Silver Bastard
Page 16
Then I’d drive home again and return those calls from my landline, which created all kinds of confusion on people’s caller ID. It was inconvenient, but also kind of funny. I hit play on the message and Danielle’s voice spilled out, full of excitement.
“Hey, Becca! We’ll be over by six. I have great news!”
I looked at the clock—5:55 p.m. Well, crap. I ducked into the bathroom and gave myself a quick once-over. Not too bad, considering how fucked up my day had been. One of the best parts of beauty school was learning how to really take care of my appearance and I liked to keep myself together. Polished.
A quick run of the brush through my hair and a touch of lip gloss fixed me right up. I heard Danielle and Blake pounding on the apartment door and I opened it to find them wearing triumphant expressions. Blake held up two bottles, one of whiskey and the other of cheap red wine.
“So what’s the news?” I asked, eyes darting between them.
“We’ve got jobs!” Danielle said. “Starting tomorrow! They even said they’d work around your school schedule.”
I cocked my head.
“That was easy,” I said slowly. “What’s the catch?”
Danielle’s smile faded, and Blake shrugged.
“It’s down at the Bitter Moose.” I opened my mouth to protest, but Danielle held up a hand, her face uncharacteristically serious.
“Don’t get your panties in a knot,” she said. “I know you don’t like bars, but get over it. There’s nowhere else to work around here and we all know it. Unless you want to work on the other side of the pass? I hear that new strip club is hiring in Post Falls . . .”
Ignoring the strip-club crack, I shook my head. Much as I hated to admit it, Danielle was probably right. There truly wasn’t anywhere else to work near Callup—not for someone with my limited skill set.
Great.
I sighed and Danielle rolled her eyes unsympathetically.
“Look on the positive side,” Blake said. “What are the odds a fight will start at the Bitter Moose on any given night?”
“There’s a fight out there every night.”
“Exactly. It’s perfect, because they can’t fire you or blame you when it happens,” he said reasonably. “You can do this—I saw you throw yourself into the action this morning. Hell, you stay tough like that, you’ll make a fortune in tips.”
“Ooo, do you think we should sign up for the mud-wrestling championships?” Danielle asked, her voice excited.
“They have mud wrestling there?” I asked, my voice rising. Danielle laughed.
“No, you dork,” she replied. “See what a civilized place it is? They’re way too fancy for mud wrestling . . . Well, either that or they haven’t thought of it. Now get your ass into the kitchen and start cooking some noodles. I’ll open the wine. Blake, I expect you to entertain me.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Strip,” Danielle demanded.
I snorted back a laugh at Blake’s expression, holding up a hand.
“For the record, I’m broke,” I told him. “If you start stripping, Danielle has to pay you.”
“That should work out fine,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows at her.
“Give me the wine,” I demanded, deciding I might as well let go for the night and enjoy—Danielle wanted to party, and after everything that’d happened today, I was more than ready to join her.
Hell, I’d already blown classy for the day.
Might as well have some fun.
—
It was the smack on the ass that tipped me off Blake was drunk.
He’d snapped me with a towel at the diner plenty of times, but swatting my butt with his hand was a new level for us, one that probably would’ve bothered me if I wasn’t feeling pretty festive myself.
Blake smacked me again. What the hell? I spun on him, then realized I was blocking the window and he wanted to go outside . . . Oopsie.
One of the best things about my apartment was the fact that the building next door was only one story—that meant I was able to use the roof as my own personal patio for important things like watching the sunset over the mountains. We’d already feasted like kings (well, more like two queens and a king, but you get the picture) and now it was time for lounging on the “veranda” to enjoy our after-dinner drinks.
Not that I needed more to drink . . .
“Get out here, slacker!” Danielle shouted at me, giggling when I stopped to glare at Blake.
“He copped a feel!” I accused loudly.
“I’m trying to go outside while I’m still young,” he grumbled. “Christ, do we need to have a conference about this here, or you think maybe we can move it along before it gets dark?”
“Asshole,” Danielle muttered, although her voice was anything but annoyed. Obviously she found Blake smacking me funny. I felt a twinge of jealousy—she had this laid back confidence around men, completely comfortable in her own attractions and more than ready to move on if it didn’t work out. So far as I could tell, she was just using him for sex.
Wish I could do that. I’d probably gone out with three guys in the last two years, but they either made me anxious or left me cold. Even if things went well and we started making out, I’d flash back to Teeny and it was all over.
Reaching out, Danielle caught my hand and jerked me forward. I fell out onto the roof, landing on my face. This was apparently extremely funny—Blake couldn’t stop laughing as I tried to right myself. Danielle joined him. Traitor.
“Hey, Becca! We’ll be over by six. I have great news!”
I looked at the clock—5:55 p.m. Well, crap. I ducked into the bathroom and gave myself a quick once-over. Not too bad, considering how fucked up my day had been. One of the best parts of beauty school was learning how to really take care of my appearance and I liked to keep myself together. Polished.
A quick run of the brush through my hair and a touch of lip gloss fixed me right up. I heard Danielle and Blake pounding on the apartment door and I opened it to find them wearing triumphant expressions. Blake held up two bottles, one of whiskey and the other of cheap red wine.
“So what’s the news?” I asked, eyes darting between them.
“We’ve got jobs!” Danielle said. “Starting tomorrow! They even said they’d work around your school schedule.”
I cocked my head.
“That was easy,” I said slowly. “What’s the catch?”
Danielle’s smile faded, and Blake shrugged.
“It’s down at the Bitter Moose.” I opened my mouth to protest, but Danielle held up a hand, her face uncharacteristically serious.
“Don’t get your panties in a knot,” she said. “I know you don’t like bars, but get over it. There’s nowhere else to work around here and we all know it. Unless you want to work on the other side of the pass? I hear that new strip club is hiring in Post Falls . . .”
Ignoring the strip-club crack, I shook my head. Much as I hated to admit it, Danielle was probably right. There truly wasn’t anywhere else to work near Callup—not for someone with my limited skill set.
Great.
I sighed and Danielle rolled her eyes unsympathetically.
“Look on the positive side,” Blake said. “What are the odds a fight will start at the Bitter Moose on any given night?”
“There’s a fight out there every night.”
“Exactly. It’s perfect, because they can’t fire you or blame you when it happens,” he said reasonably. “You can do this—I saw you throw yourself into the action this morning. Hell, you stay tough like that, you’ll make a fortune in tips.”
“Ooo, do you think we should sign up for the mud-wrestling championships?” Danielle asked, her voice excited.
“They have mud wrestling there?” I asked, my voice rising. Danielle laughed.
“No, you dork,” she replied. “See what a civilized place it is? They’re way too fancy for mud wrestling . . . Well, either that or they haven’t thought of it. Now get your ass into the kitchen and start cooking some noodles. I’ll open the wine. Blake, I expect you to entertain me.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Strip,” Danielle demanded.
I snorted back a laugh at Blake’s expression, holding up a hand.
“For the record, I’m broke,” I told him. “If you start stripping, Danielle has to pay you.”
“That should work out fine,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows at her.
“Give me the wine,” I demanded, deciding I might as well let go for the night and enjoy—Danielle wanted to party, and after everything that’d happened today, I was more than ready to join her.
Hell, I’d already blown classy for the day.
Might as well have some fun.
—
It was the smack on the ass that tipped me off Blake was drunk.
He’d snapped me with a towel at the diner plenty of times, but swatting my butt with his hand was a new level for us, one that probably would’ve bothered me if I wasn’t feeling pretty festive myself.
Blake smacked me again. What the hell? I spun on him, then realized I was blocking the window and he wanted to go outside . . . Oopsie.
One of the best things about my apartment was the fact that the building next door was only one story—that meant I was able to use the roof as my own personal patio for important things like watching the sunset over the mountains. We’d already feasted like kings (well, more like two queens and a king, but you get the picture) and now it was time for lounging on the “veranda” to enjoy our after-dinner drinks.
Not that I needed more to drink . . .
“Get out here, slacker!” Danielle shouted at me, giggling when I stopped to glare at Blake.
“He copped a feel!” I accused loudly.
“I’m trying to go outside while I’m still young,” he grumbled. “Christ, do we need to have a conference about this here, or you think maybe we can move it along before it gets dark?”
“Asshole,” Danielle muttered, although her voice was anything but annoyed. Obviously she found Blake smacking me funny. I felt a twinge of jealousy—she had this laid back confidence around men, completely comfortable in her own attractions and more than ready to move on if it didn’t work out. So far as I could tell, she was just using him for sex.
Wish I could do that. I’d probably gone out with three guys in the last two years, but they either made me anxious or left me cold. Even if things went well and we started making out, I’d flash back to Teeny and it was all over.
Reaching out, Danielle caught my hand and jerked me forward. I fell out onto the roof, landing on my face. This was apparently extremely funny—Blake couldn’t stop laughing as I tried to right myself. Danielle joined him. Traitor.
