Page 68 of Whiskey Chase
“I’ve heard about you two,” Lula teased. “Makin’ goo-goo eyes at each other in the diner. Booking two whole hours in the hot springs.”
“We used every second of those two hours,” I said smugly.
June, bored with our conversation, turned the page in her copy of The Economist that she brought from home. She was having her toes painted a pearly pink. Cassidy picked the color for her when June’s apathy on the subject became apparent.
“Tell me more about these magical multiple orgasms,” Cassidy sighed.
“Damn, girl,” Lula said, digging her strong hands into the knots in my shoulders. “That explains the rug burn back here.”
I giggled. I couldn’t help it. I felt good. The kind of good that meant everything in my life was going in the right direction. For the first time in a very long time, I didn’t have some kind of lingering doubt or anxiety about the future. Growing up, I never knew exactly who I’d be coming home to, the fun, happy mom and dad dancing in the kitchen and making mountain pies or the screaming, accusatory parents who fought and then sulked in silence for days.
But now, things felt settled. I had a great job, a sexy neighbor who kept me entertained, friends to have a spa day with, and four brothers who annoyed the shit out of me. Life was about as perfect as it could get.
“He’s great. The multiple orgasms are great. And I’m great,” I reported with satisfaction.
“I kind of hate you a little bit,” Cassidy sighed.
“What happened with you and Amos at The Lookout last time?” I asked her, knowing Bowie’s side of the story.
“I gave him one dance for old time’s sake, and he was annoying. Thankfully Bowie cut in on him, but he just came right back the next song, talking about missin’ me and ‘let’s give it another chance,’” she mocked in a deep baritone. “Thing is, I haven’t missed him not one lick since we broke up, and that says enough to me not to get back on that merry-go-round.”
“Then how did the fight start?” I asked. Lula’s thumbs found tense muscles in my lower back, and I yelped.
“Girl, you have got to stretch. I tell you this every time. You can’t just be on your feet for twelve hours a day and expect your muscles to keep up with you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Yoga. Pilates. Stretch. I get it. Back to the fight!”
“I don’t even know,” Cassidy hedged. She was totally lying. But that’s what she did to herself when it came to Bowie Bodine. “One minute Amos and I were dancin’, and I was like ‘thanks but no thanks.’ But he wouldn’t let go. He was insistent that I listen to him and give him another chance and blah blah blah. And it must have looked like he was hurting me from the table because Bowie and Jameson showed up and had some words.”
I snorted. “As if you couldn’t take care of yourself.” Cassidy was not only proficient in firearms, but her hands could be considered deadly weapons, too. When I was demanding ballet lessons and cheerleading skirts, Cassidy was earning a rainbow of belts in Tae Kwon Do. She got her black belt at eighteen.
“Right?” Cassidy said with an exasperated sigh. “Thank you!”
“So, Bowie and Jameson had words with Amos,” I prompted her.
“Yeah. Words were had, Amos said something stupid, and then Bowie just decks him.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I lifted my head and made eye contact with Lula. She rolled her dark brown eyes in understanding. The entire town knew that Bowie was gone over Cassidy except dear, sweet, stupid Cassidy.
“Anyway, you know how Bootleg is on a Friday.”
“Everyone’s ready for a fight.”
“Yep.”
“You know what I find interesting?” June interjected over her magazine.
“What?” I asked.
“That prisons are noting a significant upswing in the delivery of contraband via recreational drones.”
Cassidy laughed. “June Bug, when are you gonna start taking an interest in human relationships?”
June raised an eyebrow. “Not until absolutely necessary.”
Lula and I chuckled over that.
“Changing the subject,” Cassidy said. “What I find interesting is that I have never seen Scarlett Bodine so giddy.”
