I glance away and drain what’s left of my beer. Distantly, I hear Phoebe try to talk her way into staying down here until her mom gets off work. That she’ll hide in the shadows with her mask on when the customers arrive.

“Yeah, because that’s not any less conspicuous,” he says sarcastically.

I can hear the pout in her voice. “I thought you were the fun one.”

Waylon wordlessly replaces my beer. I know I should probably refuse it, seeing as I’ll technically be on the job as soon as people start trickling in. But I figure a slight buzz can’t hurt. If what Mason said is correct, the first few hours on a Friday are pretty slow.

It’s not like their band is playing tonight, so it will be more like a practice run than anything. Apparently, they only play Saturdays when Gavin—the guy who’s passing the bar down to Mason—and Ivy can help out, and they rarely ever play anywhere else. Strange, but I guess it makes sense when you live in the middle of nowhere and have your own bar.

“I am the fun one,” Waylon says, “but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to risk your brother’s wrath—”

She scoffs, pushing up the mask just enough to reveal her face. “Like he fucking cares.”

Waylon instantly quiets and my eyes widen at the outright hostility in her voice. He seems to be just as caught off guard as me, because a visible frown forms between his brows as he studies her.

“Phoebe,” he says hesitantly, “you know that’s not true.”

She gives a stiff shrug and focuses really hard at some unseen spot on the bar.

“And it’s not just Mason—”

“Shawn,” she says flatly. “Yeah. Of course. The big brother I never fucking asked for.”

Waylon’s shoulders seem to drop. “Where the hell is all this coming from?”

Her eyes redden noticeably around the edges. She tucks her bottom lip in between her teeth. After a long second where I think she actually might start crying, she perks up with a wide grin on her face that is surprisingly believable.

You know, if her eyes weren’t still bright with tears, and I wasn’t an idiot.

Hell, based on Waylon’s concerned look, I know I’m not the only one not falling for this bullshit.

“Nothing. I’m just being a teenager. You know, hormones. Those pesky little things.” She waves a hand, accidentally tossing some of her hair in the process and getting caught between the strands. A silver bracelet jangles from her wrist, bumping against the glass still in her hand as she tries to untangle herself. “I don’t like when I don’t get my way.”

I huff a short laugh at that, which has her fake-ass smile softening the slightest bit.