by Fields, MJ
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.
To everyone below me, I’m the town joke. The blonde who didn’t go to college and still works in the bar she worked at in high school. While I might be the punch line, I’m here to help them unwind after a long day of work, and I’m why they’re opening their mouths like teenagers on spring break.
Noreen, one of the bartenders, comes up behind me and starts grinding against my back. Not only is she a hard worker, but with her short blonde hair, big doe eyes, and taut figure, she’s also a knockout. Her hand caresses my thigh and then travels up my stomach. The eyes of the guys below us pop out of their sockets.
I give her a hip check, and she walks down the bar, looking for a patron who wants to come up and dance with us. I find a pretty brunette and give her a hand up. Juice, one of the bouncers, comes over to assist. When the girl is safely up, I hand her the bottle. She thinks she’s the life of the party as she drizzles the watered-down vodka into very eager throats.
The next song on the jukebox is “Cherry Pie” by Warrant. I can guarantee ninety percent of the people in here have no idea who Warrant is. I only do because Paulie has been ingraining his love of rock in me since I started working here at eighteen years old. I couldn’t bartend back then, but I made one hell of a bar-back.
When the song is over, Noreen and I help the girls get down from the bar top without breaking any limbs. The music volume diminishes at the same time, allowing the hum of overlapping conversations to break through.
Some might think being a bar owner is a crazy life goal for a twenty-three-year-old, but this is what I’m good at. It’s what I was meant to do. My family believes in me, too, or else they wouldn’t have mortgaged the house in order to help me fulfill my dream.
Stepping down from the bar, I wipe my hands on a rag. Victoria takes off to flirt with some guy by the mechanical bull, and I lean in to talk to my friend.
“I thought you were taking the night off?” Suzanne asks.
I laugh, looking at my place behind the bar when I should be on a stool next to Suzanne. “Yeah, I was, but the place is packed. What was I thinking, taking off on a weekend?”
“Come on, Paulie told you to actually have some fun tonight. Pretty soon, you won’t be able to let loose in here, so live it up while you still can.”
With a grin, I say, “‘The older you get, the more rules they’re gonna want you to follow.’”
“Did you just McConaughey me?”
I roll my head back and laugh. My good mood instantly dies when the front door opens, and in walks the one person who affects me like no one else.
Adam Reingold.
Six feet tall and built like a stallion, the man is the epitome of male. He also happens to be the town narc, and he hates my guts.
He strolls in with his officer’s uniform on—that tacky polyester ensemble that is a symbol of honor, protection, and ruiner of fun. I swear, every time he walks in here, everyone freezes. With his copper hair and onyx eyes, he scans the room with a grimace.
Ever since a drug overdose killed his best friend and my boyfriend, Brad, he’s been on a mission to make sure no one is messing around with narcotics. While I admire his dedication to keeping our town clean, I do find an issue with him sauntering into my bar all the time, treating my customers like they’re criminals.
“Uh, Leah…you’re staring.” Suzanne reaches across the bar and pinches my nose.
I swat her hand away.
She giggles and sits back, lifting her glass to her mouth. “I get it; he’s gorgeous.”
I place my hand on my hip and scrunch my face. “Ew, gross. He is not gorgeous. He’s rude, condescending, and the most boring person I’ve ever met.”
Suzanne puts her hands up in defense. “I agree with you. He’s drab, and damn if he doesn’t give me the heebie-jeebies sometimes.” She gives a little shiver. “But he sure is nice to look at.”
I squint my eyes at her and take an order from a patron. If I’m going to stand back here, I might as well keep making drinks. My hand is filling a cup with ice when I see Adam walking over to Kimberly, a local who went to high school with us. She’s at the opposite end of the bar in a short little skirt and a shirt that is more revealing than what she usually wears.
Adam leans his side into the bar, his muscular forearm resting on the wood. The fabric of his shirt, having zero stretch, hugs his bicep with the curl. He’s talking to Kimberly. At first, she seems flattered by the attention, and then she quickly stiffens and starts to look uncomfortable. She’s staring at the drink in front of her.
Kimberly mouths something to him, and he nods, seeming satisfied but unhappy with her answer. With a point of his finger, he appears to be reprimanding her, and then stalks off.
When he is gone, I let out a large breath and realize my hand is still sitting in the ice machine. It’s so numb, I can barely feel it.
“Damn it!” I pull it out and then tuck it in my back pocket for warmth.
My nerves are shot, and my hand is frozen.
I ask one of the bartenders to finish making the drink and then turn back to Suzanne. “Let’s get drunk tonight.”
Two hours, two shots, four beers, and a table dance later, I’m swimming in a sea of lanky limbs and good times.
“Leah, stop touching my boobs!” Jessica hits my hand as I try to push her double Ds out of her tank top.
She has big breasts, and I just want to play with them.
Jessica is another friend of mine from childhood. She is petite and pretty with long, wavy brown hair. With these knockers, she’s every guy’s wet dream.
I place my head on her chest and smile. “They’re like giant pillows.”
She pushes my head away. “You’re drunk.”
“I am.” I fall forward and use her shoulder for support.
“I think it’s time you went home.”
I salute her and then walk away, looking for Suzanne.
Of course, Victoria is in my way.
“Where’s Suzanne?” I shout to Victoria.
She has been talking to some guys from a local motorcycle organization all night.
They’re not Bucking Bronco regulars, and I’m surprised to see them in here. They’re the type Adam Reingold would be interrogating.
“She’s sucking face with Rory O’Toole.” Victoria makes a gagging face. “He’s such a geek.”
She looks over to the make-out session that is indeed happening in the back of the bar. She might think Rory’s lame, but I happen to know he is the sweetest guy in Cedar Ridge and would make an excellent boyfriend, unlike some of the questionable characters I’ve seen Victoria roll with.
I twist my mouth and think of how I’ll get home. I wasn’t planning on drinking tonight, so I drove. “I’m leaving my car here and calling a cab.”
“I’ll drive. Give me your keys.” She holds out her hand, and I questioningly look at her. She feigns annoyance. “I only had that one drink earlier. I’ll drive you home and then walk from there. Your parents’ house isn’t far from my apartment.”
She’s being oddly nice, and it’s making me wonder what she has up her sleeve, but damn, it would be nice not to have to come back for my car in the morning. She appears to be sober, and I haven’t seen her drink anything other than that one mojito.
I nod and accept her offer as I hiccup. “I’m gonna get Sue.”
When I make it to Suzanne and Rory, I awkwardly tap them both twice to get their attention. They pull away from their embrace. Suzanne uses the back of her hand to wipe her mouth, which is glistening with Rory’s slobber while his mouth is covered in pink lipstick.
“Victoria and I are leaving. You ready?” I have to use the wall to brace myself.
Suzanne looks up at Rory, who raises his brows at her. She nods and then turns back to me. “Actually, I was planning on staying with Rory. Maybe going back to his place.”
I look over at Rory, who is looking at my best friend like she’s the greatest prize of the night. I’m pretty sure he’s had a crush on her since tenth grade.
Suzanne’s a big girl. She doesn’t make bad choices, and Rory’s a stand-up guy.
So, I give her a kiss and ask, “Do you have protection?”
“Leah!” She hits me on the arm. Then, she leans in, and with the tiniest of whispers, she says, “Of course I do.”
With a slight stumble, I walk out of The Bucking Bronco and hand my keys to Victoria.
“Which one is yours?” she asks as we make our way to the parking lot.
I motion toward my car. “The blue one.”
“Oh,” she says, unimpressed by my adorable little four-door sedan that was in my budget. I know it pales in comparison to her red Mercedes-Benz.
When you save every penny to fulfill your dream of buying a bar, driving a fancy car is not in the cards.
We climb into the Blue Whore, as I like to call it, and Victoria has the car in reverse before my seat belt is even buckled. The car pops into gear with a jolt, forcing my back to mold into the seat.
I brace myself against the passenger door. “Whoa, you’ve got a heavy foot there.”
Victoria ignores me and floors it out of the parking lot. I look out the rear window to make sure no cars are coming down the road.
“We’re on Main Street. Are you crazy?” My voice breaks.
She opens the window, letting her hand out to feel the wind. Her hair is blowing in her face and doesn’t seem to be bothering her in the slightest. I must be sobering up because Victoria is no longer looking as innocent as she did ten minutes ago. Something about her is…off.
I still at the thought and then cautiously ask her, “Victoria, are you on something?”
She smiles a wide-mouthed smile that is atypical for her sourpuss face and slightly shakes her head. “No, Leah. I told you, I’m sober.”
My racing heart slows down a beat. She’s still driving like a maniac, but maybe this is just the way she drives.
She swerves and almost hits a parked car. “I just took a little hit off this guy at the bar.”
My stomach drops. A hit? “A hit of what?”
“Just a little afghan brown.”
“What the hell is afghan brown?” My voice is a screech.
She shakes her head like I’m an idiot and turns down another street, too hard because the tires on the right side of the car just lifted up in the air.
“Slow down!” I scream.
But she isn’t listening. I brace one hand on the door handle and place the other on the dashboard, praying we make it to my house in one piece.
Victoria is in a trance. She starts to sing a song that’s not on the radio. It’s like she’s in a euphoric daze and unaware of reality. Whatever she smoked has really started to kick in.
My heart is now pounding in my throat. My palms are sweaty, and my breathing is erratic. I’m prepared to take the wheel in case she passes out. The streets are empty, and we’re flying down Sycamore Avenue—the wrong way from our homes and toward the park.
“Stop the car!” I shout.
She hears me, but she’s not listening.
“Victoria, stop the fucking car!”
With a sudden reflex, she slams her foot on the brake. The car’s still moving, despite her attempt to stop, racing toward a tree at the edge of the park.
Throwing myself over Victoria’s body, I grab the wheel and crank it hard in a last-ditch effort to avoid the looming oak. With wide eyes, I stare out the passenger window at the guardrail that is our new target.
The car crashes into the aluminum. My body hurls into Victoria and is brought back by the restraint of my seat belt. When we finally stop, there is a hissing sound from the car, and everything else goes quiet.
Staring out the window, I see the guardrail just inches from my nose. I can practically taste the metal.
That was close, too close for comfort.
The glaring red and blue lights swirling from afar are fast approaching with the loud sound of a siren.
I close my eyes and will myself not to cry.
My life is wrecked.
Two
Unbuckling my seat belt, I climb over the center console and out the driver’s side. The door is already open, but Victoria is nowhere to be seen. With panting heavy breaths, I walk around to the other side of the car. The sight makes a sheen of sweat slick up the back of my neck.
The Blue Whore is totaled.
“Goddamn it!” I kick the front bumper that is bent in and hanging off on one side. I don’t have cash to fix it or, God forbid, buy a new one. My life is on a shoestring as it is.
First, I’ll make sure Victoria is okay.
Then, I’m going to kill her.
“Victoria,” I call out into the night.
My feet stomp as I search for her. The area is fairly well lit, yet I can’t see a thing beyond that. I start to move more cautiously, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, but my steps become more controlled.
“Victoria, where are you?”
Did she crawl out and lose her way? What if she has a concussion and doesn’t know where she is?
I scramble, turning in a circle, looking for traces of blood, a body on the ground, anything. Lights are drawing near. Good. The police will be able to help me find her.
I’m a couple of yards into the park, calling out for her, when a police car pulls up next to the crash and two officers get out.
“Stop!” a male voice calls. “It’s illegal to walk away from the site of a crash.”
I still and turn to them. “I’m looking for my friend. There was another girl in the car.”
One officer, a dark-skinned gentleman, has one hand on his holster and the other in the air while he dictates to the second officer, “Go see if you can find anyone in the woods.”
He then walks up to me and takes me by the arm. I get a look at his badge. His name is Officer Harper.
“I need you to stay with me. An ambulance is on the way.”
Feeling grateful someone is taking care of finding Victoria, I walk back to the police car with Officer Harper, waiting, as an ambulance comes down the road.
> “Her name is Victoria Followell.” My words are coming out in puffs. My breathing is affected from the nervous energy pouring through my bloodstream. “She’s about five foot seven, maybe eight, with black hair, brown eyes. She was in the car with me.”
“Calm down. Take deep breaths. How much have you had to drink tonight?” the officer asks, seeming unconcerned with finding Victoria.
I answer him honestly, and when the ambulance arrives, I’m escorted into the back where they take a look at me.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m back to my normal, stable self. I don’t seem to have any injuries, but the paramedic wants to bring me to the hospital for scans, which I adamantly refuse. With no insurance and a mounting pile of debt, a trip to the ER is the last thing I need. I sign a release and decline further medical attention.
I try to call Suzanne. She’s not picking up. Neither is my brother, Luke. He’s probably already three sheets to the wind himself. There is no way I can call my parents. They’ll freak. They’re the worrying type.
“Leah Paige, you have to come with me,” Officer Harper says when I step down from the ambulance.
“Are you taking me home?”
“No. You’re under arrest for operating a vehicle under the influence of alcohol.”
“But I wasn’t driving. I told you, it was Victoria. Did you get ahold of her? Did you even look for her?” My voice is shaky. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so they’re flying about in rapid movements.
Officer Harper is just staring at me. The other officer is in the patrol car, typing something into a laptop.
“It was Victoria!” I yell, my body lurching toward him, as if the closer I get to his ear, the easier he’ll comprehend what I’m saying. “She was behind the wheel. You have to believe me.”
He takes me by the elbow and swings my arm behind my back. The realization hits me. Victoria isn’t hurt or lost in the woods. She bailed. The bitch fled the scene because she was high on God knows what and knew she’d get arrested.
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no. You don’t understand. I would never drink and drive. I work in a bar. I’m the one who calls taxis for everyone,” I plead while the officer puts my other hand behind my back and places handcuffs on my wrists.
