Page 1 of Wrecked

chapter ONE

“Come on, Leah! Ten more seconds,” someone in the crowd cheers from behind the rope.

The record for the longest ride on the mechanical bull at The Bucking Bronco is one minute and thirty-five seconds, and I am on my way to breaking it.

Thighs clenched, I use my lower body to keep steady while my upper body sways with the motion. It’s a balancing act I’ve gotten quite good at after riding this massive piece of metal, bucking beneath my butt, every week since I started working here five years ago. I throw my arm up over my head, exposing some skin as my shirt rises up my midriff. Sure enough, the boys go crazy, imagining they’re the bull, getting the ride of their lives.

“Five, four, three, two, one! She’s beaten Dave’s record!” Paulie’s voice bellows over the loudspeaker.

The crowd’s chanting rises to a crescendo as I add seconds to the clock. My hand and forearm burn from the hold they have on the rope of the bull’s neck. I’m starting to get dizzy, but I don’t want to stop. It’s the competitive nature of the Paige family. While we might be sweet-natured, we like to win.

As if my body knows it no longer needs to hold on, it gives out without my brain’s permission. I fall to the mat below, flat on my back.

“You did it, kid. And you won the bet. Guess I owe you,” Paulie says, helping me up.

When I’m steady, he takes a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and hands it to me.

“Thank you,” I say, dramatically shoving the cash into my back pocket and giving my butt a pat. “I’ll be putting this into the McConaughey’s bar fund.”

“Still going with that damn name, huh?”

He is not a fan of renaming his bar McConaughey’s. The Bucking Bronco is Paulie’s baby. But, after thirty-five years, he’s ready to sell and retire down south. Apparently, Cedar Ridge, Ohio, isn’t as nice as Boca Raton, Florida.

“My bar, I get to name it.” I take my place behind the bar and drink from my water bottle. “Just remember our deal. No one will know the bar is mine. I’ll just tell them I’m looking over things while you’re playing golf—or whatever it is you retirees do,” I say with my free hand waving in the air.

Paulie leans back and looks down at me, the white hairs of his eyebrows sticking up in random directions. “Can’t say I understand, but I know you have your reasons.”

The front door of the bar opens, and my best friend, Suzanne, strolls in with her friend Victoria. Suzanne’s brown curls bounce as she walks in and strolls up to a seat at the bar.

“One minute, thirty-nine seconds!” I shout over the music.

Her eyes widen behind her thick-framed glasses. “I missed it? Damn it.” She turns to Victoria with a scowl. “Leah already rode the bull. I told you that you were taking too long.”

Victoria rolls her eyes and brushes her long black hair over her shoulder. “Whatever. You’ll see her do it again. It’s just a bull.”

Suzanne’s mouth is agape. “Just a bull? You try riding that thing for more than four seconds.”

Victoria ignores Suzanne and turns to me. “I’ll have a mojito.”

I smash my lips together to keep myself from saying anything rude. I don’t care for Victoria. I don’t understand why Suzanne hangs out with her, but I tolerate her for Suzanne. The two of us have been best friends since kindergarten. That’s how Cedar Ridge works. Small town, tight friendships. And Suzanne’s and mine is the tightest. Even if it means I have to deal with Victoria, who moved here last year and latched on to Suzanne like a tick.

Instead of showing my distaste, I smile and make the mojito. I don’t believe in being a bitch or acting mean. I don’t live in a bubble, but life is way too short to waste it being angry. I’m all about having fun. Showing people a good time makes me feel good about myself.

That’s why I’m buying The Bucking Bronco and turning it into McConaughey’s.

Yes, it will be named after the acclaimed actor. I’ve been borderline obsessed with that sexy Texan since I saw him in A Time to Kill. I’ve watched every movie of his countless times, and I can quote him lyrically.

I love Matthew McConaughey, and I’m not ashamed to say it.

I slide two drinks on the bar, giving Suzanne her draft and Victoria her mojito, and look out into the crowd. I take my cowboy hat off the hook from under the counter and grab my special bottle of vodka.

“All right, all right, all right! Let’s get this party started!” I shout, climbing up onto the bar with my cowboy boots. “Who’s ready to have some fun on this ranch tonight?”

Paulie hits the jukebox and plays the classic “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard. Then, everyone in the room knows it’s time to come up for the free pour. It’s something we’ve been doing every Saturday night, and it gets people excited. The backup bartenders step up to take the incoming orders.

I hold the bottle up and beckon the patrons to open their mouths. Wearing my Daisy Dukes that are frayed on the ends and a retro AC/DC T-shirt that’s nice and tight, I strut up and down the bar, pouring the liquid on the willing tongues. I only serve enough to give them a taste. I don’t need anyone getting sick. That’s why my special bottle is half-vodka, half-water.

A new club, Velocity, opened up down the road, and a lot of people come here to pregame. My goal is to keep them from leaving. Pretty soon, this place will be mine, and if it doesn’t succeed, I’ll be out the two hundred grand my parents cosigned for me.