Page 93 of Highball Rush
“What took y’all so long?”
Bowie started cuffing the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “I had a meeting. You know, the job I have with a schedule I have to keep.”
Jameson didn’t offer a reason for being late. He slid onto the stool next to me and rubbed his eyes.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.
“Tired.”
Jonah didn’t look much better. Which was odd, because he was usually the healthy, energetic one. But he was sporting some dark circles under his eyes.
Come to think of it, Bowie didn’t look so hot, either.
“Did y’all get drunk last night?” I asked. “You look like hell.”
They all glanced at each other, a mix of surprise and confusion crossing their faces.
Bowie pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know about these guys, but it’s Cassidy. She’s been wearing me out.”
“You too?” Jonah asked, and Bowie’s face snapped to his. “I mean, that sucks.”
They both looked at Jameson.
“I ain’t saying shit,” he said.
“Wait, is this some kind of weird Bootleg thing I don’t know about?” Jonah asked. “But why would Shelby be in on it? She’s not from here.”
“What the fuck are y’all talking about?” I asked. “I have important business.”
Bowie glanced around, like he was worried about who might overhear. But none of the Dirt Hogs behind us could hear worth a damn. “Cassidy’s sex drive has been through the roof lately. She wants it multiple times a day. At first, I thought I’d won the damn lottery. But now I’m fucking exhausted.”
“It is some weird Bootleg thing,” Jonah said, his eyes wide. “Shelby’s the same. She can’t get enough.”
“Really?” Bowie asked.
“Leah Mae, too,” Jameson grumbled, pulling down the bill of his cap. “Truth be told, I didn’t know a man could come that many times in a single week.”
“Wait, wasn’t George complaining about the same thing?” Jonah asked.
Devlin pushed the door open and came in, looking rumpled. His dark circles rivaled Jonah’s.
“Scarlett too?” Jameson asked.
“Insatiable sex drive?” Jonah added.
Devlin took a seat at the bar, his eyebrows knitting together. “How do you know that?”
“No one’s watching y’all,” Bowie said, scowling. “We’re in the same boat. Seems it’s all of ’em.”
“You bunch of pansy-asses,” I said. “Y’all show up late, then you want to sit around and bitch about getting too much sex?”
“Clearly you’re either not sleeping with Maya, or whatever’s happening to the rest of our girls ain’t hit her yet,” Bowie said. “Trust me, Gibs. You have no idea.”
People sometimes said Bootleg was a strange place, and I usually disagreed. I’d lived here my whole life—couldn’t quite imagine living anywhere else—so our shenanigans generally seemed normal. But this? My brothers, and the Dirt Hogs, all talking about their women suddenly running them ragged with out-of-control sex drives? That was fucking weird.
“Maybe it’s something in the water,” Bowie said.
I gave the water Nicolette had given me the side-eye. “Hey Nic, you back there?”
