Page 8 of Best Served Cold

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Otis says. “You definitely shouldn’t be driving right now, Soph, and not just because of the beer. Remember when Grandma was so upset by that episode ofThe Young and the Restlessthat she hit a fire hydrant? I told her it was just a rerun, but she hadn’t seen it before, and?—”

“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”

“So maybe I want to see this go down,” I say, lifting my eyebrows. “Jonah pulled me into this, and I’d like to see it bite him in the ass.”

She watches me with suspicious eyes, but then understanding filters into them. “You’re worried I won’t go through with it if I don’t have someone with me.”

I shrug.

“But are you sure you want to be involved in this? He’s your brother.”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s exactly why I want to do it. If I don’t help teach him a lesson, who will?”

I’m lucky I’ve learned to lie without flinching. Truth is, I don’t think any kind of consequence exists that will transform Jonah Price into anything other than what he is.

Maybe I just want to see the look on his face when he’s confronted with the truth of who he is, the way we all are at least once in our lives.

CHAPTER THREE

SOPHIE

Conversation with BigCatchBabe

I’m bringing him his phone. He’s in a meeting with the Silver Star owner.

Oh, yeah. It’s going down. Spill a beer on him for me, will you?

There are more of us. He also has a SilverStarBabe and a GingerBeerBabe on his phone.

Ho-ly shit.

I can’t believe I have to miss this.

I’m sure I’ll probably feel disappointed later by this proof that all men really are full of it, but right now I’m amped up on self-righteous adrenaline.

Hey, can we meet up so you can tell me how it all went down?

I turn the phone face down in my lap. I should probably answer her, but I don’t know what to say—or how it’ll feel to come face-to-face with these women who have been living parallel lives to mine for who knows how long.

My conscience tells me I should also message SilverStarBabe, especially since I’m going to Silver Star and will probably see her, but she seems to genuinely care about Jonah, and if we keep messaging, we might both end up sobbing. Right now, I need to feed the other emotions festering inside of me. Because I have spent the past twelve years trying to avoid confrontation, and here I am, driving toward it.

Rob gives me a sidelong look as he cuts through downtown to get to the brewery. His car is a surprisingly clean Subaru, not an Outback like nearly every other person in Asheville possesses but a WRX with circular headlights. It looks like it has a smiley face—not that I’d ever tell him that, because I know what he’d say if I did.

Not everything has to smile, Pollyanna.

What a tool fictional Rob is.

We pass a couple of buskers, a group of lost-looking tourists with their phones out, and very little else. This is not a town known for its early risers. Itisa town where people stay out late on Thursday nights.

The tasting room is in the South Slope, close to Buchanan’s tasting room, so after I ruin Jonah’s meeting, I can walk to work. Regrettably, I would be several hours early, but maybe they’d let me sit at the bar and stare off into nothingness for a few hours. Or scream into a pillow in the event room.

“So…” Rob says. I glance at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. No doubt he was living his own life of sin late into the night. For all I know, their father was doing the same. Maybe being a cheating jerk is a genetically inherited trait.

“Whoa, what’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” I say, wiping the disapproval from my face. That’s exactly the sort of sentiment that could lead to an argument—and it’s easier when everyone is acting the way they’re supposed to.

Rob takes a turn, his gaze fixed on the road. Probably a good thing, since a couple of tourists just stepped into traffic, their eyes glued to their phones. He honks his horn, and one of them, a woman wearing oversized sunglasses and bright white sneakers, casts him a bewildered look, as if he’d just exposed himself in her living room.

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