“I can’t believe you actually own a bar. More like, I can’t believe your parents didn’t disown you for it.”
Being part of Stingers had been an ongoing battle of diving headfirst into something I’d become so passionate about and working to convince my father it was a smart business decision. They’d already given up hope of convincing my sister out of going through with it, but when I jumped on board, it’s like they figured I’d be able to make the right decisions for the business they didn’t trust Bailey to make.
Bailey had a hugely successful bakery cafe under her belt, though to my parents, it wasn’t an accomplishment to be proud of.
Opening the bar with Bailey hadn’t been my initial idea, but when her business partner backed out, Bailey came to me with a plea to step in and help her out of the mess she’d made for herself, proving my parents right.
Bailey had originally opened the bar with Monroe, a venture they’d dreamed up years ago in college. Suddenly, Monroe became too overwhelmed with the logistics of running a bar and decided she would rather focus on rebranding and marketing her own design business. It was a bummer for Bailey to have to struggle with the news so late in the game, but the moment she came to me with the proposal, I was all in.
I’d actually been quite pissed off that she hadn't first come to me with the idea. Everyone knew I was a bourbon drinker. Someone who appreciates high-quality distilled liquor. Her reasoning was that I was too preoccupied with helping my pops run the King Ranch which essentially was true but now that my father had outsourced his horse care and training to one of the best in the business, I suddenly had all this time on my hands.
“Yeah, well, I don’t need my daddy’s approval or money to do what I want.” I said.
“It’s just odd that you suddenly have all this time on your hands…”
I knew where this was going, and I needed to put a stop to it before I said something I’d regret.
“Look, Indy, what I do in my spare time is my business. I’m glad I’ve been able to help these last few weeks, but I won’t be at your beck and call anymore. We both know you don’t need me here for any of this. So whatever this little game is, I have no interest in it.”
“Oh, come on, Jase. There’s no need to be so rude.”
I wanted to laugh at the manipulative tone in her voice, one I knew too well. “I’m not, trust me. This is me being a total gentleman about the situation. You broke up with me, Indy, and I’m not going to suddenly be available for you now that you have regrets about how things ended.”
“That’s not…”
“Come on now, don’t patronize me. You and Mac suddenly are taking some time apart, and now you’re calling me out of the blue in the middle of the night to come over while that ring is still on your finger.”
Her mouth shifted into a straight line. “Whatever, Jase. Think what you want. I was only reaching out because I had no one else to call.”
I felt like an asshole for all of two minutes before I remembered how terrible Indy and I truly were as a couple. We didn’t start off as friends, which essentially was probably the reason we didn’t work. We may have been good together in a physical aspect, but frankly, I don’t think we actually liked each other.
“Yeah, well, don’t call anymore, Ind. It’s what’s best for both of us.”
Chapter Seven
Monroe
Present
Billie’s apartment always smelled of vanilla, wine, and something burning in the oven. It's a chaotic symphony of domesticity, and an aroma that both soothes and alarms the senses.
The vanilla is comforting and sweet, the wine a sharp, fruity tang, and the burning, a low, acrid threat that makes your nose burn. Around us, the air is filled with the hum of Billie's record player, a country music classic fighting for space amongst the clatter of dishes and her humming along, perfectly on-key. Sunlight streams through the windows, painting the scene in a warm, hazy glow as the sun sets, but the flickering shadows cast by the oven hint at a potential kitchen catastrophe lurking just around the corner.
Which, naturally, prompts Bailey to yell from the kitchen, “Billie! Your pizza rolls are on fire again!”
“They’re not on fire,” Billie calls back from the kitchen island. “They’re just extra crispy.”
I laugh from where I sit, curled into a corner of the L-shaped sofa with a blanket over my lap and a decorative pillow that saysHot Mess Expresstucked against my belly. I’m not sure if it’s the scent of overcooked snacks or the comfort of being around my girls, but for the first time all week, I feel like I can breathe.
I’ve missed my best friends. Although we see each other almost daily, it’s been a while since we had a night like this to ourselves.
Raven, the newest addition to our group, walks in from the hallway holding a bottle of sparkling apple cider. “We’re doing a toast, even if Monroe’s drinking fizzy juice.”
I lift my glass with a smirk. “To what? Burned snacks and bad decisions?”
Billie winks coming over to join us, carrying burnt pizza rolls on a beautiful penis-shaped tray. “Exactly.” I raise an eyebrow, eyeing the curious piece of fine china she’s chosen to serve us on. “It’s all I could find that would withstand the heat of my pizza rolls,” she jokes, setting the plate on the coffee table. “It’s from my cousin Becky’s bachelorette trip. You know me, if I buy something, I need to make sure I get my money’s worth out of it.”
Raven shakes her head and pours me a glass of fizzy apple juice, and we clink glasses while Billie’s playlist hums in the background. The early 2000s country is loud enough to sing along to but low enough not to drown out the gossip.
