4 - Play The Game

Cassidy let the last note ring out and then closed her mouth to beam at the two men.  She had no choice really, because the surging adrenaline made it impossible to do anything but share the euphoria that this little performance had given her.  It had been a while since she’d sung for anyone and she'd forgotten exactly how much she enjoyed it.  

“Thank ya, gentlemen.  That was fun."  She pointed a finger toward Jon.  "Another beer?” 

He shook his head silently and, while she still couldn’t see his eyes, they caused  a tiny shiver to creep up the backs of her thighs.  There was something about his strong, silent routine that affected her hormones in a very good way. How could anyone not be affected by a rock star morphed into a silver fox?  He'd been wild enough to do any and everything back in the day, and now had the wisdom to know what was worth repeating.

The shiver this time was bigger.

“I’d like another Coke,” Obie said, unknowingly acting as lifeguard and saving her from drowning in the hormone pool. 

Focusing on the task at hand, she forcibly dragged her attention from his handsome partner in crime and nodded.  She glided around the bar with a smile and scooped up his empty glass before extending an arm for the beverage gun. 

“If ya don’t mind my askin’,” she ventured, pushing the now-full glass toward him.  “Do y’all often entertain yourselves with local yokels?”

Obie sucked the wing sauce from his thumb.  “No, but I’ve been bored lately.  Once in a while I get the itch to find talent that I'm interested in promoting, and a friend mentioned that he'd seen you singing in here a couple weeks ago.  Under the guise of entertaining myself, I decided to come check you out.”

In her younger years, and Cassidy would’ve jumped on that news with both high heeled feet.  At this age and stage of her life, it was of no more interest than a bikini wax.

That’s what she told herself, anyway.

“I see.  Well good luck with that.”

“You ever considered trying to go pro?”  Jon’s subdued question drew her eyes and she, once again, wished he’d take off those sunglasses.  They made her feel like she was being spied upon by some kind of voyeur, watching from a distance while giving up nothing of himself. 

“Can't say as I have," she admitted.  "Never had anybody think I was good enough for that.  Least ways nobody that ever said so.”

“Oh, honey, you’re good enough.” Obie informed her with a guffaw.  “If that performance was raw, unschooled talent, you’re definitely a good enough singer."

She smiled ingenuously at him.  “I hear a big ole ‘but’ comin’.”

He shrugged, tossing the sauce-stained napkin onto the pile of bare chicken bones which were all that remained of his food.  “Being a good enough singer isn’t always enough.  Do you have other musical talent?  What can you play other than a little piano?  Can you read music or do you have a good ear?”

“Well, before I go answerin’ all that, are you askin’ to make conversation, or are you lookin' to promote me?"

“Whether I want to promote you or not depends on those answers and a lot of other things.”

Cassidy couldn’t help herself when a flock of butterflies started square dancing in her stomach.  Whether or not she had any interest in – or the freedom to pursue – a music career, it was exciting just to be considered for such an opportunity. 

Lord…

No.  She wouldn’t start playing the prayer card.  Good things happened to good people, and she was a good person.  If this was meant to be, it would all work out.

How?  In what world can this possibly work out?

In a world where unicorns farted rainbows in a field of lollipop flowers, but that didn’t stop Cassidy from continuing the conversation.  She had no other customers, and it was better than scrubbing the grill in back.  Besides, she was technically on Obie’s payroll for another forty minutes.  It didn’t hurt to have a nice chat with the ‘boss’.

“Alright.  It’s just piano.  I play mostly by ear, but I can read a little music if I have to.”

Obie smiled cheekily.  “You have my interest.  Now tell me you’ve waited your entire life for an opportunity like this, and I might think I won the lottery.”

“Who hasn’t?” she chuckled, posing it as a rhetorical question instead of an outright lie.  Cassidy had never even considered the possibility.  It was intriguing at the present, but she couldn’t honestly say that it was her lifelong dream. 

“Then you’re interested in my help.”  It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

 Those butterflies executed another do-si-do.  It really was an exhilarating proposition.  

There's no way in Hades you can take advantage of this opportunity.  None.  Zero.  Nada.  

“I’ll take that beer now.”  Jon’s discreet interruption mercifully allowed for an extra moment before Cassidy felt obligated to respond, and she reached into the beer cooler with her mind racing.

She wanted to do this.  Surely there had to be some way to make it work?  

Nope.  Your current life will not accommodate this, no matter how appealin' it may sound.

“You don’t have to answer him now,” Jon commented he accepted the cold bottle, offering her a reprieve.  “There’s a lot to consider.”

“What the hell?” Obie bitched, spinning on his bar stool with a frown. “Are you trying to sabotage my gig here?”

The gray haired man just lifted the Budweiser to his lips and took a deep swallow, apparently not feeling the need to respond. 

Cassidy gave him a grateful smile and a slight nod before addressing Obie.  “Yanno, I believe I’ll take this gentleman’s kind advice.  If ya don't mind, I'd like some time to mull over your very flatterin' interest."

Obie fixed Jon with a look of utter disdain and a dry, “Thanks, asshole.”

“No problem, man.”

Once again, his friend wasn't even fazed, and it made Cassidy giggle softly as the bells over the front door jangled.  Disappointed that she would now be unable focus on all of her attention on the New Jerseyans, she nonetheless smiled upon seeing who had arrived.   

“Hey, Clay!”

“Hi, Cassidy,” the handsome young man returned brightly. “Tully around?”

She tilted her head toward the swinging door behind the bar.  “In the kitchen.”

“Okay if I go on back?”

“Sure thing!”

Jon watched the exchange between Cassidy and the newcomer with an attentiveness that, surprisingly, had nothing to do with the singing barmaid.  There was something about the guy in the striped Polo shirt and jeans that struck a chord of familiarity with Jon, but he couldn’t quite pin down why.  He didn't exactly have a wide circle of preppy acquaintances in their late twenties.

“Mind if I ask who that was?”  The kitchen door hinges were still squeaking when the question rolled out.

Cassidy's eyebrows drew down briefly, probably wondering why he cared, but it was only a second before her face cleared and she shrugged.  “Clay Adams.”

While she'd answered his question exactly as he'd hoped, the information she supplied was useless.  Adams was one of the most common names in the country, thanks to at least one of its founding fathers, and it didn't narrow the possibilities at all.    

“He’s Tully’s unofficial nephew,” Cassidy added as though she knew Jon wanted more information.  “I’ve only been workin’ here about six weeks, so I can’t tell you if it’s always been that way, but he’s come in pretty often since I started.   Clay doesn’t have more money than God, but he’s closin’ in on Jesus, and I guess he wants to use some of his wealth to buy Tully a new bar.  Tully won't have any part of it."

Okay, now she had given him something interesting.  Not Tully's lack of interest in a new bar, because Jon couldn’t care less about that. No, what he found interesting was that the preppy guy had money.  If nothing else, it legitimized the likelihood Jon knew him from somewhere.

“Any idea how he came into that money?”

“Yessir.”  Sassy lips curved upward.  “What’s it worth to ya?”

“I’m not sure if I want to do business with this girl or not," Obie laughed.  "She’s a negotiator.”

Jon's interest reverted back to the woman standing before him looking so cheeky.  He'd thought her cute with all her smiling and sweet as sugar Southern-ness, but now he could see just a hint of barracuda hiding behind that cotton candy façade.  That little peek into her personality appealed to him almost as much as her ass.  He liked a woman who could work a situation to her advantage. 

“The question is,” Jon volleyed dryly.  “What’s she negotiating for?”

“Oh that’s easy enough," was her leisurely drawled assurance. “Those damn sunglasses of yours are drivin’ me crazy.  You take ‘em off and I’ll give you the scoop you’re lookin’ for.”

He felt his lips contort into a wry smirk. 

Jon loved his sunglasses.  They gave him an illusion of privacy in a very public world, and he wore them at every available opportunity simply because he could.  He wouldn't separate himself from them for just anyone, but his Spidey senses were humming.  He wanted to know who the guy was and if that was the lady's price... 

Bending his elbow, he slid them slowly down his nose and set them on the bar, meeting unfiltered Cassidy for the first time.

His initial thought was that her hair was a brighter red than the tinted lenses had revealed.  The blonde highlights were a shade of gold so vibrant that there was no chance of mistaking them for Mother Nature’s work, and her eyes were every bit as blue as his.  When she smiled broadly, the toothy grin sparkled as whitely as his, too. 

He should have left the glasses on.

They had dulled her prettiness enough to let him believe that her ass was her best feature.  Now, however, the full force of her sunshiny beauty and disposition shot that belief in the foot, and Jon found himself devouring the petite woman in silent appreciation.  Cassidy had the whole package.

“Football.”

The one simple word to which he devoted a significant part of his free time sounded no more familiar than Mandarin Chinese.   Had he zoned so far out that he missed part of the conversation?  He must have, because he sure as hell couldn’t decipher a connection between his sunglasses and football. 

Effortlessly reading his confusion, Cassidy clarified, “His money comes from football.  He owns part of a pro team.”

All of his mental faculties immediately converged with a razor sharpness.

Adams.  Of course. 

Due to his increasingly neurotic infatuation with owning an NFL team, Jon had done extensive research on all of the National Football League owners.  Barclay Adams was a grandson of the Late Bud Adams, who owned the former Houston Oilers – now known as the Tennessee Titans.  In accordance with his grandfather's will, "Clay" had gotten a portion of the team, but Jon didn't know much beyond that.  Once he’d discovered the Titans were wholly owned by a single family, he’d stopped his research, knowing that there was no way he’d ever be able to buy his way into the Titans.

However...  Since the universe had seen fit to place Jon in the very boondocks bar that Clay Adams frequented, it wouldn't hurt to make the most of the situation.

“Does he like it?”

“Ownin’ a football team?”  Cassidy lifted one slender shoulder in a shrug.  “He doesn’t talk to me about it.”

He gave a slight nod, the wheels of his mind seeking the traction necessary to turn this chance encounter into the best possible scenario for himself. 

“Jon has a serious itch to own a team,” Obie explained to her.  “Any time he has occasion to rub elbows somebody who actually does, he’s like a forty-year-old woman at one of his shows.”

Cassidy's artistically arched brow kicked up a notch.  “You mean pre-menopausal?”

While Obie chortled like a buffoon, Jon lifted his eyes to the ceiling and groaned.  “I think he was going for excited.”

“Oh, I like her answer better.”

“Excited, huh?” She tipped her head to the left and locked her eyes into his, studying him - or trying to read his mind.  You never knew with women.  “I could introduce ya, if ya like.”

The hair stood up on the back of Jon’s neck.  This girl could read his mind any damn time she wanted as far as he was concerned.  Hell yes, he liked.

He’d made business deals out of far less, and an introduction would save him the trouble of tackling the guy when he came out of the back.  Chances were that Clay wasn’t going to sell part of the family business, but there was always the possibility he had an insider's scoop on who might be selling.

Jon outright smiled at Cassidy for the first time.  “Yeah.  That’d be cool.”