Tequila & Time: A Short Story from the Deadwood Humorous Mystery Series (Deadwood Shorts Book 4)

by Ann Charles

  “See.” She pointed back at me. “That’s the ‘dream’ I’m talking about. Unless I decide to visit a sperm bank, experiencing that kind of love is not in my future.”

  I chewed on my lower lip, trying to come up with a way to help temporarily fill the empty corner in her heart that she’d apparently reserved for kids. All I could think of was, “Don’t give up yet,” which sounded one hundred percent, grade-A lame.

  She rolled her eyes at me. “Shut up, Dr. Phil. It’s your turn to ask me a question.”

  There was something that I’d wondered for a while, but I hadn’t been sure how to ask it. Now with tequila on the table between us, it seemed like a good time to go for it. “Truth or drink? Have you ever analyzed your past to figure out why you keep choosing asshole boyfriends who end up screwing around on you?”

  She stared at me for several seconds, her gaze narrowed and wary, bordering on defensive. Then she sighed and laced her fingers behind her head. “Wow, you’re not tiptoeing around tonight, are you?”

  I shrugged. “Life’s too short. You’re already thirty-six. If I dillydally much longer, we’ll both be dead. Besides, Doc said they’d be wrapping up earlier than usual since Reid and Cooper both have to be at work at the ass-crack of dawn, so we only have two hours left, maybe three.”

  She reached for a shot, frowning down at it.

  “Come on, Nat. Don’t tell me you’re going to wimp out on my first question and take the drink.”

  Her eyes lifted to mine, her forehead furrowing. “I’m not sure I want to dig that deep into my psyche tonight. It is my birthday, you know. This is supposed to be fun.”

  “So make it fun. I’m not looking for something to share on talk shows here. Just tell me, was there some jackass in high school who treated you like shit and beat up your self-esteem? A douchebag you didn’t want to tell me about?”

  She shook her head.

  “Someone who teased you about something when we were younger? Your chest, maybe?” Boys could be such dicks in junior high.

  She continued shaking her head. “My boobs were never a source of harassment.”

  “Your lips then?”

  “What’s wrong with my lips?”

  “You know it took you a couple of years to grow into those baby inner tubes.”

  She blew a kiss at me with her full, beautiful lips.

  “Was it that shithead, Kenny Kirkindale? Wasn’t he the one who called you ‘Steven Tyler’ every time you came down to Rapid to go to a football game with me?” Natalie had gone to high school up in Lead, but she’d spent almost every weekend down in Rapid City with me or her cousins.

  She still shook her head.

  “Because if it was Kenny and his stupid mouth, you know he had the hots for you, right? He wrote something nasty in the boys’ locker room about what he wanted you to do with your big lips.”

  “Oh, yuck.” She fake gagged. “How do you know about what he wrote? When were you in the boys’ locker room?”

  “Quint told me.” My older brother had been in high school at the time. “He roughed up Kenny for writing that shit about you and made him scour it off with steel wool.”

  She grinned, resting her chin on the heel of her palm. “I love your brother. It’s too bad I adopted him as my own long before he filled out in all of the right places.” A small shadow passed behind her eyes, dimming her smile for a moment, and then it was gone.

  “So, are you going to tell the truth on this or drink?”

  “I thought I was telling the truth.”

  “You’re half-assing it. Come on, Nat, it’s my first question. Give me something here.”

  “Okay. Yes, I have thought about why I keep falling for no-good, cheating bastards.” She nudged the shot glass away. “I’ve thought about it a lot, especially right after catching Doc and you together that night at Mudder Brothers.”

  I winced, fighting the urge to slink down in my seat.

  Early this last summer, Natalie had staked a claim on Doc while I was sidetracked by Wolfgang Hessler, a handsome blond jeweler who’d hired me to sell his house. But then I’d run into Doc and been knocked on my ass—literally. At first, I’d thought Doc was half a bubble off plumb and Wolfgang was my dream come true. In the end, Wolfgang was my worst nightmare and Doc’s level-headedness saved my bacon. So, rather than tell Natalie that I had an unshakable crush for the guy starring in her wedding fantasies, I jumped her claim, stealing Doc out from under her.

  As crappy friends went, I ranked as the top turd.

  With my cheeks a shade redder due to my reckless past behavior, I remained top side and waited her out. “And?”

  “I have a great dad and brother.”

  Where was this going? “Yes, you do. Although your brother did shoot me in the butt with a BB gun once.”

  “You’re lucky it was only once. He’d shot me three times before I got hold of that damned gun and broke it in two. But other than his BB fetish, you have to admit he’s grown up to be a sweetheart.”

  I had no argument there. “So what’s your point about your dad and brother?”

  She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I grew up thinking that all men were good guys like them. Honest. Warm-hearted. True blue.” She smirked. “Well, we both know now how silly that belief is, right? I mean I’m sure there are decent guys around, like Doc for one, but I have yet to find one. I’m beginning to think I’d have better luck hunting snipe.”

  “So let me get this straight,” I said, running my finger around the rim of one of the shot glasses. “Rather than your relationship problems stemming from a lack of positive male role models in your life, it’s due to an abundance of them in your early years.”

  “Bingo, babe.” She touched her finger to her nose. “Along with the fact that I’m a fixer.”

  “A fixer?”

  “Yep. I like to fix things that are broken. Why do you think I carry around a bunch of tools in my pickup?”

  “Because you like to put the hammer down like Thor.” I pantomimed swinging a hammer down on the table.

  “Oh my God. Are you for real? You need to fire whoever is writing your one-liners tonight.”

  “What? I thought I was pretty clever.”

  “Pretty? Yes, you are, especially in that shade of blue. But clever? I don’t know if you’re pulling that off yet tonight, but give me a few shots of tequila and I’ll probably think you’re freaking brilliant.” She dodged the bar napkin I wadded up and threw at her. “I’m a fixer, Vi. Think about all of the times I’ve tried to fix your life.”

  True. She’d fixed my problems more times than I could count. “Fortunately for you, I’m an ace at screwing up.”

  She smiled too easily at that, dang it. “I’ve tried to fix many of the men I’ve dated, too, especially the select few I’ve actually allowed in my bed. But since I’ve stopped looking for Mr. Right and focused on enjoying my life sans men, I’ve come to realize the error of my ways.”

  “And now that you’ve figured this out about yourself, are you ready to return to your search for Mr. Right?”

  I asked on behalf of a certain detective on the Deadwood police force who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her whenever she came near. Cooper and Natalie had a history, about which I’d only semi-recently learned. So far, I’d heard bits and pieces from Natalie about something that had occurred in this very bar years back involving the two of them—something fiery with passion that had ended in a burning rejection, leaving Natalie’s pride scarred. Tonight with the help of tequila, I hoped to learn exactly what went down so I could make a decision whether or not to tell my best friend that Cooper seemed to have changed his mind about sharing more than friendly fire with her.

  “No way. I’m sick of having my heart broken. There’s no way I’m going to open my tool chest again.”

  “Never?”

  “Never say never.” She shrugged. “But I’ll tell you one thing. No matter how attracted I am to a guy, if he’s damaged
I’m keeping my fixer-upper tools packed away and running like hell in the other direction.”

  That was bad news for Cooper. The detective was one big stress-fractured mess. Part of me felt bad for the bristly bossy pants, but another part was dancing a jig. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of the detective burrowing even deeper into my private life. Cooper was already rooming with my boyfriend while I worked on selling his house. Hooking up with my best friend would turn my life into one of those damned cop dramas 24/7.

  “Was that truth good enough?” she asked me.

  I gave her a thumbs-up. “Your turn.”

  She leaned forward, her gaze narrowing again. “Truth or drink? When did you have sex with Doc for the first time?”

  Oh, shazbot! While I’d come clean to her that Doc and I had started dating when I was supposed to be keeping my hands off of him, I’d not really given her any of the finer details on how much of a man-stealing, back-stabbing best friend I’d been.

  I opened my mouth to tell her the truth, but then reached for the salt instead. “Drink.”

  I sprinkled salt on the back of my hand, licked it, and tossed back the shot of tequila. It went down a little bumpy with a fiery burn at the end. I stuck one of the lime wedges in my mouth and sucked, smiling around the rind at her in spite of the sour fruit.

  She stared at me with a hard glint for a few seconds, but then the corners of her eyes creased. “You big chicken.”

  I removed the lime. “Bok bok bok,” I clucked.

  “You know I’ve forgiven you for claim jumping, right?”

  “Bok bok.”

  “I know full well that you and Doc were doing the wild thing behind my back, so there’s no need to deny it.”

  “Bok.”

  “You’re such a cluck-head,” she said with a wide grin. “Your turn, Chicken Little.”

  I thought for a moment while playing with the empty shot glass, debating on digging into that night she had with Cooper, but then I veered in a different direction. “Truth or drink? How many men have you actually had sex with?”

  She snorted. “Why does that matter?”

  “Truth or drink, girlfriend? How many for real?” Something she’d said a few weeks back on the phone had gotten me to wondering if she was as wild and willing to hop in the sack as I’d always thought.

  “When you say sex, what do you mean?” she asked.

  “I mean the actual full-on mating process, as in how babies are made.”

  “Truth.” She held up one hand with all five fingers out.

  Only five? “No way!”

  “Yes way!” Her indignant tone matched my level of disbelief.

  “Come on, your dance card reads like the white pages.”

  “You didn’t ask how many men I’ve dated or kissed, only how many I’ve had sex with. There’s a big difference.”

  “You’re telling me that you’ve dated a ton of guys but only experienced actual penetration with five.”

  She wrinkled her upper lip. “Do you have to use the word penetration? It sort of takes the fun out of the whole shebang. Pun intended.”

  “She-bang? Talk about me and my lousy one-liners. No more puns from you until I’m officially drunk.”

  “Whatever. You have my truth.”

  I sat back, shaking my head. “But all of this time you acted like you were a sailor on shore leave.”

  “No, all of this time you assumed that the guys I dated ended up in my bed.”

  “Wow.” I really did slink down in my seat then. “I truly suck.” I scratched my head. “Why do you keep me as a friend?”

  “Because I signed a contract with your parents when I was four.”

  “Well, thank God for their foresight then.” I let out a laugh of disbelief. “Do you realize I’ve slept with more guys than you?”

  “You tramp.” Her smile took the sting out of her words.

  “Make that one more guy than you,” and that one was Doc, who I hoped to be the last in the lineup. “But you’ve kissed more, you hussy.”

  She blew me an air kiss. “I have to use these big lips for something besides sinking ships.”

  I toyed with my empty shot glass. “I guess I was living vicariously, since I was at home on weekend nights with my two kids while you were out at bars. I saw you as having a wild-woman life without even asking if it was true.”

  “Don’t feel bad. I never corrected your assumption.”

  I frowned at her. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because it made up for my not having someone waiting at home each night. If I were living this pretend life full of hot guys and crazy times, it didn’t feel so empty.”

  I reached over and pushed a full shot glass her way. “That truth is worth a drink, hot lips. Lick, sip, and suck.”

  Two Tequila

  One trip to the ladies’ room later …

  “Okay,” I said, settling back into my booth seat. “One tequila down, three to go. Whose turn is it?”

  My lips were beginning to tingle from that first shot and my chest was warm from the tequila’s fiery trip down my esophagus, but otherwise I could still chew bubblegum while tying my shoes—that was if I had gum and weren’t wearing boots.

  “You asked the last nosy-nelly question about my sex life,” Natalie reminded me, “so it’s my turn.”

  I leveled my shoulders and prepared for her next torpedo. “Let’s have it.”

  “Truth or drink? Did you ever kiss my brother?”

  I flinched. “Ewww. Truth. No way.”

  “You don’t need to say that like he’s carrying the plague.”

  “It’s not that. Your brother is hot, totally, trust me. But I’ve known him since he was in diapers. In fact, I think I helped change his diaper once.”

  “If what disgusts you on the kissing front are his droopy diapers, I can assure you that at almost thirty-three years of age he’s now grown out of that stage.”

  I laughed louder than normal, drawing several stares from the smattering of patrons at the nearby tables. Sorry, I mouthed to them and pointed at the empty shot glass.

  Back to Nat, I explained, “Sucking face with your little brother would be like kissing Quint, and I know they say incest is best and I should put my family to the test, but I was never good at taking tests. The anxiety messes with my head.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that—the lack of incest in your world, I mean, not the bit about testing.”

  “My turn. Truth or drink? Did you ever kiss my brother?” I tossed her question back in her court.

  “Quint?”

  “Unless you know of another male who shares parents with me, then yes. Quint Parker. My brother. Did you kiss him?”

  She hesitated.

  My jaw dropped. “You didn’t!”

  “Back when I was in junior high and he was in high school,” she started.

  “Oh my God!” I covered my mouth with my hand, adding through my fingers, “I can’t believe you kissed my brother!”

  “I didn’t kiss him.”

  My hand dropped. “Well then what the hell?”

  “If you’d let me finish with my ‘truth,’ Chatty Cathy, you’d hear that I thought about kissing him, that’s all. Nothing more. And he has no idea it even crossed my mind.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Positive. He’s always treated me as if I was his little sister, but for about a week in seventh grade I wondered what it would be like to kiss him.”

  I scrunched up my face. “Why?”

  “Because I saw him kissing Jenny Appellino under the bleachers during a football game.”

  “Jenny Appellino?” I wrinkled my upper lip. “Ick. I couldn’t stand that snobby bitch. I didn’t know Quint dated her.”

  “I don’t think they dated, he just kissed her.”

  “Why would he bother with her? She wasn’t really his type.” Quint was never into bubbly girls. He had a thing for the brainy babes.

  “She might not have been his typ
e, but with that killer rack and the little cheerleading skirt, she was a real hot commodity for a while. Remember the way she’d jump around wearing her tight sweater during the football games? Half of the guys in your school were too busy watching her boobs bounce to notice that they’d won the division championship.”

  I growled in my throat. “She always made fun of my hair.”

  “I’ll tell you what. The next time I run into Jenny, I’ll put gum in her hair and tell her you send your love.”

  “You’re trying to fix my problems again.”

  “Fine, you put gum in her hair and I’ll kiss her older brother.”

  “Isn’t he in jail?”

  “I heard he’s out on parole.”

  “You’d kiss a parolee for me? What a great friend.”

  “Promise me you won’t tell Quint about my week-long crush. I don’t want to make things weird between us over something so silly.”

  “Of course I won’t. Tonight’s tequila talk is between you and me, hot lips.” I frowned at her. “I’m glad you never actually kissed Quint. That would be weird.”

  “No weirder than you changing my brother’s diaper and now thinking he’s hot.”

  “Good point.” I held up my empty shot glass for a toast. “No more brother talk.”

  “Hear, hear.” She clinked her shot glass against mine. “My turn. Truth or drink? That night Doc and I went on that double date with you and—”

  “It wasn’t a double date,” I interrupted.

  She had dragged Doc down to Rapid City on the false assumption that I’d needed rescuing from a shared dinner with a guy who was now my co-worker. Such was life in a small town.

  “Yes, it was,” she insisted. “You two were on a dinner date and then—”

  “I wasn’t on a date with him.”

  “And then,” she continued, talking over me, “I showed up with Doc and we joined you both for dinner and drinks.”

  “It wasn’t a date for me. We were just two Star Trek fans sharing stories over food.”

  “It was a date, Violet.”

  “And Doc and you weren’t officially on a date either,” I added. “You’d hijacked him into coming to my rescue. He had no idea that I was actually there with another guy, or he wouldn’t have gone.”