by Khan, Jen
“Hey, girl!” she squeals as she barrels into me, hugging and bouncing.
Like I said, she is bouncy.
“You and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other. You let me know what you need and I got it, girl. We’re going to be the sexiest bar in town. With your brains and my hot ass, we’ll murder the competition,” she giggles.
I can’t help smiling at this girl. If she isn’t full of shit, she is hilarious. She has a habit of “murdering” things.
Every time we went out to eat, she “murders” some fajitas, “murders” some steak, “murders” a bottle of wine. And I don’t even want to talk about the Great Pancake Murder that she and I committed once at two in the morning after a late night of drinking and dancing. We were cleaning up pancakes for days. Picking it out of our clothes, our hair, and I even found some in my purse the next day. Pancake murders were brutal.
“Brains and beauty. We’ll put them all out of business by Christmas.”
She drapes her arm around my shoulders. “This is going to be sweet!”
I don’t know about sweet. Nothing with Olivia goes down sweet. She does, however, keep things exciting.
We walk over to the bar, where there is a big, strong, very handsome what has to be part-Latino man manning the fort.
She leans over and thumps her hand on the bar to get his attention. “Yo, Juice!”
Juice?
“Yeah, Livvie? I gotta bar full of orders. Whatcha need, baby doll?”
He flips bottles of liquor up and into the tin mixer.
He slams a bottle down, wedges a glass in, and shakes it up in the air as he spins around to give us his full attention.
Holy shit, he’s beautiful. What is it with this place and beautiful people?
Juice is just over six foot, with dark brown hair styled in a very short Mohawk with olive-toned skin, a strong jaw, and high cheek bones. His smile is what instantly attracts me to him, with his bright pearly white teeth. He doesn’t have dimples like the Holt boys, but he doesn't need them. His is lean but built, not bulky.
Oh my.
“Meet your new manager. She’s here to keep your ass in check.”
“Is she now?” His smile gets bigger, showing even more teeth.
“Uunhuuu! Don’t you even think about it. She’s not your type, slut.”
“Oh come on, Livvie. She’s hot,” Juice responds with a pout and another amazingly sexy smile.
I cock an eyebrow at Olivia. “Livvie?”
She rolls her eyes and shifts her gaze to the ceiling. “He’s called me Livvie since we slept together a couple of years ago. I guess he feels that gave him a free pass. No matter how often I threaten to castrate him and feed his balls to the neighborhood cats, he still calls me that God-awful name.”
I giggle, extending my hand to him.
“Nice to meet you—Juice, is it?”
He playfully looks me up and down, takes my hand, and kisses my knuckles. “Juice it is.”
“Any story behind that name, Juice?”
“Sure is, sugar. I could tell you, but then I’d have to sleep with you.” He drops my hand and gives me a sly wink.
I shoot my eyebrows up at Olivia. “Well, I guess since I'll be your boss that would be a conflict of interest.” I jabbed my elbow into her side. “I’m sure that if I get Livvie here all liquored up, she’ll give me alllll the dirty details.”
Juice’s head falls back and he booms out a laugh. “Don’t believe anything she says, sugar. Unless she tells you I’m hung and can rock three orgasms out of you in the first five minutes”—he pauses—“because, well, that part is true.”
He winks at Olivia and heads down the bar to talk to a scantily clad blond girl who found a seat at the end of the bar. She shoves her chest up in his direction.
Male bartenders—easily motivated by a little tits and ass. No matter how skanky it is.
Olivia and I both laugh and give each other one last hug before I leave.
I think I’m going to enjoy working here.
Chapter Six
I am on my third margarita and drinking them like they are water. They’ve gone down so easily tonight. I think this is firstly because Braden has been here every day, secondly because I’ve spent every evening since he started coming around obsessing over him coming over, and thirdly because I’ve enjoyed seeing him every day.
Holly and Olivia are sitting across from me at the bar in the kitchen, smiling and listening to me rant about how infuriating it is having this brute of a man come back in my life and just. Won’t. Leave.
We decided to have a slumber party. Yes, like we are twelve years old.
I am complaining about how he has been nothing shy of intrusive by meddling in my personal and professional life.
I mean, how dare he help me get a job that I absolutely could not refuse? He knew that I would jump at the chance to work at Holt's. Not only is it the best bar in town, but I adore the man who runs it. I adore the man who runs its family. I adore Braden for adoring me.
Damn these margaritas.
Luckily, after my little rant, they don’t press me for more details than I am willing to give. They don’t pry, they just keep mixing margaritas and refilling the chip tray and salsa.
“I’m surprised that this didn’t happen before now,” smartass Holly remarks.
“Dammit, Holly!” I cry. I slam back the rest of my margarita and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Fill her up!”
“You got it, sister.” Holly takes my glass and empties the shaker of its beautiful liquor-filled goodness. She puts my glass back in front of me and bites her lip to stifle the giggle she is trying to keep buried inside.
“Fuck off!” I spat and snicker.
“Slow your roll, chica. You’re murdering those margaritas.” Olivia nods in my direction.
“I shall murder this margarita and then I shall murder every chip in that bowl. Maybe I’ll order pizza from Side Street and murder the hell out of that too.”
These chicks look at each other and back at me. I look at them and we all start laughing. The belly-ache, tears-in-your-eyes kind of laugh.
I face-palm myself. Olivia rests her hand on my shoulder. I glace at it and then back at her.
“When Braden feels, chica, he feels hard. Whether that be love, friendship, sorrow, or anger. There is no in between for him. Right now, he feels a strong loyalty to you. You and he had a thing, and it was a strong thing not too long ago. I hate to say it, home girl, but you’re going to have one helluva battle if you think you can push him away.”
I look down to the bar and I smack my head on it, rolling my head from side to side.
“I have nothing to offer him. I have nothing to offer anyone. I am a complete fucking mess,” I whisper, and I wasn’t sure if either of them were listening to me.
After a moment of silence, there’s a slap on the bar, and Holly speaks. “Look at me. Em right now.”
I lift my head off of the bar and I see the seriousness in her face. Uh oh.
“Don’t you dare degrade yourself. I’m not playin’ with you. You are one of the strongest, sweetest, most amazing females I’ve ever met. You faced more adversity and pain than anyone I know. I don’t know anyone who could go through the shit you’ve gone through in the past few months and come out on the other side with as much strength as you have. Every morning, when I see you before I head out to work, I have so much pride in knowing that you are my friend. That a girl as feisty and strong as you is actually my friend. “
She slaps her hand down on the bar, again and carries on with her sermon.
“Don’t you dare say that shit about yourself again. You aren’t broken, Emma. You’re healing, and it takes time.” She closes her eyes and opens them to look at Olivia.
I don’t know who this Emma she is talking about or what she thinks she sees in me but I am not that girl she is describing.
“Holly’s right, baby doll. You gotta lose that shit. It ain’t you,” Ol
ivia adds.
Holly pours tequila into a shot glass and takes it straight with a wince and a loud exhale.
“Tell me how you really feel,” I quip.
All three of us start to laugh a tequila-induced cackle.
“Oh! Ladies. Tristan is hosting a women’s self-defense class at his studio tomorrow night. He insisted that we show up, so I told him we’d be there,” Olivia states.
“Really? As in ‘kick some ass’ self-defense?” Holly inquires.
“Is there any other kind where Tristan is involved?” I point out more as a statement than a question.
Tristan Holt is a-six-foot-five tall stud of a man. Totally drips hotness like his brother, but he’s not quite as hot as Braden. My opinion could be biased though, considering that I have never and probably will never find another man hotter than Braden Holt. Thirty-two years old with the body of a football player. His hair was dark, but unlike Braden, who keeps his hair close to his head, Tristan wears his longer. It is thick and wavy and a lot of times unruly, but it works wonders for him. He also dons tattoos and eight-pack abs. The gods were smiling when they created this family.
He owns the jiu-jitsu studio downtown and has had some very high-profile fighters join his ring. It is a UFC lover’s dream. If Barbie were a cage fighter, that would be her dream house.
“Tristan was talking about how they thought us”—she points her finger at all of us—“chicks needed to learn a thing or two about how to incapacitate someone if the moment were to arise.”
I drain my fourth margarita. Since my head is spinning enough, I think I should probably take it easy on the great margarita murdering spree.
I shrug my shoulder, look to Holly, and blurt out, “Why the heck not.”
Olivia squeals in my ear, a high-pitched one at that. Holly bounces up and down, clapping her hands like a damn seal.
I guess I am going to learn the art of being a badass chick.
******
Holly and I meet Olivia outside Tristan’s studio downtown. The studio is located about two miles from Holt's, off the beaten path and mingled in with a residential community. We are all decked out in our best workout gear. And when I say best workout gear, it is basically sporty tanks and yoga pants. We don’t work out much.
At best, I go jogging for a couple of miles a few times a week just to clear my head, but I have one of those bodies that is easy to maintain. Good genes I suppose. Getting Holly or Olivia to go with me always turned out to be me going by myself after begging for a good thirty minutes.
We walk in, giggling at Olivia’s new choice of green highlights. I swear the girl changes hair color like she changes men—a new one every couple of weeks.
The studio is in an old warehouse, which was clearly used for storing cargo. It still has a garage door lining the back wall, which Tristan decided he wanted to keep because some nights, many of his clients came and it would get hot with all of that testosterone emanating as they pounded each other’s heads into the mats.
The whole back half of the studio is nothing by mats. There is an octagon-shaped ring in the middle.
Holly and I follow Olivia to the back, where we put our bags and take off our shoes.
“He would freak if he saw us in our shoes on his grappling mats,” Olivia points out.
I don’t want to see Tristan freak. I don’t think anyone wants to see him freak.
“Good evening, ladies,” Tristan booms at us with a grin on his face.
He is gorgeous, hair unruly, only it really works for him. His eyes are dark brown to match his hair, his jaw is strong, and he sports the same exact dimple that Braden does. They even share the same nose, only Tristan doesn’t have the bump in the middle. His arms are strong, and the left is covered in a sleeve of tattoos with skulls, flames, hearts, and flowers. If he weren’t already beautiful, the eight-pack abs, beautiful chest, and perfect V at the hips would do it.
“Hi, Tristan,” Holly, Olivia, and I greet collectively.
“We’re here to become badass chicks,” I tell him with my super extreme intimidating snarl and flexing my muscles.
“Mmmm hmmm—I can see that,” he says as he pulls me in and gives me a hug, lifting me off of the floor.
I squeal. It’s involuntary, but it’s a squeal nonetheless.
He greets Holly with a hug and his sister with a tousle of her new green hair.
“I have recruited some partners for you girls tonight,” Tristan informs us, peering over our heads.
Partners? Okay. I turn around, and I don’t know why I am even shocked to see Braden and Juice walking up to us looking sexy as all hell.
Hummana!
I smile at Braden and bite my lip—another one of those involuntary reactions that really gets on my nerves.
Braden throws an arm around my shoulders and curls me into him. My front collides with his side. He is wearing running pants and a black Under Armour tank. Delicious.
Apparently my libido has made a comeback.
He and I have been spending a lot of time together, talking and hanging out, and I have really enjoyed doing so.
I make an audible sigh and Braden’s body starts to shake. I squint my eyes at him. The bastard is laughing. I roll my eyes and he laughs harder.
Yep. Bastard.
Tristan claps his hands to get our attention. “All right, ladies. Tonight we’re going to learn the basics of self-defense. Juice, you’re with Olivia, and Holly, you’re with me. Shall we begin?”
“Hell yeah!” Holly exclaims, jabbing her fists of fury out and dancing around from foot to foot.
Oh brother. Now she’s a boxer.
“Okay, first off, the best self-defense is to never put yourself in a vulnerable situation. Always be vigilant of your surroundings. You feel me?”
“I’d like to feel you,” Holly shamelessly responds, and it’s as if she doesn’t realize she said it out loud until her face gets beet red.
We all erupt into laughter. Braden squeezes my shoulder and smiles down at me.
“Running is the best self-defense move, and putting distance between you and your attacker should always be your first priority. If, by chance, running is not an option, I am going show you a few moves that could possibly get you out of a dire situation. Holly, I’m going to give you a chance to feel me now, darlin’. Bring your fine ass over here.” Tristan winks.
“Wooooooo,” we collectively holler and start howling again.
Holly jumps up and down, clapping in place before she skips her way over to Tristan.
“If you're being attacked, there's a good chance that the assailant is going to grab you by the wrist at some point, whether it's to force you to go somewhere with him or to keep you from hitting him back. To get out of this hold, remember that the weakest point of his grip is where his thumb and fingers meet.” He takes hold of Holly’s wrist to demonstrate. “Rotate your wrist so that the thumb side of your forearm is at the weak point in his grip and pull your arm out of his hand in that direction. If he's much stronger than you, use your free hand to grab your fist and put more power behind your pull.”
After showing us a few times, he has us demonstrate on our partners.
“Ummm…Tristan?” I say, holding up my hand.
“Baby, put down your hand. You’re not in elementary school,” Braden mumbles.
Whatever.
“Yeah, Emma?”
“After we get out of the potentially deadly wrist hold, do we gouge his eyes out, kick him in the balls, or punch him in the throat?”
Tristan’s eyes get big and everyone laughs. I look down at my feet and kick at imaginary rocks.
“I didn’t think that was so funny,” I mumble at my feet.
“For your safety and for better chances of not getting into further trouble with your attacker, I would suggest you run.”
Run? I would have preferred for him to say I should gouge his eyes out, kick him in the balls, or punch him in the throat.
I shrug. “Kay.”
Tristan shakes his head. “Remember this. You have more leg strength than your arm strength. A simple kick can be a fast way to get away from an attacker. To get the full force of your leg behind the kick, use the heel of your foot to make contact with the attacker.” Again, he uses Holly, only this time, he walks her through the motions. “In a stomp kick, you bring your knee up and drive your heel down as hard as possible. If you do this on an attacker's foot, you might be able to break some toes to keep him from running after you. So you want to stomp kick on his instep or the shoelace part of his foot rather than his toes. If you're wearing heels, and I know you ladies well enough to know that you live in those goddamn things, they can act as a weapon.”
“No shit,” Braden and Juice mumble in unison.
Once again, we break off and practice on our partners. I stomp on Braden’s foot so hard that he yelps. I apologize but do it again for good measure. I am really starting to like this.
“Ummm, Tristan?”
“Em, darlin’, just fucking run.”
“OOOKAAY!”
“Now,” Tristan goes on, holding Holly in a bear hug from behind, a position she appears to be enjoying a little too much, “I want you to remember this combo if you are ever attacked from behind. Solar plexus, instep, nose, and groin.” He lightly runs his nose up her neck. “Damn you smell good, cupcake.”
“Bro!” Braden hollers. “Come on, man. Can we finish here first and then y’all can get a room?”
I giggle, which is followed by Olivia, which sets off Holly, who makes Tristan laugh, who makes Juice yell, “Woot!” which makes Braden sigh.
“I can’t help it if my partner happens to be sexy as all hell,” Tristan responds, and his face gets all serious.
Holly’s body stills.
Tristan lets go and smacks her ass before winking at her. “Come here, Juice. I need to demonstrate this next one on a man.” Juice makes his way over to Tristan. “If you're grabbed around the waist, stomp hard on his instep and follow it with a kick to the groin by bringing your foot up behind you between his legs so your heel makes contact with his dick.”
