*Author's Note: As a referrence note to understand the circumstances surrounding this chapter, notions here for clarification purposes, are a direct parallel to those found in Chapter 15 and Chapter 16 of A Tale of Two Popstars.*

Brown eyes.

He blinked.

Brown eyes.

How had he gotten here?

He knew where he was.

The question was how he had gotten there.

He couldn’t remember.

Probably had to do with the fact that he’d already had four drinks, was on his fifth, and was about to order his sixth.

“Make it a double,” he requested when the bartender asked if he wanted a refill.

“Problems?” the bartender inquired.

Shane stared at him blankly.  “Man, you’ve got no idea.”

Nodding with faux understanding, the bartender went of to fill his order, and Shane was again left to contemplate how in the hell he’d gotten there.

Or rather forget why he was there.

All he wanted to do was just forget.  Just for a minute.  That his life wasn’t his, or rather that it wasn’t such a fucking mess.

He had no idea what he was doing.

How had he gotten here?

He’d had a run-in with his ex-girlfriend, but that wasn’t the problem.

Sure he hated how it was so familiar being around her, but this time he hadn’t been rattled about it.  Couldn’t care less.

Shane frowned.

That fact had distracted him all day.  Distracted him to the point where he couldn’t lay down his vocals and when Aliesa had come into the studio he’d…

Aliesa.

Brown eyes.

Shane blinked.

He motioned to the bartender for another drink.

How had he gotten here?

He’d left his house to clear his head. 

Drove and just kept on driving.

That was until he’d caught sight of a sign at the side of the road.

Then he’d pulled over.

Getting out of his car, he’d slammed the door shut, only stopping to pause and stare hard at the establishment whose lot he had just parked into.  Knowing that it was only going to make it worse.  Drinking and him always equaled trouble, but damn with the day he’d just had, did that dive bar look mighty inviting right then.   

Brown eyes.

He had to stop thinking.

It couldn’t be right.

“Same thing?”

Shane’s eyebrows furrowed,  “No, something’s different…”

The bartender gave him a sympathetic nod, “Maybe you should call it a night?  It’s pretty late.  We stop serving in half an hour,” he informed him.  “You have someone you can call?  Maybe your wife?” he suggested.

Shane cocked his head,  “My wife?”

The bartender tapped the wedding band on Shane’s hand.

Shane’s eyes squinted as he looked at it thoughtfully.  “I never bought her an engagement ring, so it doesn’t count.”  He waved absently.  “And she hates me.”

The bartender smiled.  “Maybe you should buy her a ring then?”

Shane blinked.  “Aliesa?”

Throwing the towel in his hand over his shoulder, the bartender nodded.  “Tell you what-I’ll call you a cab.”

How had he gotten here?

Shane concentrated on the empty glass in front of him.

And he frowned hard.

All he could see were her brown eyes.

Ten
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