Page 77 of Moonshine Kiss
I was definitely enjoying this momentary amnesia. I wanted to bundle her up and take her home and let her pass out on me. “Cassidy, I promise to kiss you every chance I get.”
“Yay!”
I propped her against the wall and went to work separating Misty Lynn’s henchwomen, who’d started arguing about God knows what. Bubba had scratch marks on his neck. Devlin had tossed Scarlett over his shoulder and was spinning her around until she was too dizzy to fight anymore.
Jonah had cornered Misty Lynn who—enjoying the attention—flashed him her tits.
“Look away, Jonah!” Scarlett screeched. “Look away! She’ll hypnotize you with them and then cut your dick off!”
“Fuck you, Scarlett!” Misty Lynn hollered.
“I’d say fuck you, Misty Lynn, but just about everyone in this town has had their turn already,” Scarlett shot back.
“What do we do?” Bubba demanded, picking the second henchwoman up off the floor and leaning her against the bars.
“Okay, this here’s what we’re gonna do,” I announced, adopting my best vice principal tone.
37
Cassidy
There was a goddamn woodpecker trying to peck his way out of my brain. I was face down on flannel sheets, and the contents of my stomach were having a raging debate over whether or not they wanted to come back up.
Wait a minute. Flannel sheets? I hadn’t gotten mine out yet. I was still hanging on to the hope of a warm snap with my cotton bedding. I opened one eye.
“Well, shit.”
This wasn’t my bed or my bedroom.
“Please be Scarlett’s,” I whispered to myself through cracked lips and a mouth as dry as all the deserts in the world.
“Nope. Guess again,” a cheery voice announced.
I opened my other eye, wondered why it hurt, and then focused in on the nightstand. There was a bottle of aspirin, a sports drink, and a plate of dry toast.
“Mornin’.” Bowie Bodine, looking fresh as a daisy, was sitting on the foot of the mattress looking at me like he hadn’t a care in the world. He was dressed for work and putting on shoes.
A few details from the night before floated up into my consciousness. I was in Bowie’s bedroom. “Oh, God.”
“Drink your orange electrolytes like a good girl,” he told me, patting my ass.
I buried my face in the pillow that I now realized smelled like him.
“Why am I here?” I groaned, not sure if I was asking the existential version of the question or the literal one.
“You insisted on coming in last night when I brought you home.”
“Where did you bring me home from?” I asked.
“Jail,” he said cheerfully.
“Oh, God. Do I still have a job?” I croaked. I remembered moonshine. A whole vat of it. Me telling Devlin all about my problems. Misty Lynn being downright ugly. It got kinda blurry after that.
“Of course you still have a job. You think I’d let anything happen to you?” he teased.
I lifted my head from the pillow and peered under the sheets. I was fully dressed, but not in my own clothes. I was wearing a Bootleg Springs High School hoodie and a pair of sweats that were a good four sizes too big. Bowie’s clothes.
I was in Bowie’s bed, wearing his clothes.
