Devon sighed.  This was a bad idea, especially after last night.  But the shot didn’t feel like it came with a choice.  Rather, it felt like a challenge.

“Salt?” she asked.  If she was going to do it, she was going to do it right.

Brennan placed the salt on the counter.  She licked the skin in between her thumb and forefinger and held her hand out to him.  He smirked at her, and then without any further prompting, he poured some salt onto the spot.  He did the same to himself.

“Are we toasting to anything?” Devon asked because she couldn’t help herself.

“Nope,” Brennan said, picking up his shot.

She did the same, clinked her glass against his, and then tipped back the tequila.  Devon gagged as the burning liquid rushed down her throat.  She reached for the lime and sucked on it until the fire cooled.

Brennan chuckled softly as he tossed his lime and cleaned up the shots.  “Now, what do you want to eat?”

Devon flipped her pen around.  When she realized she was doing it again, she placed the pen on the counter.  “I’m not picky.  Anything without mayo.  Whatever you like.”

“Huh,” he said, taking her menu.

“What?”  She licked her lips and eyed him apprehensively.

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

What was his angle?  She couldn’t figure it out.  That was the second time he had seemed to assess her in some way that she couldn’t figure out.

Brennan walked back into the kitchen.  When he didn’t reappear, she wondered what he was doing back there.  Was he goofing off with the waitress?  It didn’t seem likely.  It wasn’t that she expected him to stay out here and talk to her or anything.  She had hated forced conversations with her customers, but she hadn’t thought their conversation was forced.

Shrugging, she pulled out her notebook and flipped it open to the page she had been working on when she’d been at The Bean with Garrett.  It had flowed so easily then.  She wished writing was always like that.  Sometimes, it felt like she was trying to force her way out of quicksand.

As much as writing was a release, she kind of hated it.  She felt like she relied on it to express herself.  When she thought about it, she figured it kept her voice subdued.  She didn’t need to yell or scream or cry out at anyone when she could do all that on paper.  She could pour every emotion onto paper until she felt like she was bleeding.  It wasn’t enough.  It was never enough, but it helped.  It helped keep her walls up.

More than anything, she wished she didn’t have the same skill as her parents.  Because when the words flowed out of her, they weren’t a perfect flowing script, a well-crafted novel, or even something as simple as a journal.  They were lyrics.  All of her writing came out in the form of a song.  What made it even worse was that she could never, would never sing.  She didn’t like other people to hear her voice because she felt like it was just too personal, so she would never sing her own stuff.

How could she sing between the tears?

Mulling over the words in her notebook, she rearranged the lines that formed the chorus.  She could imagine someone great singing her songs with smooth perfect vocals that rose and fell in time with the music, but she didn’t think she could ever follow through.  Hearing her pain all over the radio wasn’t exactly her style.

A few minutes later, Brennan walked out and placed her food in front of her.  It was just a burger.  She was surprised.  She had thought he would have come out with something creative.

“Best thing on the menu,” he told her, refilling her water.

She hadn’t even noticed that she had drained it.  She guessed the hangover had dehydrated her more than she knew.

“Thanks.”  Devon added ketchup to the burger and then dug in.  “Wow!  This is great!”  She had never been a burger fan, but this was outstanding.

Brennan nodded his head, like he knew she would like it, as he leaned back against the bar.  “How long are you in town for?”

“Just the week,” she said before taking another bite of her burger.

“Gonna be hanging out at my bar while you’re here?”

Devon looked up at him, trying to figure him out.  Did he want her there or was he hoping she wouldn’t be there?  Or was he simply making conversation?  “Probably,” she answered.

“Alright.”

“Why?” she asked curiously.

“Didn’t know how much tequila I should keep in stock,” he said without even cracking a smile.

Devon, however, laughed at him.  She preferred his humor to him assessing her.  “I’d keep it handy.”

“I’m thinking I’m going to have to.”

“You think you’re going to have to do what?”  Hadley walked up behind them, intercepting the end of the conversation.

“Hadley!” Devon turned around to greet her friend with a smile.

“Hey, good to see Brennan is taking care of you for me.  I see he’s feeding you the burger,” she said with a shake of her head.  “He thinks it’s the best thing on the menu.  He’s wrong.  It’s the chicken.”

“Hadley, always so opinionated,” Brennan said, straightening as she approached.  He started pouring her a drink.

“Is it really opinion when it’s obviously fact?” Hadley asked, taking the seat next to Devon.

“She thinks all of her opinions are facts,” Brennan told Devon, pushing the drink toward Hadley.

“Aren’t they?” Devon asked with a smirk.

“Oh, so you’re on her side then?”

“Was there ever a doubt?” Hadley asked.

“I tend to doubt everything.”

“And I tend to disagree with everything you doubt,” Hadley told him with a shrug.

“Just drink up and stop disagreeing with me,” he said with a smile.

Hadley shrugged again, sipped on her drink, and turned to face Devon.  “So, how was your day?  Did Garrett show you around the city?”

“Yeah.  We had a great time before he had to go to work.  The city is beautiful.  Why haven’t I been here before?” Devon asked.

“I don’t know.  It’s not like I haven’t asked you to visit.”

“Just had that little thing called school,” Devon told her.

“School.  Psh!  Who needs that?”  Hadley’s lips quirked up.  She glanced down at Devon’s notebook and tapped it twice.  “You still writing?”

“I haven’t changed that much since you left,” Devon said.

“Can I read your latest?”  Hadley reached for the notebook with a knowing smile.

“No,” Devon responded quickly, pulling the notebook off the bar and stuffing it back into her bag.  She picked up the pen again and began flipping it between her fingers absentmindedly.

Hadley laughed and shook her head.  “You really haven’t changed.  You should let more people read your songs.  They’re really good, Dev.”

Devon blushed and looked back down at her food.  She didn’t want to have this conversation, especially not in public.  She had too many emotions locked in her notebook.  There was no way she was just going to open it up.

“Brennan could even play guitar for your lyrics,” Hadley offered without Brennan’s approval.

“What’s that?” he asked, leaning forward.

Hadley glanced at Devon as if asking for permission to continue.  Devon rolled her eyes, knowing she didn’t have much choice now that Hadley had already started.

“You play guitar?” Devon asked, being quicker on the draw.

Brennan seemed artsy enough, but she wasn’t sure if he actually fit the bill.  She had grown up around musicians, and while he seemed to have the whole desperate bartending routine down, there seemed to be something more to him.  Her distaste for her own lyrics bled over to people who thought they could play instruments.  She was too accustomed to how musicians acted and how they thought they ruled the world.  They weren’t exactly her speed.

“Devon writes lyrics,” Hadley interrupted.

“Yeah, I play,” he said, locking eyes with Devon.  “You write?  I wouldn’t have pegged you.”