Malaria? Who the hell does her roommate think sheis?Me?
She texts back once again.Okay, so—my brother Levi has a spare room he’ll gladly let you use until you can get back on your feet. He’s going through a bit of a rough patch right now, so make sure to stay out of his hair. And whatever you do, please, for the love of all things holy, DO NOT SEDUCE MY BROTHER!!! Things will get weird between us and I might have to initiate a beatdown. ;) Head over to The Sloppy Pelican in Hollow Brook tonight at seven and he’ll meet you there. Remember, keep your panties where they belong! Gotta run. Big meeting in5.XO
“Brother, huh?” For all the years I’ve known Raven, she’s talked very little about her brothers. She has two, and that’s all I’ve been apprised of upuntilnow.
“Levi,” I test it out on my lips. “Going through some stuff.” I scoff. “Aren’t we all, buddy. Aren’tweall.”
Omigod!Hollow Brook is glorious in springtime. I drive by Whitney Briggs for the hell of it and glare mildly at the Black Bear as if this entire debacle I’ve entangled myself in is somehow its fault. In all fairness, the fact I was burrowed in that frat trap last night is exactly why I was forced to call in sick, thus opening Pandora’s vaginal box and unleashing all unholy bacterial hell in my life and that of poor Lenny. I can’t help but think I’m the real reason they’ve had to shutter their window business overnight, no punintended.
My all-time favorite stress song blares from my phone, “Key Largo,” and I lazily sing along while taking in the sights. When I get stressed out, I do two things: I bake brownies and I play “Key Largo” on a loop. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve played this song over and over when things get rough—and judging by the fact I’ve probably listened to this song more than the guy who sang it, you can say things have been rough for a while. My father tries to surface in my thoughts, but I’m quick to submerge him right back down again. There are some dark holes I don’t dare to tread near right now, and my father and whatever hole he might be lurking in is oneofthem.
I breeze down the main thoroughfare and up toward the ritzier, far more docile side of town where young sorority girls like me eschewed back in the day. I pass a bustling strip mall, and a laugh gets caught in my throat at whatIsee.
“Hallowed Grounds!” I honk as I pass it as if it were an old friend. Technically, it sort of is. I spent many a morning, noon, and night in that coffee-based establishment—at least the one on campus. I keep forgetting it’s an actual chain and not proprietary to the university itself. It’s easy to forget the finer things in life, like a decent cup of coffee, riding your ten-speed up and down the hills without fear of getting mugged right outside your asbestos-riddled apartment. Downtown Jepson leaves a lot to be desired. Correction, the wrong side of downtown Jepson leaves a lot to be desired. The right side is a conglomerate of high-end shopping and luxury tower apartments. That sort of describes Raven and me in a nutshell. She’s Raven Masterson—uptown girl, and I’m downtown LowHartley.
I drive a little further, and the electronic map attached to my dashboard beeps like mad indicating I’ve hit ground zero. Yes, the Honda is ancient, but the first thing Lisa did once she cosigned for the steel cage is gift me a nifty little navigator that runs off my cigarettelighter.
“Wow,” I marvel as I pull slowly into the lot. I remember this place. It’s the old mining-inspired restaurant that went defunct not that long ago. Hollow Brook Mining, Incorporated. It must have bitten the gold dust, and in its place sits a giant six-foot tall, rather inebriated looking pelican smack on the rooftop. A rustic looking sign boasts the name, The Sloppy Pelican. “This place is adorable,” I whisper to myself like a loon and zoom into the nearest parking spot I can find near the front. It’s just after sunset, and already it feels like midnight. The lot is full, but nowhere near to capacity. I’m betting they’re stillprettynew.
I check my look in the mirror, run a brush through my hair, and put on a swath of peachlipstick.
“Don’t seduce my brother.” I scoff at my best friend’s words as I claw my way out of my poor car that looks as if a fabric bomb went off in it. I catch one last glimpse of my hot ghost-like self in the driver’s side window—caramel-colored hair, long and flowing and in desperate need of a touch-up at the roots (but the night is forgiving), hazel eyes offset by copious amounts of gunmetal eye shadow that really makes them pop—and gives them a glassy appeal that makes me look a tad bit stoned—the former was a pro tip from one of my younger sisters who has secretly decided to skip Briggs and head to beauty school. I figure once she’s ready to launch, I’ll have a little sit-down with her on the many benefits of sorority living. There are some things in life that should not be missed, and living across the street from nine hundred frat boys happens to be oneofthem.
I wobble on my heels a moment. I’ll admit to sprucing up my attire a notch, but what the hell else was I supposed to do while driving around in my closet all day? These knockoff Jimmy Choos make my legs look as if they shoot straight into the stratosphere, and this little black dress is my choice accouterment when meeting my friend’s older, most likely hot brother. Face it, Raven is a looker with all that long black hair, those glowing blue eyes. If her brother is half as hot, I’ll have plenty of eye candy to keep me busy until I land back on my pointystilettos.
A frantic redhead trots this way cradling a clipboard and an oversized purse that dangles from her wristprecariously.
“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod!” she screams into thenight.
“Whoa.” I try to get out of her way, but she bumps right into me. “Is everything okay?” I sneak a peek past her shoulder in the event a madman is out to top this day off by way of planting a hatchet in my forehead. In that respect, she’s probably damn lucky she bumpedintome.
“It’s him,” she pants just under her breath as she tries to juggle the chaos flopping in her arms. She seems about my age, mid-twenties, pretty in a socialite kind of a way. The extremely wealthy have a certain polished, understated but expensive as all hell look about them, and she definitely has that pretty, polished Prada-inspired look. “I can’t lose my job.” She grips me over the shoulders, her eyes spinning like pinwheels. “Ilovemyjob!”
“Be thankful you have one, sister.” I try to pry this job-loving loon off me, but she’s dug in deep. “Look, I don’t know how many mojitos you downed in there, but I’m betting a cab ride is in your future. You need me to make that call for you,sweetie?”
“I don’t need a cab. And don’t you call mesweetie.” She scrawls something at the top of the clipboard before thrusting it into my hands. “Just go on in there and they’ll know what to do. Call me as soon as you get out the door.” She scuttles me to the entry, and it’s all I can do to keep up without breaking my neck. Just as I’m about to plunge my elbow into her stomach and make a break from my new hell on heels friend, she spins me into her abruptly. “There’s five hundred dollars in itforyou.”
“Now we’re talking.” I knew this day had to get better. “What am I doing?” If she saysmen, we might have to renegotiate. What am I saying? Lisa would kill me if I resorted to prostitution. But is it really prostitution if your one-night stand just so happens to leave a fat wad of hundies behind? I think not. That’s just poor finance management onhispart.
“You’re a food critic.” She spins me back around and gives me a hearty shove toward the giant double doors. “Have all the free food you can handle, then meet me outside before you hurl. You’ll do fine. Oh, and your name is Lex, not Alexa, and for God’s sake, not Lexy. Don’t let them fuck with youlikethat.”
“Food critic,” I hiss as I sail in through thedoors.
A tiny sigh expels from me at the sight of the establishment. It holds just as much rustic charm on the inside as it does the outside. The floors are a dark stained plywood. The furniture has the feel of an old haunted mine, and I am loving the rustic,rusty, dusty look of the place. The tables are spread out well enough, but it’s lacking one thing and I can’t quite put my fingeronit.
A long bar sits to my left, and that seems to be where a major portion of the I’m-ready-to-drop-my-panties brigade has settled for the night. There’s an equal number of men ready and willing to rumble, and from the looks of how much everyone is enjoying themselves, a little rumbling and tumbling under the covers is sure to ensuequickly.
Dear God, it seems I’ve accidently stumbled upon the grown-up version of the Black Bear. Holy hell, if I had only rolled my old, worn-out tires in this direction last night, I might have actually had use for those vaginal suppositories Sally was trying tohawkme.
A couple of drop-dead gorgeous, bright-eyed, and glad-to-see-me grinning from ear-to-sexy-ear boys stride in my direction. Who the hell am I kidding? There’s not a boy in this fine establishment—those are bona fide M-E-N.
The one on the right looks vexingly gorgeous, brooding through that lewd grin he’s shooting my way, and those eyes—twin sparkling aqua pools of color I’ve never seen on another human being before. And yet there’s something wholly familiar about him. But that chest. The way his dress shirt stretches taut in all the right places has me salivating for whatever he has on the menu. And judging by the penetrating gaze—those fang-like canines all but ready to take a bite, I’d say we have each other on the carte du jour. Dear God, I am finally going to get laidtonight.
The other one’s not bad either, slicked dark hair, greenish brown eyes, and looks for days, but something about that linebacker next to him makes my stomach squeeze tight. My body breaks out into a spontaneous cold sweat, and my thighs start quivering as if waving him in like an air traffic controller. I glance over to the bar, and half the patrons are gawkingthisway.
God!It’s as if something monumental is about to happen. It’s as if the king had stepped down from his throne and is about to officiate me as his chosen sex slave. I’m about to be crowned queen of The SloppyPelicanor…
The Pelican God expands his grin and takes my hand. “You must be Alexa. I’m LeviMasterson.”
