Rare Blend (Red Mountain #1)

21. Marisa

CHAPTER 21

Marisa

HOES DON’T GET COLD

I often look my best when everything seems to be going wrong. The pesky five to ten extra pounds I tend to carry? Gone. The glowing skin I’m always trying to attain? Happening. I can’t explain this phenomenon, but it’s like the universe is balancing everything out for me. Oh, your life is shit? Might as well look good.

And because all the stars are aligning, Layla—Elyse’s little sister and Ariana’s twin, who’s visiting for the weekend—happens to be the same shoe size as me. Meaning I’m wearing my first pair of cowboy boots, ever. When it comes to country music—well, country anything—I’m a bit of a virgin. The closest I’ve come to listening to country music is Carrie Underwood singing about shooting whiskey and hating pretty little drinks. That song still offends me. I happen to love pretty little drinks, and I’ll never stop.

“Those white boots look so good against your tan legs. You definitely need to wear something to show them off.” Elyse holds up a short black dress covered in a small floral print. She places it up against me, covering the lounge shorts and crewneck I’m wearing. “Okay, hear me out. This dress with a tight denim vest?” She looks at Layla and Ariana. “It would be so nineties, right?”

They both nod in unison.

“Wait, I actually love that,” Layla says.

“Is that a good thing?” I ask.

“You’re going to look hot, just trust us,” Elyse says.

The three sisters get to work on me, primping and prodding as if I’m their own personal doll. Ariana styles my hair in big, bouncy waves, each strand cascading in a perfect loose curl. Layla adds some finishing touches to the makeup I already applied, layering on more blush and swiping some gloss over my lips. Meanwhile, Elyse is working to suck me into the little denim vest she insists pulls the whole look together.

I stand still, overwhelmed by the whirl of activity around me. Once they’re done, I have to admit, I actually look really good. The outfit isn’t one I would’ve chosen for myself, and it does look a little like I should be an extra in a country music video, but it’s flattering, highlighting my best features. One part in particular is highlighted a little more than I would typically allow. Because the vest is a snug fit, it’s pushing my breasts up high, and they’re practically spilling out over the top.

Elyse steps back, examining me from head to toe with a critical eye. “You’re going to get so many free drinks tonight.”

I smile, feeling a surge of confidence. “You think so?”

She nods. “Definitely.”

Ariana opts for a flowy white dress that cuts off above her knees and some brown cowboy boots that actually look like they’ve walked through dirt a few times. Layla is wearing cut-off denim shorts, a cropped denim jacket with a white tank top that bares her midriff, and white sneakers. It’s giving sexy Canadian tuxedo, something I could never pull off. And Elyse is wearing a simple black, body-hugging dress with an elaborate belt sitting low around her hips, paired with teal cowboy boots. She’s always dressed in a way that says I didn’t try, but I still look amazing .

“Won’t you be cold?” I ask Elyse because she’s the most scantily clad of us.

She shrugs. “Hoes don’t get cold.”

I wasn’t expecting that answer, and laughter bubbles out of me.

Hillary would like Elyse.

I was surprised when Elyse invited me over to her place to get ready with her and her sisters. I appreciate the gesture, because despite myself, I am a little nervous about going out tonight. It’s not the same as going out in Seattle where there are so many people there’s a comforting layer of anonymity. Here, it seems everyone knows each other and will definitely remember drunken embarrassments.

“Are we taking a ride share? I can order it.” I start reaching for my phone.

Elyse snorts. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any of the fancy apps, but I called Tony at Rad Cab, and he’ll be by in about ten minutes.” She tugs at my arm. “Whatever you do, don’t mention his glass eye. He gets super sensitive about it.”

Is she serious right now? “The cab driver only has one eye? Is that safe?”

Elyse nods. “Oh, yeah. It’s totally fine. He’s been driving that cab for like thirty years. We’re good.”

Are we though?

Tony rolls up outside Elyse’s—hitting the curb, might I add.Reluctantly, I get in, making sure to buckle up. I clutch the door for an added safety measure. Logically, I know it would do nothing to save me in the event of an accident, but I’m not really feeling like being logical. I’m more interested in peace of mind.

Thank goodness Elyse warned me about Tony’s eye, because it’s not a regular glass eye—well, as regular as a glass eye can be—it’s a snake eye. It reminds me of the contacts people wear around Halloween. Why on Earth would he have a snake-style glass eye if he didn’t want people to stare? I can’t seem to look anywhere else but the reflection of his face in the rear-view mirror. I’m in the back with Layla and Ariana, and Elyse is up front, happily chatting away with Tony. She even has her phone connected to his bluetooth, playing poppy sounding country songs.

It’s a quick drive, and we make it in one piece, but not before he promises to come by and pick us up at the end of the evening. I think I’d be safer walking the short distance.

The Jackalope has no qualms about its name. Their sign is designed to look like one of those yellow road crossing signs and reads The Jackalope with a giant jackrabbit sporting antlers at the center. A bouncer stands out front and waves us right in, not bothering to check our IDs.

Once inside, I’m hit with the pungent smell of body odor and sweet liquor. It’s a lot busier than I thought it would be. Large groups of people are crowded together and drinking, shoulders touching. The bass of the music vibrates the rickety wooden floor, and my shoes stick to years of caked-on liquor as we walk through. Elyse leads the way straight to the bar, where every liquor and beer I can think of lines the shelves. The bartender, a woman with harsh makeup and a smokes-a-pack-a-day look, asks for our order.

“What can I get you, princesses?” Her voice could saw wood with how rough it is.

Layla orders us a round of lemon drop shots. I want to protest, but I don’t want to be that person. Starting off with shots is a horrible idea, especially when I’ve barely eaten today. I’m a lightweight, so I’m going to be drunk in no time.

“Bottoms up, ladies,” Layla yells over the loud music, and we clink our glasses together.

Ariana, who looks as reluctant as I feel, meets my eyes and then shrugs, slinging back the shot in one gulp. Well fuck, if she did it, I have to. The three sisters watch me as I take a few deep breaths and down the shot. It takes me two gulps. I’ve never been any good at taking shots. I must’ve missed that course in college.

“Come on, let’s go find a spot,” Layla says.

We end up in a section with high-top tables and gather around one, placing our drinks on it while we stand and look around the crowd. I can feel glances and whispers as people take notice of my presence. Clearly, I stand out, since everyone knows each other around here. The Jackalope is one of the few businesses in town not frequented by tourists, making it painfully obvious when there’s a new face in the crowd. It’s never fun being the new kid, no matter how old you are.

“Are the boys coming?” Ariana asks Elyse.

Elyse nods. “Yeah, Mom and Dad are watching Lily, so Gav and Shane are coming and somehow they convinced Ethan to come out, too.”

Layla’s eyes widen. “Ethan is coming? That’s interesting. I wonder why.”

Elyse sways her shoulders to the music. “I can think of one reason,” she singsongs and looks right at me.

I force a laugh, trying to dismiss her. “Your brother does not see me that way. And neither do I.” Liar.

“I don’t know about that,” she says with a smile that tells me she knows something I don’t. “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.”

Ariana’s focus is on the front. “Speak of the devil. They’re here.”

The three brothers, who look so similar, yet incredibly different, are gathered at the entrance. One is completely tattooed, looking like a bad boy version of Ethan, and wearing a T-shirt, his ink-sleeved arms on full display. The other is swallowing the doorway with his viking-like size. And then there’s Ethan, his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning the crowd with a weary expression, stopping when they lock onto mine. I try to look away and break the connection, but I can’t. The familiar tension tethers us together, undeniably complicated.