Page 62 of Rare Blend
CHAPTER 23
Marisa
FULL ON, PRINCESS-STYLE
“Open up your throat! Wider!” Elyse yells at me.
Elyse has the drinking capabilities of a twenty-year-old frat boy. She’s also a master at peer pressure and is trying to teach me to properly take a shot. We’re four shots deep, and I haven’t gotten any better, only drunker.
“I sure hope your throat can open up for other activities. I feel bad for your future husband.”
I hate being underestimated, even if it is for something as ridiculous as taking a shot. “Can I get another?” I call to the bartender on the other end of the bar. I’m going to take this shot and prove her wrong. I happen to be very good at other throat activities, and I won’t have her implying otherwise.
The bartender pours the tequila and slides the shot over to me.
“Attagirl,” Elyse whoops, Layla joining her. Ariana snuck out of here the first chance she got, leaving me alone with these crazy women.
I haven’t seen Ethan since Elyse pulled me from him. A pang of disappointment hit me when my eyes scanned for him and he wasn’t anywhere to be found. He probably left. The Jackalope doesn’t seem like the kind of place he would frequent. Still, partof me had hoped he would stay. Maybe then he’d be here to save me from his wild sisters.
I take the shot, swallowing it in one big gulp, and it burns so painfully I’m afraid it’s going to come right back up. Elyse shoves a lime in my mouth, and if I wasn’t loosened up from alcohol, I’d worry where the lime came from and how many germy hands have touched it.
A song I don’t recognize starts playing, and Layla gasps. “I love this song! Let’s go dance.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer before grabbing mine and Elyse’s hands and dragging us out into the middle of the bar. The Jackalope isn’t really a dancing kind of bar. I feel eyes on us from all around as my hips move to the beat of the music. More people join us on the makeshift dance floor, and I relax slightly.
Once the next song starts, the alcohol has fully hit. The room sways around me. Colors bleed together, forming dark shadows in the fringes of my vision. It’s incredibly loud, but everything sounds like one constant hum, a distant echo as I try to focus.
Water.
I need water.
Abandoning Elyse and Layla, I walk back to the bar in search of anything other than alcohol. On the trek there, my boot catches on the sticky floor and I stumble slightly, but a firm hand steadies me.
“Whoa there, you okay?”
I first look at the hand grasping my shoulder, and then my eyes travel up his arm and neck to meet his face. A pair of cloudy blue eyes are looking at me, crinkled at the corners from a smile. They’re familiar, yet I can’t place him. It starts with a C. Conner? Chris? Cody?
“It’s Cole,” the man says, pointing to himself. “Remember? We met earlier.”
I hope I didn’t try to guess his name out loud.
“You’re smashed, aren’t you?”
I giggle, but it sounds foreign to my ears, like I’m outside of my body, listening in. “Just a little.”
Still holding my arm, he snakes his hand up and around my shoulder, dragging me against him. “Come on, drunky, let’s get you some water.”
He smells of cinnamon, and a wave of nausea rises as I’m reminded of the cinnamon whiskey shots we took before we switched to tequila.
In the far reaches of my memory, I recall introducing myself to him when I arrived because I’m scheduled to interview him soon. Like Ethan, he’s also running his family’s winery.
Cole lets go of me to chat with the bartender, and my body unfurls in relief that we’re no longer touching.
“Here, drink up,” Cole tells me, handing me a water bottle.
I may be drunk, but I’m still cognizant enough to listen for the crack of the seal to break on the water bottle before bringing it up to my lips for a drink. I don’t know if it’s paranoia trickled in from the smell of weed wafting around or the cool water has slightly sobered me, but I’m now keenly aware that I don’t know this man. I should go back to Elyse and Layla.
I turn to leave, and the water in my bottle sloshes over the top due to my unsteady steps.
