Ainsley and Kenna walked a few paces in front of Josie and me, the two of them bickering over who was hotter, Loki or Thor. I didn’t even know how they got on the topic. Like all conversations with the four of us, shit derailed fast. Kenna’s heels clicked on the pavement as Ainsley’s boots clomped. Yin and yang.
I toyed with one of my dangling earrings, bright neon lights flashing over my face advertising beer brands, live shows, and quirky slogans. Music from country to classic rock and everything in between filtered into the street from the different venues. The downtown area pumped with life. It was Friday night, and everyone wanted to forget about the essays and upcoming homework assignments because despite it being only the first week, some teachers were merciless. We were all here to get hammered and have fun.
Why did that seem so hard for me?
I didn’t have to get shit-faced, but a few drinks would help me loosen those tense muscles in my neck and other places. Food would be good, too, seeing as I hadn’t eaten anything since late this morning.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Josie asked, brown eyes brimming with regard.
Putting on a smile that I knew not just my friends needed but I did, too, I looped my arm through hers and dragged her into the bar behind Kenna and Ainsley. “I need this,” I assured her.
For it being only eight o’clock, the bar was busy, most of the tables already occupied.
“I know that feeling all too well,” Josie replied, raising her voice over the increased volume of chatter and music. A few guys fumbled with band equipment on the small stage in the corner, setting up for their performance later tonight.
“Bourbon, isn’t it?” I asked, raising a brow. It was Josie’s drink of choice. If there was a bottle nearby, she would reach for the bourbon over any other, but she’d cut back on the drinking since Angie’s trial. Angie was the woman who’d kidnapped Josie as a baby and raised her as her own, and last year she’d finally been sentenced. Three years, the minimum amount of jail time, and thanks to her husband’s money, she would be eligible for parole next year. She’d gotten off easy, as far as I was concerned.
Not only had Angie been a kidnapper, but she also had a penchant for alcohol morning, noon, and night. Angie hadn’t discriminated when it came to her booze, nor in her neglect of the daughter she’d wanted so desperately that she committed a felony to get her.
I didn’t know how the woman managed to have a daughter as amazing as Josie. It had to have been Easton’s influence, the man who thought he was Josie’s dad for nearly eighteen years.
Josie groaned at the mention of her favorite liquor. “No matter what I say or do, keep the bourbon far away from me tonight.”
Ainsley turned around and faced us, walking backward through the bar. “Where’s the fun in that? I’ve had some of the best nights of my life with you and bourbon.”
Josie rolled her eyes. “My point exactly.”
Kenna joined in on badgering her sister. “Wasn’t bourbon the reason you slept with Brock?”
Josie wrinkled her nose at them. “Not entirely,” she snipped back.
“Regardless, I think you owe bourbon a celebratory shot.” Before Josie could protest, Ainsley grabbed her hand, leading her to the bar.
“Exactly,” Kenna agreed, looping an arm around my shoulders. I already anticipated her next words. “We need shots!” She tossed her head back, sending her long silky locks swinging. Kenna didn’t need booze to look or act drunk. Sometimes it was her default behavior with or without the aid of alcohol.
The magic word caused a chant to break out within the bar. “Shots! Shots! Shots!”
“Fine,” I relented, the only way to get Kenna to stop. “A shot, and then we dance,” I said, offering a compromise.
She did a little bounce, smiling. “Finally you’re saying something that makes sense.”
I should have known that starting the night with a shot was a bad idea, but making bad choices was my thing. I had to live up to the reputation.
The first shot had been the bartender's choice. Fruity and smooth, it went down like a juice box. Then I switched over to cocktails, ordering my usual Long Island iced tea. IDs weren’t a problem because no one checked, and I wasn’t about to offer up my real age, so getting drinks wasn’t an issue. The real issue was the consumption of said drinks.
Feeling my stress lighten with each sip, I sucked down my first Long Island effortlessly and made the stupid mistake of thinking another round of shots was wise. This one tasted like an oatmeal cookie. Yes, please. After that little delight, I obviously needed another, because what girl could say no to a liquid cookie?
Not this one.
I had no excuse for the Long Islands that followed other than they made me feel good, they numbed all those negative thoughts, and they made me forget everything but present moments with my roommates.
Dancing after shots was a definite requirement. With a freshly topped-off drink in hand, I swayed my hips right to the makeshift dance area, joining Ainsley and Josie with Kenna close behind me. Half the crowd in the bar already moved with the beat of the music.
Into the fourth or fifth song, I noticed Kenna’s eyes browsing the bar as if she were looking for someone. My empty drink had been cast aside on a table, and I signaled for Kenna to come with me to the bar. She didn’t need much enticing. As we waited for the bartender to take our order, she continued to scan the bar.
“What are you doing?” I asked, pressing my back into the counter.
She took the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment in consideration before replying, “Checking out the merchandise. There must be at least one guy here worthy of my attention.” Her critical eyes moved from guy to guy, and I followed along with her gaze as she sized up her options.