“You mean after I kicked him in the balls? He made the mistake of telling me where his spare key was hidden, so I snuck in and put laundry detergent down his pipes. Every time he flushes or takes a shower, he gets a nice sudsy surprise.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’re evil. I love it.”
“And I love you,” she replies before sobering. “I want you to be happy. You know that, right?”
I nod, a golf ball of emotion suddenly forming in my throat.
“Then, I think you should go out with him. Maybe you find out he’s a pretty picture but doesn’t play with a full deck of cards, if you know what I mean, or maybe you guys really click. Anything’s possible, but I think you owe it to yourself to find out. Your dusty ol’ vagina will thank you.”
The bark of laughter spilling from my mouth is light and easy, and I pull her into a hug. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. Now, go dry your hair and get ready for work. I’m gonna hang out downstairs for a while tonight.”
Cassie has come to the bar several times, but Jet always makes her leave before ten. That’s when the place gets busier and slightly rowdier too, and he doesn’t want to worry about someone messing with her. She’ll hang out at the end of the bar, have dinner, and keep me company until she comes upstairs and waits for me to get off work. Even though we close at one on Friday and Saturday nights, I know she’ll be wide awake and waiting on me.
She always does.
That’s what best friends are for, even if they come in the form of nineteen-year-old cousins. She’s got my back, and I hers.
“Hey, Shayne!” someone hollers from the opposite end of the bar. “Can I get two Bud Lights when you get a moment?”
“Sure thing!” I yell back over the George Strait song pumping through the speakers. As soon as I finish the screwdriver and collect the customer’s four bucks, I grab two bottles of beer from the cooler, pop the tops, and slide them across the bar. “Six dollars.”
Jet checks on me before heading over to shoot a game of pool with one of his regulars, and I make a quick trip to the opposite end of the bar to where Cassie sits, eating a half-dozen honey barbecue wings and fries. “I’ve missed these,” she coos, licking sauce from her fingers. “Those national wing places have nothing on these puppies.”
I give her a smile as the front door opens. Goose bumps prickle my skin as awareness courses through my body.
“Hey, little sis,” Chad greets, sliding onto the stool beside Cassie and reaching for one of her fries.
“Hey! Get your own!” she hollers, moving her plate farther away from his greedy fingers.
“We just ate dinner with Mom and Dad,” he states, leaning over her and snatching a few fries, quickly shoving them in his mouth before she can stop him.
“Hi.”
I turn away from my bickering relatives, my gaze slamming into soulful green eyes. “Hi,” I squeak, my throat dry.
Ford gives me a small smile as he slides onto the third stool. I have a few seconds to take in his appearance. Tonight, he’s wearing dark jeans and a snug black T-shirt with an American flag on the front. Underneath it, the words I’ll defend with my last breath is printed, along with the website for veteran’s awareness. His hair is cut short, and even from across the bar, I can smell fresh shampoo and soap. The combination of appearance and scent makes my lady parts stand up and take notice.
“What can I get you?” I ask, leaning forward just slightly to catch another whiff.
“I’ll take a Bud Light,” he answers, pulling his wallet out of his jeans and grabbing a few bills.
“Miller Lite,” Chad chimes in, though I already have his beer out of the cooler and opened.
They visit at one end of the bar while I continually make my way from one end to the other. We’re not super busy yet, but I know it’s coming. It’s only eight, which means this is the calm before the storm.
“Come on, Ford, let’s go shoot a game. Cassie, you can play the winner,” Chad says the moment she finishes her dinner and pushes her plate away.
I grab the dirty dish and slip it into the bin before refilling her Pepsi and getting two cold beers.
“Let’s go,” Chad says, hitting Ford in the arm before heading over to where the billiard tables sit.
Ford doesn’t make a move to follow, and after a few minutes, he leans forward and catches my gaze. “So, I was thinking…”
I position my forearms on the bar and get closer so I can hear. “About?”
“You. I heard you have Sundays off and was thinking you might want to have dinner with me.”