by Brynne Asher
UNTIL THE TEQUILA
A Killers Crossover Novella
BRYNNE ASHER
Until the Tequila
Copyright © 2019 by Brynne Asher
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published by Boom Factory Publishing, LLC.
* * *
Brynne Asher CONTRIBUTOR to the Original Works was granted permission by Aurora Rose Reynolds, ORIGINAL AUTHOR, to use the copyrighted characters and/ or worlds created by Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Work; all copyright protection to the characters and/ or worlds of Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Works are and shall continue to be retained by Aurora Rose Reynolds. You can find all of Aurora Rose Reynolds Original Works on most major retailers. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.
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CONTENTS
Until the Tequila
Other Books by Brynne Asher
1. Hangover
2. Calm Your Tits
3. Broken
4. Cherry Stems and Lies
5. Keep My Mouth Shut and My Clothes On
6. Accidental Allies
7. Barrel-of-Monkeys Kind of Fun
8. Match Made in Hell
9. Game Over
10. Expectations
11. Ego
12. Implode
13. Rot in Hell
14. I Know You
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
UNTIL THE TEQUILA
A Killers Series Crossover
and
A Happily Ever Alpha World Novella
Brynne Asher
Published by Boom Factory Publishing
[email protected]
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Brynne Asher’s Happy Place
Edited by edit LLC
Cover Design by Dark Water Cover Designs
OTHER BOOKS BY BRYNNE ASHER
The Carpino Series
Overflow – The Carpino Series, Book 1Beautiful Life – The Carpino Series, Book 2
Athica Lane – The Carpino Series, Book 3
Until Avery – A Carpino Series Crossover Novella
* * *
Killers Series
Vines – A Killers Novel, Book 1
Paths – A Killers Novel, Book 2
Gifts – A Killers Novel, Book 3
* * *
The Montgomery Series
Bad Situation – The Montgomery Series, Book 1
* * *
Standalones
Blackburn
To Ty,
May you never know anything other than love and family.
xoxo
1
HANGOVER
Mary
I’M GOOD. I really am. I mean, it took me almost forever, but I’m finally handling life like a C-list rock star. You know, the one who opens for the opener of the main act? The one nobody’s heard of but they’ve made a little something of themselves?
Yeah, I’m pretty sure I finally made it to that level in life. I mean, I can’t say I’m great but, since there were times when I was really not great, I can, with all honesty and confidence, say I’m good.
Until him.
Until the wine.
And, strap me up and take away my deep-conditioning hair mask, until the tequila.
The tequila is what did me in.
What was I thinking?
So, I might’ve had some wine to take the edge off. But I needed it.
I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to chase the wine with tequila. We were at an Italian restaurant for God’s sake.
But I did. And I drank all the tequila.
Then I drank some more and thought the tequila needed dessert. So, of course, in my freak-out moment, I decided that topping off the tequila with tiramisu was the best thing since dipped nails.
All because of him. No one’s ever made me nervous, wet, agitated, and hardened my nipples all at the same time.
But when I woke up this morning in a strange bed—a bed in a bedroom I’d never seen before—every distilled drop of blue agave turned in my stomach like a bad decision on spring break at the beach.
I only experienced one spring break—college was torture and sucked my joy. Secondary education and I got along like my second, fifth, and sixth sets of foster parents—if you could call them that. There wasn’t much parenting going on and living in those houses was like trying to survive a constant bar brawl. I dropped out of college shortly into my second year and enrolled in cosmetology school the same day.
When I spin my clients around in the chair and see their smile in the mirror, I know I made the right choice. Making people feel good about themselves is the best part of my job. I love hair, nails, color, and everything girlie. My penchant for pretty things leans toward edgy with a hint of glam.
I switch up my locks regularly. My long, naturally blond hair is always dyed to match the water-colored ink crawling up the small of my back. Give me a client who’s willing to push the envelope and I’m in hairdresser heaven. Secretly, I’ve always found anything conventional and conservative boring as hell.
That was, until him.
Evan Charles Hargrove III.
He’s more all-American than the boy next door, the Fourth of July, and red Solo cups all rolled into one. He might look like a frat boy with his tall, muscular frame and rugged good looks, but he’s the tasting room manager at Whitetail Farms. Evan knows more about wine than ninety-nine percent of the population. If I wanted to eat Twizzlers and dark chocolate for dinner—which I do on the regular—he’d pair it perfectly and seduce me while doing so.
His hair is a little overgrown but fits him so perfectly, it makes me want to wash it, run my fingers through it, and style it into the messy do he wears so well. That, along with his whiskey eyes, perfect jawline, and self-confidence of a Fortune 500 CEO, makes him the kind of guy I’ll cross the street and walk an extra three blocks out of my way to avoid.
That’s why I’m always shocked and amazed whenever his gaze settles on me and I find myself weak in the knees and wet in my personal paradise.
That is, when he’s not pissing me off. And, oh, how he loves to piss me off.
If he’s not calling me mermaid girl, he’s teasing me for being short. When he’s not teasing me, he’s complaining how I never take his appointment when he calls the shop to schedule a haircut.
I’ve cancelled his appointment five times because I don’t think I could handle having him in my chair, let alone touching him. I’d end up strangling him or having a mini-orgasm and either would be bad for business.
But Evan works for my best friend, Addy Wentworth. Addy has a way of collecting people and if you’re in her life, you’re her friend for life, so that means Evan is my friend even though he’s the one person I’ve made it my number one goal to avoid.
He’s my frenemy.
I think he knows it, too, as I’ve done my best to ignore him. But somehow, my best is neve
r quite good enough. When it comes to him, I turn foggy and weak.
I see it in every lethal look hidden behind his boy-next-door good looks. When he calls me a fairy—for being small and colorful—and if no one’s looking, he’ll tip his head and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, making me wonder if he’s thinking about what else he can do with it. I sure as hell am.
Don’t even get me started on all the ways he finds to secretly touch me when no one’s paying attention—brushing the small of my back or letting his fingertips lightly tease mine in erotic foreplay. It drives me mad in a multitude of ways.
But the other day—the moment my past came crashing into my present—he caught me off guard and broke through my defenses, informing me he was taking me to dinner. I was shaken by a text I’d just received from my childhood friend, July Mayson—now Silver—and distractedly tried to refuse. But with the finesse of a corporate giant closing the deal of the decade, he shook his head and squashed my denial like a bug. I swear, he saw the crack in my armor and took advantage. “I’m taking you to Girasol’s. You love Italian and I’m trying to sell them on adding The Delaney on their wine list.”
The Delaney is Addy’s red blend, named after her mom, and, since Addy is one of my best friends, I couldn’t exactly refuse him for the sake of friendship and all that loyalty jazz. Like the three idiots we turn into around this undercover sexy-beast, my nipples and I were speechless and had no choice but to pucker and nod.
Since I was wound tight about the possibility of my worlds colliding—the one I hate more than anything and the one I’ve come to love more than life itself—I thought a little drink to loosen me up wouldn’t hurt. Downing a half-bottle of Meritage was my pre-date coping mechanism.
Then I started in on the tequila.
All. Of. It.
Okay, fine. Maybe not all of it.
But I don’t recall leaving the restaurant so there was no chance of remembering anything after that. It turns out, Evan brought me back to his condo, put me in his bed, and I woke up in my clothes from last night.
That’s how I earned this hangover that’s stewing while Evan drives me back to my car at the winery where we met before dinner.
I’ve decided to title this latest chapter of my life from hell The Ride of Shame.
My outfit is rumpled. I have raccoon eyes. My head is pounding and my stomach is churning like the butter from my Little House on the Prairie books. But thanks to my T-3 curling iron, my hair is still leaning on the side of fabulous.
With my shoes dangling from a finger, I drag my ass and try to pretend I’m human, crawling out of Evan’s car as he follows.
He’s tall, towering over me, and I’m reminded of all the times he’s called me shortie. Leaning in, he puts his lips to my ear. “Fun night. Just so you know, we’re doing it again soon but you’re not drinking a drop of liquor, my little dandelion.”
Little dandelion?
Oh, fuck.
He knows about my obsession for the pesky weed most people work hard to abolish from their little corner of the earth. This isn’t good. What else did I blab about last night?
I squint into the sun when his hand cups my chin and tips my head back and he narrows his eyes on me. “And that little issue you told me about? I want to know more about that, too.”
Shiiiiiit.
What have I done?
I open my mouth to argue because there are so many reasons I don’t need Evan in my life right now—the top two of those being I’ve been hit by a freight train in a tequila bottle and him butting into my latest drama will certainly taint his perfect, red-Solo-cup life.
From here on out, my number one goal is to avoid Evan Hargrove.
But his thumb stops me with a brush of my lips, effectively shutting me up. “No arguments. Go drink lots of water or, if you have any, Gatorade. Pedialyte is even better. Then eat something and go back to bed. I’ll stop by later to check on you. And Mary,” he leans in farther and presses his lips to the skin just below my ear, making my already-wobbly knees about to give and make me expire like the heroines from my bodice-ripper romances, “thanks for a fun night. I thought I wanted you before, but now? I can’t wait to make you mine. Be prepared.”
Prepared? I’m not even prepared for last week.
With that, he doesn’t give me a chance to respond. He gives me that look that holds the secrets I’m afraid to learn before turning back to his car.
Shit, shit, shit. Evan was already obnoxiously persistent. And since I can’t remember anything past the bruschetta, it turns my stomach in new ways to think about what upped his relentlessness to new heights.
The bright morning sun is making it hard to think, so I do the only thing I can manage at the moment. With my racoon makeup, pounding head, and fabulous hair, I dig my keys out of my bag and fall into my driver’s seat. I need a shower, my bed, and to call July to find out what in the living hell is going on in Tennessee.
2
CALM YOUR TITS
Mary
I GULP DOWN three Advil and check my phone. Two calls and a slew of texts from July last night during my drunken state, along with another voicemail from some guy in Kentucky I do not know and I’m not about to call back, has me wanting to bury myself in a hole never to see daylight again. I know I should be a responsible adult and at least return July’s call, even though I’d rather give a pedicure to an ogre than face what’s going on in Tennessee.
What’s another fifteen minutes?
I drag myself into the shower and hope the hot water will make me feel human.
It doesn’t work.
My phone vibrates on the bathroom counter as I’m drying off and I’m not surprised when I see who it is.
Clutching my towel to my chest, I greet my childhood friend. “I know you miss me but this is borderline stalker behavior. I’m thinking about a restraining order.”
“Mary, I swear, if you didn’t live nine hours away from me, I’d be knocking down your door right now. Where have you been?”
I drop my towel and grab my silk kimono robe off the back of my bathroom door, doing my best to shrug it on as I cringe, admitting to my childhood friend that I finally caved to Evan’s annoying-yet-sexy advances. “I went on a date.”
I get nothing but silence, which doesn’t surprise me because I don’t date and since July knows absolutely everything there is to know about me, I bet she’s more surprised about it than I am.
I sigh. “I know, I know. I went on a date. If you’re gonna go drama queen on me, would you just get it over with? I have a hangover.”
“You went on a date?” she echoes. “With whom? And if you tell me you’re dating your old tattoo artist again, I really will drive the nine hours to shake some sense into you. He’s an ass and doesn’t deserve to share your oxygen. Wait—scratch that. He doesn’t deserve oxygen. That pile of shit has earned carbon dioxide for what he did to you—”
“July!” I wince as my voice pin-balls around my head and move to my room to collapse onto my messy, unmade bed. “Calm your tits. It wasn’t him.”
“Oh.” I hear dogs barking in the background and realize she’s at work. July couldn’t be more opposite than me. She’s a total A-List rock star. She excelled in school and loved science. Throw in her obsession with animals, it made sense that she went to vet school and now has her own practice. She just got married, too.
When it comes to adulting, July is killing it.
“Then who is it? Anyone I know?” she goes on.
I pull my pillow to my chest and shut my eyes. “You don’t know anyone since you’ve never come to Virginia to visit me.”
Her voice turns muffled. “Put them in exam room two, please. I’ll be there in three minutes.” She turns her attention back to me. “I don’t have time for the guilt trip, I have patients stacking up. You can tell me all about your date later when you call me back,” I almost hear her roll her eyes, “but for now, I have news. Uncle Nico called me last night with new information
.”
I groan and pull the pillow over my head to hide from daylight and life in general.
“Girl.” The background has gone quiet so I assume she’s moved into her office for some privacy and she softens her voice, like that’s going to make whatever she’s about to tell me go down easier. “The rumors are true. He’s back in town. Uncle Nico put a word out to his fellow officers last night to keep an eye out for him. He was spotted at a bar across town.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I guess hoping he was somewhere dead was too much to ask for, huh?”
“I told Wes about him and he spread the word at the club. Trust me, between my husband, his brothers, and my uncle, we’ve got a pulse on what’s going on.”
I pry my eyes open and look across my small bedroom at my garage sale furniture littered with empty Diet Coke cans. “And did they hear anything?”
After a long pause—one that’s heavy and filled with unease, making my stomach turn in a whole other way—she gives it to me straight. “He’s looking for you. Asking anyone and everyone he comes into contact with. One of Wes’s brothers overheard. He’s relentless.”
I roll to my back and stare at the stained ceiling of my crappy apartment. “He’ll find me. From everything I know about him, I know he will.”
