Our burgers and fries arrive a short time later. Our attention bounces between the food in front of us, the hockey game on the TVs around the room, and the customers around us who come and go, most of whom we know.
By the time our bellies are full, the plates cleared, and the bill is paid—it was my turn to buy—we’re getting up so our table can be used by the next guests. I feel relaxed and content, always appreciative of time I get to spend with my oldest friend.
We head out the front entrance, toward his truck. The moment we climb inside the cab, he offers a wide grin and says, “Let’s go to The Lizard.”
Something tells me this is gonna be a longer night than I originally thought.
CHAPTER
TWO
Charli
What a week.
I pull open the heavy, wooden door and step inside the familiarity of The Tipsy Lizard. My eyes are immediately drawn to the bar, where I spot Lizzie and Collin both working as a solid unit. Even from back here by the entrance, I see the way my brother smiles at the woman he loves.
Glancing to my left, I look for the rest of my siblings, not finding any of them here yet. On Friday nights we usually tend to gather. Sometimes to have a drink after a long week and unwind, sometimes just to catch up and there’s no alcohol involved. And sometimes it’s to tie one on, which is the way I’m leaning tonight.
This week has been hell.
The salon I rent space from informed me my monthly rent was going to increase next month, thanks to an increase in rent and utilities they’ve been hit with. I went to place an order with my supplier for massage oils, only to find an increase in prices there too. And when I brought home bedding to wash, my machine started leaking water all over my floor.
Just one more thing I need to have repaired sooner rather than later.
I rely on my space, my massage supplies, and my washing machine as part of my business. I’m a massage therapist and have steadily built my business over the last seven years.
“Hey, rough day?” Collin asks as I fling my purse onto the bar and plop on the stool.
My eyes narrow. “What gave it away? My resting bitch face?”
He flashes an easy smile. “You growled when you sat down.”
“Because my back hurts from being bent over clients all day.”
“You should get a massage,” he goads, slapping a coaster with the bar logo printed on it.
Lifting my hand, I extend my middle finger. “You’re a funny guy.”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I hear they’re pretty relaxing and helpful with back and muscle pain. I know a woman, so if you’re wanting to get on her schedule, let me know and I’ll get you her cell number.”
I just stare at him, slowly blinking. When he doesn’t say anything else, I reply, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.” The sarcasm is heavy.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“Margarita, strong. But I want Lizzie to make it because she makes them better.” I give him a cheesy smile, showing too many teeth to be natural.
He exhales and turns around. “Lizzie, difficult customer wants a margarita made by you. She’s a little pissy, so make it extra strong. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”
Lizzie laughs and approaches. “Hi, Charli. Bad day?”
“Bad week,” I tell her.
“Strawberry, lime, or peach?”
“Peach, please,” I reply, excited to try her new flavor.
“Coming right up,” she states, moving to the blender and preparing one of her signature margaritas. She knows I prefer it blended, with a sugar rim instead of salt. I’m weird like that, but Lizzie doesn’t balk about making it a little different than normal. She moves to the cooler and pulls out a small mason jar. Inside is liquid and fruit, and I’m transfixed watching what she does. She pulls a pair of tongs out and removes a slice of peach, stabbing it with a pick and placing it on top of the frozen slush in my glass. “The world’s best peach margarita,” she proclaims, placing it on the coaster in front of me.
