The man glanced at the stage, then gave her a look. He didn’t believe her. “Gonna be hard to see him from where you’re sitting.”

She grimaced. That’s the idea.

“He doesn’t know I’m here. It’s a surprise.” She wiped a damp hand on her thigh. She was beginning to see why Dylan hadn’t told her where he was playing tonight. Maybe it had nothing to do with his embarrassment over performing and everything to do with the location and crowd. Joy didn’t feel safe. She felt exposed. And despite her efforts to blend in, she stuck out. Alice in Wonderhell.

“What time is the band supposed to start, Pete?” Liar’s-dice guy asked his friend.

“Nine thirty,” Pete said.

Joy looked at the time on her phone. Five more minutes.

The man scooted his chair aside. “Can you see better now?”

She could, and his large profile kept Joy hidden. Dylan wouldn’t see her.

“I can. Thanks.”

“I’m Rex.” He extended a meaty hand.

“Joy.”

“You let me know if you need anything, Joy. Any of these scumbags in here bother you, you tell them you’re with Rex.”

“Uh . . . okay. Thanks?” She took a deep breath. Lucky her. She’d just acquired a bodyguard.

Rex patted her back, two big thumps, and turned back to his game.

Five minutes ticked by, then ten. Joy began to worry. Had Dylan changed his mind? Was he even backstage? Twenty minutes passed and Joy considered asking the cocktail waitress if he was even here when Rex turned back to her. “You sure he’s playing tonight?”

Joy hoped he was. “It takes him a while to get onstage,” she said, recalling his performance the other night.

He lifted a brow. “The boy nervous?”

Yes, but not her place to say anything. She shrugged.

“He like Babs?”

“Who?”

“Barbra Streisand. She has major stage fright.”

Joy blinked. She couldn’t picture meaty Rex listening to Streisand’s music. But hey, Rex might be onto something. She nodded.

“The musicians hang in the back.” Rex pointed at a side door Joy hadn’t noticed. Posters of country music bands plastered the door that blended into the wall that was also papered with old posters. “Maybe your friend could use a friend.”

Maybe. He probably wouldn’t be thrilled that she was there. But she was worried, and the crowd was growing restless. She didn’t want to hang around if Dylan had cut out through the rear exit.

She stood. “Good idea, Rex. Save my seat?”

He dragged her chair over to his table. “You got it.”