A couple of the older women nudged each other at Opal’s appearance. One by one, the dozen or so ladies started to notice her. For long moments, they stared at her with mouths agape—and then they all ambushed her at once.
“Opal,” said a kind-looking woman with a red bob, rising to her feet. “You’re out!”
“And looking like hot shit!” inserted another.
Laughter rippled over the tables, and Piper could sense Opal’s pleasure. “Well, I have a fancy stylist now,” Opal told them, squeezing Piper’s arm. “My granddaughter.”
Westport was a small town, and it was obvious some of the women already knew the Bellinger sisters had taken up residence, as well as their familial connection to Opal, while others were visibly connecting the dots and marveling. Either way, the group as a whole seemed surprised to see them out together and looking so close.
“Is there . . . room for two more?” Opal asked.
Everyone shuffled at once, dragging chairs over from other tables. Opal’s eyes held a suspicious luster when she looked up at Piper and let out a breath. “It’s like I never left.”
Piper leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you go sit down. I’ll go grab us some drinks. Tequila for you, right?”
“Oh, stop.” Opal tapped her arm playfully. “Stoli and Seven with two limes, please.”
“Damn,” Piper muttered with a smile, as Opal walked off. The older woman claimed a chair and was immediately heaped with well-deserved attention. “I have a feeling you’ll be just fine.”
Piper bought a round of drinks for her and Opal, taking a seat beside her. After half an hour of easy conversation, the evening appeared to be shaping up as a low-key lady hangout. Until one of the twentysomething girls bought Piper a drink in exchange for a beauty consultation. Really, the drink hadn’t been necessary. She was happy to dole out advice based on the girl’s skin tone and oval face shape . . . but then another girl slapped down a shot in front of Piper, wanting to know her beauty regimen. Another traded a lemon drop for tips on dressing sexy when it was always “balls-ass cold and raining” in the winter.
And then it all went downhill from there.
* * *
“It’s all about swagger,” Piper shouted over the music an hour later, an eye squinted so she would only see one set of people, instead of two.
Unless there were two sets? When did they get there?
She tried to remember what she’d been saying in the first place. Had all of it been a slurred mess? But no, the girls who’d pushed tables to the side to create a runway down the back of Blow the Man Down were listening to her with rapt focus. Deliver, Piper. “You, me, all of us, ladies. We wield the power.” She threw out a finger aimed at the bar full of men. “They know it. They know we know it. The secret is to show them we know that they know that we know. Does that make sense?”
A chorus of yeses went up, followed by the clinking of glasses.
“Watch me walk,” Piper said, pushing her hair back over her shoulders and strutting along the floorboards, turning on a dime at the end of her makeshift runway. Not her best work, but pretty decent after four, maybe eight drinks. “Look at my face. It’s like, I don’t have time for your shit. I’m busy. I’m living!”
“Is this going to get me laid?” one girl asked.
Piper grabbed the girl’s face and stared into her soul. “Yes.”
“I believe you.”
“Hey, Piper.” Another girl stumbled into view. Or was she twins? “Labor Day is coming up. We should have a party and try out the makeup tips.”
“Oh my gosh,” Piper breathed, the best/worst idea breaking through her delightful drunkenness. “I should throw the party. I own a bar.”
“Hey, everyone! Piper is throwing a Labor Day party!”
The cheers were deafening.
“Show us the walk again!”
Piper took a shot someone offered her. “Screw that! Let’s dance!”
Chapter Twenty
Brendan leaned against the wall of Blow the Man Down, arms crossed, a quiet smile on his face as he watched Piper weave her magic over everyone in her vicinity.
She was shit-faced—and adorable.
Everyone who spoke to Piper got her undivided attention and walked away like she’d just imparted the secrets of the universe. She forged connections to people, damn near instantaneously, and they loved her. Did she realize she was doing it?
Someone shouted at the bartender to play Beyoncé, and tables were shoved even farther out of the way, transforming the space from Piper’s personal runway to a dance floor, and all he could do was stand there and watch her, his pulse thickening—along with another part of his anatomy—at the way she worked her hips, arms loose and careless over her head, eyes dreamy. She was drawing attention from a lot of men at the bar, and frankly, he didn’t like it, but Piper was the girl he’d fallen for. Being jealous came with the territory.