts and she slowed to pay more attention.

He played the same several bars over and over a few times before singing. By then Daisy had identified the song –
Midnight Rider
by the Allman Brothers. She ran out of silverware and had to get more from the kitchen, so she crossed the main dining room to retrieve another basket of utensils. All the while trying not to look at him and failing.

Wade was not doing well. He was doing so badly, in fact, that she wondered if she’d missed the signs of him being drunk. He was missing notes, screwing up lyrics, and cussing a blue streak. No wonder this was what his career had come to.

Ronisha leaned against the bar and watched the train wreck. “Honey, you can’t mangle George Strait like that in this bar. These old white people will kill you.”

Daisy laughed.

“I don’t rehearse well,” Wade insisted. “And I’m nervous.”

“It’s not like it’s your first time, cowboy.” An evil grin split Ronisha’s pretty face. “But if it helps, just lie back and think of the rodeo.”

This time Daisy’s laughter was more of a guffaw. She tapped her fist against the bartender’s as she walked by with another basket of silverware.

“Now who’s being sexually harassed.” Wade grinned, strumming the guitar as he held it in front of him like a shield. “I believe I need to file a complaint.”

“There’s gonna be a lot of complaints tonight if that’s the best you can do,” Daisy said as she passed him on her way to the other dining room.

“I deliver when it counts,” Wade said. “Don’t you worry.” With a flourish, he launched into something hard and fast and possibly in the wrong key if the way it scraped against her nerves was any indication.

Midway through the early dinner rush, Ronisha flagged her down. “Where’s the cowboy?”

“No idea.”

“He’s supposed to be up there in five minutes. The Tuckers are at their table. I haven’t seen Chris but their momma’s here. The last time I saw Wade, he was asking where he could change his clothes.”

“Where’d you send him?”

“Randy’s office but he’s not there now. I just sent Alonzo to check.” Alonzo was the head cook.

“I’m due for my break. Have Amber cover my tables and I’ll go look for him.”

Ronisha nodded as she pulled two draft beers then called Amber’s name. “Daisy’s on break. Can you get these to table fourteen?”

“Sure thing.” Amber nodded at Daisy.

Daisy thanked her and looked over the room. At a table right next to Randy Tucker and his wife was Marlene Sheppard. Chris was nowhere to be seen and neither was Wade. She ducked into the smaller dining room for a quick look then checked the sidewalk out front. No Wade there either. She hurried to the back and looked in Randy’s office then the small employee break room. One of the young bus boys sat at a table playing a game on his phone.

“Hey, Toby! Go check the men’s room for Wade Sheppard.”

“Who the hell’s Wayne Shipper?”

She grabbed him by the ear and hauled him up. “Wayne Sheppard is the guy who’s supposed to sing tonight. Go check the men’s room.”

“Is that the guy in the cowboy hat?”

“Yes, now go, hurry it up.”

The boy left.

He had to be here somewhere. And surely he was better than that lackluster rehearsal, otherwise how had he ever made it in Nashville to start with?

She paced back and forth in the small space, hoping she didn’t have to go check the men’s bathroom herself. If she found Wayne drunk somewhere, she might kill him.

Wade. His name was Wade.

Toby returned. “He’s not there. Why’s it so busy tonight? Are the steak’s half price or something?”

“They’re here to see him.” She rushed from the break room.

Rocky Top was unusually crowded for a Thursday night. She hadn’t thought anything of it at first, she’d been too busy. But then more and more people started commenting about how excited they were to see Brittain’s own Wade Sheppard. How they’d seen him perform here years ago before he went to Nashville, or they’d seen him at special hometown shows after, or driven hours away to attend his big arena shows at the height of his fame. Over and over she’d heard the chatter, or people talked to her directly.

Another quick check of the kitchen and even the walk-in freezer, then she opened the dry goods storage room and searched. Finally she didn’t know where else to look so she opened the back door and peered into the alley.

The sound of vomiting reached her.
Shit. Please be sober, please be sober
. Daisy ran back to the break room for a bottle of water, then propped the door open and went outside.

Wade Sheppard was at the end of the alley, knelt over with one hand on the brick wall as he barfed up his supper. Daisy opened the water and thrust it at him when she got to his side. “Are your drunk?”

“No.” He retched again then took the water. He took a drink, swirled the water in his mouth and spat. “Just nervous.”

“You’re serious? You’re really that nervous?” She pulled spare napkins from an apron pocket and gave him one.

“I’m fucking terrified.” He wiped his mouth and took another drink, swallowing this time.

“You sound awful. Will you be able to sing?”

Wade raised the water bottle. “A little more of this and my throat will be fine.” He drank again. “Come on.” He indicated the door and led her away from the spot where he’d been sick.

“Is this normal?” Maybe it wasn’t a put-on when he’d said he was shy.

“Not so much anymore.” He leaned against the wall to the left of the door. “Big concerts. Awards shows. Every time I played the Opry. Nothing’s made me sick like this in a long time.”

Daisy thought of all those people inside who’d come out on a Thursday night just to see him perform. “It’s just a little hometown bar. But that’s why it scares you, isn’t it? These people know you.”

“Got another napkin?” She gave him two. He tipped water on them and rubbed his face and neck. Then he wadded up all three napkins and threw them into the open dumpster. “Some of those people in there came for a good show. Some of them came to see me fuck up. If my brother’s there, let’s just say, he won’t be expecting a good show.”

“I didn’t see Chris but I did see your mom. Are you really that much of a screw up?”

Wade narrowed his eyes. “You are very direct.”

She shrugged. “I figure big stars like you have plenty of people to kiss your ass. You don’t need one more.”

“I am sadly lacking in ass kissers these days. It really wouldn’t hurt for me to have one.”

“How did you get through those shows that made you sick before?”

“How late am I?”

“A minute or two. I’ll let you be a little bit of a diva since it’s your first night, but don’t take too long. You need to get your shit together and get on that stage.”

“Every single woman in my life is merciless. What did I do to deserve that?”

“I’d probably have to Google you to answer that and I don’t have my phone on me. So come on, tell me what got you through nights like this in the past.”

He’d left his hat somewhere inside. The early evening summer light picked out the telltale gray in his hair and deepened the shadows in his eyes. Despite the gray, he looked young and vulnerable and altogether too handsome for her own good.

“Any time I start getting nervous on stage, I find one person in the audience to focus on. Like I’m singing just for them. That usually gets me through the first few songs, then I loosen up and everything just.” He snapped his fingers. “It falls into place.”

“Well, your mother’s out there. She’s a nice lady so I can’t imagine she’s here to see you fail. Focus on her. Start with some of her favorite songs and just go with that until it falls into place.”

“Okay.” He took another drink of water. “Okay, I think my shit is together.”

Daisy stepped closer and smoothed a lock of hair out of his eyes, her fingers sliding across his warm skin. “Put on a good show. We’re hoping for good tips tonight.”

He grabbed her wrist and slid her hand into his. Palm to palm and fingers entwined was both a casual way to touch but also somehow shockingly intimate. Electricity passed from his skin to hers and back, lighting a low burning flame that traveled from her hand slowly to the rest of her body. Nerve endings sparked with sensation and she swallowed a dry lump in her throat, telling herself to pull away but for some reason unable to. Not because he held her too tight. Because she just didn’t want to move. She liked her hand in his just fine.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Yeah.” She had to think back to remember what he might have been thanking her for.

Then he disappeared through the door and she was left standing in the alley, wondering how she was going to keep a lid on her attraction to this man all summer long.

W
ade retrieved his hat from Randy’s office and hurried up to the front. Ronisha gave him a speculative look as he came through the doors. He winked and she smiled back. Butterflies churned in his empty gut, weaponized and on a mission. He’d already barfed up everything he’d eaten all day. There wasn’t much more the nerves could do at this point. All he could do now was ride out it until, as he’d told Daisy, everything fell into place.

An image of her blond hair curling around her face insinuated itself front and center in his mind. He didn’t bother to try forcing it away. Instead, he let the image drift as his focus skipped around the room.

Jeff and Jillian Travers waved from a table near the stage. Other familiar faces called out to him. Some he could put a name to, others not. Randy Tucker offered a salute from the table where he held court and his wife smiled and waved. At the table next to them sat his mother with a couple of ladies from her bridge club. His brother and father were nowhere to be seen.

A smattering of applause broke out as he stepped onto the stage. Time folded in on itself as memories of the very first time he stepped on this stage shimmered in his mind. Eighteen years old and scared to death, he’d used his guitar and hat to hide behind. That was a long time ago, hundreds of shows, probably thousands.