Copyright © 2018 Ryan Ringbloom
All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the prior written permission of the author, with the exception of short quotes for purposes of review.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental and not intended by the author.
www.RyanRingbloom.com
Editing by HotTreeEditing.com
Cover Design Image by Wicked by Design
Formatting by Allusion Graphics LLC
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Also Available
To everyone I’ve ever drunk texted.
Which is pretty much everyone I know.
Sowwy.
Love, Rebecca
AKA Ryan Ringbloom
The Legend of Whiskey Chick
“Adam, tell the Whiskey Chick story. Please,” my sister begs with full-on prayer hands. “Katie’s never heard it before,” she says, referring to my cousin’s new girlfriend who’s joining us for family dinner for the first time.
I’ve told the story about a million times, but every time there’s someone new in the mix my sister always asks me to tell the now-famous tale. Not that I really mind; it’s one of my favorite stories. A story I love to tell.
“Oh geez, here we go,” my older brother says under his breath. Henry turns and addresses the newcomer. “Just so you know, we have doubts that this girl really exists. This story is about as credible as a Loch Ness Monster sighting.”
“She exists.” Jenn rolls her eyes at him. “I mean, we’ve never seen her, but she definitely exists.”
“Adam, is this really appropriate dinner conversation?” My mom shoots me a look over the table.
“Oh, it’s fine, just tell it.” Jenn waves her off. My sister lives for this story. I know if I don’t tell it, she will.
I glance over at my mom, who rolls her eyes, dismissively shaking her head. She knows once the topic of the whiskey chick is brought up there’s no going back, and so I begin.
“It started off completely normal.” I say my opening line in unison with my two siblings. I wait for them to stop and continue. “It was about two years ago. A friend of mine thought I’d hit it off with a girl she met at the gym and arranged for us to meet. We chose a date and a time that worked for us, I picked the location, and my friend set the whole thing up. I was really nervous about the whole blind date thing, but that night when she walked in, my jaw dropped. Tight black dress, super high heels, and these killer blue eyes accentuated by long strands of silky pink through really blonde hair.”
“Platinum,” Jenn provides.
“We were at a really nice place, James Miu, and the table wasn’t going to be ready right away. So we sat at the bar and I offered to buy her a drink. I ordered a beer, and she ordered a Manhattan.”
Full glossy lips smiled at me. God, she was gorgeous. I waved the bartender over, unable to take my eyes away from her. She crossed her long legs. “A Manhattan, please,” she ordered, poised and in control, oozing sophistication. Everything about her continued to impress me, and I wished I’d opted for a more sophisticated drink over the domestic beer in front of me.
“So the drinks came and we started talking. She told me a little about her parents and her brother. She’s a twin. She was in between jobs but looking into hotel management. We talked about past jobs, laughed a lot; it was a good conversation. She was funny. I talked a little about family, talked about my job, and that’s when the bartender came back and she ordered a second drink. Her glass was already empty, which was strange because I’d barely even had any of my beer.”
Her second drink came and she took a sip. “Mmm. This is good.” She closed her eyes, savoring the taste of the high-end liquor. Her tongue darted out, lapping up the small drop left behind on her lower lip. I inhaled sharply, turning my head to the side, already on the brink of infatuation with this beautiful girl.
“Another Manhattan, like less than ten minutes later. Can you even imagine?” Jenn loves to chime in during this story. People have actually asked if my sister was there because sometimes she makes it sound that way.
“So anyway, we’re talking, things seem to be going great, and then—”
“She orders a third Manhattan and asks the bartender not to chintz out on the whiskey this time.” Jenn can’t contain herself and blurts it out, making Katie gasp in horror.
“Do you want to tell this? Or should I?” I ask her.
“Sorry, go ahead. I’ll be quiet.” She locks her lips with an imaginary key.
“Okay, so at that point, I’m a little concerned. But the hostess comes over and says that our table is ready so I’m relieved. I’m thinking we’ll leave the bar area, she’ll eat, get a little food in her system, and everything will be back on track.”
I left my beer on the bar and she grasped her drink, still sipping even as we made our way through the crowded restaurant. The heels that had held her high walking in were now slipping out from under her, and I had to clutch her arm just to keep her upright. We arrived at the table and I helped her into her seat, where she landed with a thump, sending a quick breeze of her sweet scent into my nose. I was so relieved when I saw the basket of bread already sitting on the table, but she refused the piece I offered her. Instead, her head swung around in search of the waitress. Please no more drinks, I willed inside my head. This girl was perfect. At least she had been.
“At that point the conversation is starting to go downhill. Her eyes are spinning. Her comments are turning silly instead of funny. The waitress comes to take our drink order. I say, water for both of us, and my date…” I hand it off to Jenn, who is bursting.
“Orders another Manhattan.” She explodes with laughter. “And a shot of whiskey.”
“Carl, how did you never tell me this story before?” Katie swivels in her seat to face my cousin. “This is hysterical.” She’s on the edge of her seat. “So, what happened next?”
“Well, when I encouraged her to please eat something, she ordered the lobster, which of course she didn’t eat. Don’t even ask about the bill at the end of the night.”
“This is where the story always falls apart for me,” Henry jumps in. “At this point she’s obviously hammered. Why didn’t you just call it a night? Why were they still serving her? Why did you let her order lobster and dessert? A freaking souffle of all things?”
“Because….” I pause.
I was nervous waiting at the bar for my blind date to walk in, just as any person would be. When she saw me, she waved. I guess she knew who I was by the description given to her. Brown hair, brown eyes, and I’d be wearing a gray button-down shirt. It was a basic description, but she still recognized me right away. She held out her hand when introducing herself and when we touched, I felt a spark. Before the drinks kicked in, when we talked, I felt a connection. She was different. She was special. I had this weird hope.
“She was really freaking hot,” I say with a shrug.<
br />
“Can you please wrap this up before I serve the next course?” My mom stands up and grabs a few of the empty salad plates. “Tell the you-know-what part and be done so I can serve the roast.”
“She throws up? Doesn’t she?” Katie covers her face, laughing, anxious to hear the rest of the story, unsure if she should look at me or Jenn for the grand finale.
“She does.” Jenn nods excitedly.
“At the restaurant? At the table?” Katie begins guessing, looking to my sister for the answer.
“Neither.” This is my story, I’ll finish it up. “After the souffle finally came, I grabbed the check and offered to drive her home. Obviously she couldn’t drive in the state she was in.”
We got to my car and I helped buckle her seat belt. She was passed out by the time we left the parking lot. Thankfully, I had been able to get her address before her eyes closed. I pulled onto her street, large homes in an upscale neighborhood. Not exactly where I pictured a single woman between jobs would have a home... unless. Crap. She still lived with her parents. This could make for a very uncomfortable drop-off. I put the car in park and waited. Not too long, just enough for her to sleep off some of the booze and be able to walk into the house on her own. When her eyes finally fluttered open, she was confused, then apologetic.
“I walked her to the door and by that time she wasn’t quite so bad. At least I didn’t think she was.” I pull in a breath. “I said goodnight and she leaned in....”
I hate myself for this next part. For misreading the situation. For thinking that even after everything that had happened, there was still a glimmer of hope, and stepping in closer with my lips puckered like we were gonna end this night with a kiss.
“And that’s when she threw up all over me.” I toss up my hands and wait for it.
“Ahhhh!” Katie screams, then explodes into a fit of laughter. The rest of the family join in, even my mom cracking a smile.
“Oh my God, I have like a million questions,” Katie says between gasps, trying to catch her breath. “Did you ever see her again?”
“No.” I haven’t. She lives a few towns away from me. There’s always a chance we could run into each other again. Part of me hoped that we would. But we never have.
“What’s her name?” Katie asks, pulling out her phone. “I want to look her up.”
“Meghan Jones,” I answer quickly.
“Don’t waste your time. I’ve tried like a million times, but every Meghan Jones I find, Adam always says that none are her.” Jenn frowns over her many fruitless searches for the whiskey chick.
She’ll never find her.
Everything about the story is true, but the name I share is a lie. It’s one thing to share this story but another to share her name, especially since her name is very memorable, one that would not be easily forgotten.
Remi Kay.
A Hair-Raising Experience
I pull a piece of bright blonde hair between my fingers and brush on a rich violet hue, fold the hair up, and grab the next piece.
“How does it look so far?” Jenn B smiles at me in the mirror. There’s three Jenns in class—B, T, and W. I was paired with Jenn B as a coloring partner, and she’s become my closest friend since returning to school three months ago.
After years and years of bouncing from one dead-end job to another and struggling to find my calling, I’ve finally found it. Cosmetology. And I’m really good at it. I only wish I had discovered this at age twenty instead of age thirty.
“It looks good. Your hair is really absorbing the color. It’s gonna look great when I’m done.” I inspect the latest saturated lock before moving on.
“Did you decide what you’re gonna do yet?” Jenn tilts her head down so I can get the color up to her root. “Stay at your brother’s house or move back home with your parents?”
I moved in with my brother in the spring after my parents’ nagging reached a breaking point. However, living with my brother hasn’t proved to be any easier.
I had just moved the last of my stuff to my twin’s house when coincidentally he went and met someone and got “serious.”
Great for him. Shitty for me.
His new girlfriend, Paisley, doesn’t seem to like me very much. Which is fine, because trust me, the feeling is mutual. She’s overly sensitive, annoying, and has a laugh that goes right through me. I honestly don’t see her in the picture too much longer. Another month, tops.
“I’m gonna stay at Jax’s for now.” I mix the next color in the dish, watching until the powdery mixture turns into a brilliant shade of blue. “As long as Paisley keeps her distance.”
“Do you really not like the girl or is it just that you’re jealous?” Just like me, Jenn made the decision to pursue cosmetology later rather than sooner. Which is great because she’s twenty-seven, we have a shitload in common, and she totally gets me. However, sometimes she gets me too much. Like now. Maybe jealousy is the reason I don’t really like Paisley, but I barely want to admit that to myself, never mind someone else. My brother is happy and in love, and I have no one.
“I guess I’m a little lonely,” I admit. It’s been a while since I had any company. I was hanging out with one guy for a while, but it didn’t last too long. He was looking for fun; I was looking for more. I’m not getting any younger, and now that I believe I’ve finally found my calling, I’m ready to find someone serious. Something real.
“I keep telling you, all you have to do is say the word and I will hook you up.” Jenn is forever offering to set me up on a blind date with her brother.
“I don’t do blind dates,” I remind her for the millionth time. I did one once and it did not go well.
Adam was great. Handsome, sweet, kind, funny, and a real gentleman. When I walked in that night, there was instant chemistry. After talking with him, there was a connection. An actual ping in my heart. Unfortunately, my nerves got the better of me and I fucked up big time. I got sloppy drunk from a drink served neat. I never drank again after that night.
Well... that’s not exactly true. I still drink on occasion. Just not whiskey.
“It won’t be a blind date. I’ll introduce you first. You can meet him and form an opinion on whether you’re interested or not. If you are, I’ll set it up.”
“This turquoise is beautiful,” I deflect. “With your pretty hazel eyes, these colors are going to look amazing. I can’t wait for you to do mine.” After this, she’s going to color my hair. I’m ready to switch things up and trade in my light locks for a richer caramel-colored ombre.
“You’re ignoring me.” Jenn laughs, sweeping up her hair with the back of her hand to make eye contact with me. “Just meet him. That’s all. We can grab coffee near his job after class today, and I’ll have him swing by.” I concentrate on the turquoise in my mixing bowl, stirring longer than necessary. “Trust me. I just have this weird feeling in my gut that you two are meant for each other.”
The chances of me and her brother being meant for each other are zero. But I really like Jenn a lot.
“Just coffee and a quick meeting, right? No tricks or strings attached?” I hate this, but if I just agree and get it over with, we can move on from her persistent matchmaking.
“Just coffee, hello, small talk, and we see if it’s a match.”
“Fine.” I pull another strand of hair to apply the final color. “But I don’t even know your brother’s name.”
“It’s Henry,” she says.
The Other Brother
The scent of ammonia from our freshly dyed hair doesn’t mix well with coffee. But we look fucking fabulous. Being able to walk out of class with a free blowout every day is just one more perk on the long list of perks of being a student at Waves Salon Academy.
“He’s on his way. He should be here any minute.” Jenn stashes her phone in her purse and looks to the door.
“Remember, this is not a fix up.” I use my hand to swipe at my mouth for any traces of foam from my latte. I’ll meet this guy and le
t Jenn down easy after he leaves. I’ll think of some excuse. I’ll say he’s not my type or pull out the old I’m-not-over-my-ex excuse. Then tomorrow I’ll bring her a coffee and bagel to class as a sorry-but-we-tried consolation prize.
“Henry, over here,” Jenn calls, and I hold my breath before turning. Oh, wow. The brother is cute. Tall, built, really good-looking.
“This is a surprise. You never meet me for coffee.” Henry stops at our table. He has the same hazel eyes as Jenn only brighter, greener. They’re like a deconstructed hazel, green circled by gold before fading into a muted shade of brown. His hair is a sandy color, wavy and thick; definitely an attractive guy.
I think I’m actually interested.
“We decided to grab some coffee after class, and I thought of this place.”
“You did?” He raises a brow. This place is twenty minutes away from where we go to school so I’m sure it’s suspicious.
“Yeah, I love this place.” Jenn shrugs before leaning back in her seat and introducing me. “Henry, this is Remi. She’s my friend from school, my coloring partner.”
“Very nice to meet you, Remi. Are you the one who did this?” He picks up a piece of Jenn’s colorful hair, and I can’t tell if he likes it or not.
“Guilty,” I sing. Ew. I sang.
“You did a great job. Jenn’s never looked more... colorful,” he says, both eyebrows raised and his forehead wrinkled. He doesn’t like it, but that’s okay as long as he likes mine.
He points to the counter. “I’m going to go grab a coffee, would either of you like anything?”
“No thanks,” I say, now twirling my hair flirtatiously.
“I’m good,” Jenn says, and then as soon as he walks away, she turns to me for a reaction. “What do you think?”
Whiskey Chick Page 1
