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“Liquid cocaine,” she says, handing one to each of us. “Bottoms up, ladies. The night is young.”
We shoot them back without pause, and the woman across from me with the vibrant copper curls shouts an enthusiastic, “Whoo hoo!” before slamming the empty shooter on the table when she’s finished.
Some country song I’ve never heard plays from the jukebox and two of the three women clasp their hands together and jump like tweens with backstage passes at a Bieber show. The copper-haired friend sings at the top of her lungs, eyes squeezed tight.
I pick up on a few of the words, parsing together that it’s some kind of break-up-slash-girl-power anthem.
Fitting.
Raina moves to the rhythm of the catchy song, her shiny dark bob swaying in time like a carefree woman in a shampoo commercial.
The old me would’ve been right along there with them, acting all sorts of ridiculous, having the time of my life, but I’m not quite there yet. The shot was sweet and weak, and underneath my blithe smile and confident visage is a bundle of nervous energy. If I were back in the city about to go on stage, I’d practice one of my breathing exercises before harnessing the adrenaline coursing through me.
But there’s something different in the air tonight.
“I’m going to grab a drink at the bar. I’ll be right back,” I tell Ivy before ducking through a crowd of plaid and cowboy boots and lingering passing stares from strangers.
I locate an empty seat in the middle of the bar and grab a laminated drink specials menu from a rack to my right.
Tonight’s Specials
THE WHISKEY OUTLAW … Crown Royal, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice. This one never disappoints.
PETTY REVENGE … Triple sec, tequila, rum, brandy, club soda and a splash of grenadine to make it go down easy. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.
THE CASH OUT … Everclear, strawberry grenadine, and Mama Buchanan’s famous lemonade. We almost called this one Liquid Amnesia.
RHINESTONE COWGIRL … Not Your Mimi’s Moonshine and homemade iced tea. If you don’t like it, we’ll happily replace it with a glass of room temp tap water.
“What are we drinking tonight?” A man’s voice startles me out of my perusal.
Flicking my gaze up over the menu, my eyes lock on a familiar set of aqua blues, a red-orange plaid button down cuffed at the elbows, and a sharp, stubble-covered jawline that could cut steel.
Cash Buchanan … all grown up, and looking more like his brother than I ever could’ve anticipated. Broad shoulders, piercing gaze, chiseled features.
“I’ll try the Whiskey Outlaw, please,” I say, pretending his presence doesn’t faze me in the slightest and that my heart isn’t beating so hard in my chest it hurts.
Our eyes hold for an endless moment before an incredulous smirk spreads across his lips.
“Holy shit,” he says. The jukebox turns to an old Tim McGraw tune. “What the hell are you doing back in town?”
He studies me like a man examining a ghost or a mirage.
“Visiting for a little bit. How’ve you been, Cash? I’m surprised you still remember me,” I say.
Hunched over his side of the bar, he rolls his eyes before leaning in. “Like I could forget the girl who broke my brother’s heart into a million pieces.”
I begin to respond, only to stop myself and question if I actually heard the man correctly.
“What did you say?” I ask over the booming music.
“Pretty sure you heard me.”
“You said I broke his heart?”
Apparently I’m not the only one Wyatt Buchanan has lied to over the years.
A gentleman a few spots down attempts to flag Cash down for a refill on his beer. Cash acknowledges him with a nod before grabbing a cocktail glass and getting to work on my drink.
He still hasn’t answered my question.
A minute later, he places a cardboard coaster and my drink in front of me, wiping his hands on a bar rag before flinging it over his shoulder.
“That’ll be twenty-five,” he says.
I almost choke on my spit. “Dollars?”
How the hell does he get away with charging New York prices in a town like this?
“He’s messing with you.” Ivy appears from behind, squeezing between me and the middle-aged woman beside me. “Just for that, you better give it to her on the house. And make me one while you’re at it.”
Cash’s cold stare passes between us as he fixes a second drink for Ivy. Maybe she’s a frequent patron or perhaps her husband has influence in this town, but he doesn’t give her any crap. He simply places the second drink in front of her with a solemn look on his face.
Ivy takes a sip before turning to me. “Meet you back at the table?”
I nod. But I’m not leaving until I get my answer.
“Why did you say that?” I ask him, still fixated on his strange comment. “Why did you say I’m the one who broke his heart?”
