Page 3 of Up in Smoke

Replacing the fun of it all with an aversion to overly eager hookups is not the emotional detour I saw coming at this point in my life. I still wouldn’t turn down a one-night fling after a shit week, though. Naked Fridays are still very much in the game plan.

This is what I do. Who am I to break the cycle just because of a little mental block?

The way Violet rolls her bottom lip into her mouth is enough to make me sink the eight ball and toss my stick in Heston’s direction. She smooths her hair as I approach her.

“I need a drink. You want one?”

“Yes! I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she chirps, following close behind me as I weave through the crowd of people to the kitchen.

“So, how’s your night?” I ask as I pull two light beers out of the fridge. It’s not my go-to, but we’re fresh out of Shiners. It’ll buff.

“Oh,” she replies like she’s surprised I asked. “It’s going good. I wasn’t expecting much when I decided to come, but the vibe is really cool in here.”

I nod, scanning the bunkhouse with a satisfied smirk.

Good parties are a lost art. There’s no easy way to find the magical middle ground betweencollege kid ragerandmiddle-aged snooze fest. It took a couple of years of fine-tuning before our reputation solidified. We don’t hang black lights or do keg stands at the bunkhouse . . . anymore. But at least once a month, you can count on a hell of a time here.

Some say we’re pillars of the community when it comes to good drinks, food, and music. I’d have to agree. It helps that we have a lot of space—the bunkhouse itself is big and open enoughto have an entire wedding reception if you clear out the furniture and pool table. There’s a patio with a grill and seating out back, and a few fire pits we hang out at in the summers, too.

I fucking love every bit of this place.

“Glad you’re having a good time,” I say.

“Amy invited me here, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

Violet nods, taking one of the beers from me. Our fingers brush, and I wait for a spark.

“We’re good friends. She’s tried to get me to come here before, but I bartend and usually end up serving the drinks instead of enjoying them on the weekends.”

“Bartender, huh? You’re good at that, I bet.”

She smiles and then takes a sip of her drink. She’s a pretty girl with her long lashes and soft-looking lips that any guy would drool over. When she takes a step closer to me, I wait for the shot of adrenaline to hit.

“What makes you say that?”

I shrug. “You seem like a girl who’s not afraid to say what’s on her mind. Just a hunch, but that’s gotta help with tips. People like that.”

“Doyoulike that?”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the kitchen island. One hand pushes the brim of my cap back while the other lifts the bottle of beer to my mouth for another drink.

Do I? Probably. Usually. Maybe.

I don’t fucking know anymore. No one piques my interest like they used to. No certain types excluded. Luckily, my muscle memory kicks in to answer her before my thoughts begin to spiral.

“Sure. Sweet and fearless, like you, suits me just fine. I don’t discriminate, though. I’ll take my girls shy with a side of attitude too, as long as they’re not married. Hard rule.”

She giggles, placing a hand on my forearm. I wait for the goosebumps.

Amy walks by, taking Violet’s attention for a moment. As she turns to wave, her other hand curls around my arm. I slowly peel the label off my beer bottle.

“We’re headed out. Old married people shouldn’t be allowed in here past ten because I’ve got a headache brewing,” Amy says with a laugh. “Do you want to catch a ride home with us? We can totally drop you off.”

Violet turns her head and fixes me with an eager look, to put it lightly. The tips of her long nails drag across the skin on my arm, and the damp beer label crumples in my hand. I wait for the excitement.

It’ll come.

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