Remy
"Pass me that tequila, Remy baby."
I glare at Jax for using the ridiculous nickname—as well as the fact that he's already drunk, since using my nickname is his dead giveaway that he's not sober.
"I think you should probably cool it, Don Julio," I growl, clutching the bottle of tequila. "I don't need a repeat of the last fight night. Hailey and I could barely carry your big ass out of the arena."
He rolls his eyes but takes a seat at the island anyway, conceding defeat.
Hailey grabs the bottle from my hand and pours two shots, one for each of us. I raise an eyebrow in surprise.
She shrugs. "I feel like drinking a little. Sue me. I haven't been to a fight with you guys in forever, so just do a damn shot with me. You know you want to."
I chuckle and reach for the glass. "Cheers, motherfucker," I chant, grinning at our classic cheers mantra. We clink glasses and down the liquor. And while I barely flinch at the taste, Hailey sputters a little and grabs the coke out of Jax's hands.
He takes turns glaring at both of us. "I hate you both. I'm not even that drunk!"
I cross my arms and glare at him pointedly. "Oh yeah? What starts with 'B' and ends in 'rewery'?"
His nose scrunches in concentration, and I almost laugh out loud at the attempt I know he's about to make at pronouncing the word—the word he's incapable of saying when he's drunk. "Bewery. Wait no, brerry. Fuck. Beerary?"
This time I don't stop the laugh as it bursts from me. Hailey chuckles next to me, too. Jax has so many tells when he's drunk that it's a miracle any of his clients take him seriously during happy hour.
"Fuck you guys. Again. I'm just trying to enjoy my not-in-fight-camp time when I can actually drink."
I roll my eyes. "Being able to drink does not equate to getting so drunk that you try to pick up every girl between our seats and the exit." He chuckles at the memory, clearly proud of the fact that he did actually get a few numbers that night. "And anyway, why aren't you cornering the fighters tonight? Why didn't Coach put you to work?"
He shrugs. "Since Dane's opponent dropped out it's only Max fighting tonight. Tristan's there, obviously, and he wanted Aiden to get some practice cornering, so the three of them have it covered. I wasn’t needed. I was given a free pass to watch the fights andget drunk." He glares pointedly at me.
I sigh and slide the tequila across the counter. He grins like a kid in a candy store and grabs the liquor, taking a shot straight from the bottle.
"God, men are gross," Hailey groans next to me. "Remind me to never drink anything from this house ever again." She winces and turns back to the tequila soda she poured during Jax's temper tantrum.
I grin as I look over my sister. Sometimes I forget how ingrained I am in the guys' testosterone-filled world—how much of a tomboy I really am. I don't even notice half the gross boy behavior anymore. As close as she and Jax are, she's too feminine to ever be as close to him and his world as I am. She likes fighting enough to occasionally go to fights with me, but she's never shown any interest in training.
Plus, she's too busy being engaged in the exact opposite sport of fighting: dancing.
She does occasionally work out with me at the gym, though. I'm adamant that the women in my life know some self-defense. It always cracks me up watching her move around because she's got such a dancer's body—skinny but lean, lithe in all her movements—that everything ends up being more graceful than powerful. But she knows enough of the sport, and enough of the fighters, that she fits in with us just fine during our fight outings. For the most part.
There were only a few instances in the very beginning where Jax needed to use his overprotective big brother voice to make it crystal clear to every guy in the gym that she should be seen as their little sister—and to be very much left alone.
I look over her outfit and wonder if drunk Jax will need to issue another reminder tonight. Hailey is wearing black leather pants with a dusty pink spaghetti strap top, complete with black high heeled boots and a long gold necklace that's settled between her breasts. Her blonde hair is long and straight and so shiny that it makes your fingers practically itch to touch it. Her leather pants alone are enough to make her attractiveness stand out, and that's not even taking into consideration that we'll be in a drunk, male-dominated arena tonight.
I look down at my own outfit and once again laugh at how stark the contrast is between us. Hailey looks girly no matter what she wears, whereas I look like a fit chick that would drop kick anyone that looks at me—or more accurately, looks at anyone I love—the wrong way. My black jeans are ripped and distressed along the entire front, and I've paired them with my trademark combat boots. Even though I've topped it with a simple white tank top, I've attempted some femininity by cutting it to end above my stomach. I work hard in the gym and I enjoy showing off my flat stomach and curvy hips when I get the chance. I've taken down my brown hair from its usual messy bun and let it lay naturally straight.
"We should get going soon," Hailey says, interrupting my thoughts. She finishes the last of her drink and then rifles through her purse for the lipstick that I know she wants to touch up before we leave. She finds something and stops, looking up at me.
"You should try this dark burgundy lipstick I just bought," she says, extending the tube in her hand toward me. "I think it’s too dark for me but it would look really good with your outfit. Very vampy and badass."
I hesitate before accepting the lipstick. Other than mascara and an occasional winged eye, I rarely apply anything more than a nude lipstick. A dark lip would definitely be a new look for me.
"Ah, fuck it." I walk toward the hall mirror and unscrew the liquid lipstick. I swipe the dark color onto my lips and immediately decide this is going to be my new patented look.
I turn back to my sister with a grin. "I like it. I'm keeping this."
She snorts and rolls her eyes. Grabbing her purse, she nudges Jax and tilts her head in my direction. "How does she look, big bro?"
Jax grunts a half-assed approval. I chuckle, knowing it's the closest thing to a compliment that I'll get from him in regard to my appearance. One of the things I know Jax has appreciated in our friendship all these years is that I've never rubbed it in his face that I'm female. It's also one of the things that's helped me to exist in a male-dominated sport.