Mountain Man

by Jules Barnard

  Cali once told me I never showed the A-hole who I really am. She thinks I’m a badass because I kick her butt at sports, but that’s not saying much. Cali has no athletic skills. “What do you mean?”

  Nessa tosses the mangled hose on the bottom of her locker. “Escape your comfort zone and do something you’ve never done before, or would never do.” Her eyes light up. “Join a theatrical group, or sign up for online dating… scale a mountain.” She nods as if her ideas are brilliant. “Put yourself in a position that forces you to step out of your box. The confidence you build will reflect on the outside.”

  I’m kind of wondering where Nessa is coming up with this stuff, because she doesn’t look like a closet Buddhist, but she has a point. I don’t put myself out there enough—my mom had that market cornered.

  I could try something new, though. If showing outer confidence will help me cope with sleazy men, I’m all for it.

  No way in hell am I joining a theatrical group—kill me now, please. But something that requires coordination? Not running, I do that every day and it’s not much of a challenge, but something I’m scared to try? Mountain climbing’s not a bad idea…

  “Thanks, Nessa. I’ll think about it. I’d better get going, Cali’s probably waiting for me.”

  Nessa waves goodbye and I book it to the cafeteria.

  Cali managed to take a break and even found a table in the crowded room. When I walk up, she’s working on one of her intricate sketches, this one of a mountain landscape with a million of the tiny geometric shapes she uses to create images. I have no idea how she does it. Cali has serious artistic talent she never acknowledges. She calls her sketches “doodles,” and throws them out as if they’re trash. I’ve literally pulled the most beautiful picture of our college campus out of the garbage that she’d thrown away. One of these days, I’m going to get her to realize how good her drawings are.

  Cali finishes the last few shapes and sets the sketch aside. “What happened with the A-hole? I saw him swoop in, but I couldn’t get away.”

  “He wanted to see what I was doing after work. Asked if I’d meet up with him.” I shake my head, but Cali doesn’t seem to be paying attention. I take in her distracted gaze. “You okay? You seemed a little upset when I flagged you earlier.”

  She gives me a weak smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine.”

  Her mood is strange, but she’s probably just stressed from the crowd tonight.

  We gossip about my genius ex for a bit, then Cali heads back to work.

  I finish my food and run to the bathroom. On my way to the casino floor, an advertisement on the employee corkboard has me pausing at the bottom of the stairs. It’s for the Alpine Mudder, with an image of guys climbing a plank wall, wearing Braveheart kilts and blue face paint, mud smeared on their arms and legs. I’ve seen this advertisement on Facebook. It’s some extreme obstacle course with mud and partying—the kind of event a bunch of ex-rugby players would be into.

  I’d never do this. The Alpine Mudder is competitive (which I love), dirty (which I hate), and dangerous (not my thing).

  Nessa’s suggestion about stepping out of my comfort zone blares in my head. This is the kind of thing she was talking about. Maybe not exactly this, but something similar—something I’d never think to do.

  The cafeteria door is open, but no one is paying me any attention.

  I scribble down the web address on my ordering pad before I can talk myself out of it, and climb the stairs to the casino.

  Chapter Four

  A few days later, Cali and I meet up with Nessa after work to hit the Blue club. By the time we arrive in the basement to change out of our uniforms, Nessa is already in skinny jeans, a flowing tank top, and gold heels. Her shoes are the length of a Twinkie to match her petite frame, and about the cutest child-sized adult shoes I’ve ever seen.

  I rush past her to my locker. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

  “Take your time.” She pulls out a makeup bag the size of a compact car. “I need to freshen up.”

  Cali changes and puts on lipstick in the amount of time it takes me to untangle myself from the Houdini bustier contraption I wear for work. I hand in my uniform to the seamstress counter. When I return to Nessa’s locker, she’s still applying eye shadow.

  I’ll have no problem catching up now. The only makeup I carry is a tube of lip balm. Mascara and blush are applied in the morning, if I’m not in too much of a hurry. This morning I had time and splurged on my appearance. I’m wearing my cute fitted jeans and a silky, emerald short-sleeved trapeze top, though I’ve already received a disparaging head shake from Cali over it.

  She thinks that if there’s no cleavage, it’s not appropriate going-out wear. The fact that I picked a best friend similar to my mom is some scary psychological shit I try not to overanalyze.

  “Oh, by the way,” Nessa says, digging into her giant bag. She pulls out a small compact and lifts the lid, revealing deep violet eye shadow. One eye screwed shut, she sweeps the shadow above the smoky gray color already applied to her eyelid. “Do you mind if we meet up with Mira?”

  I lean over the locker bench for my purse, using the metal locker door for balance. The edge cuts into my tight grip. Lewis’s Mira?

  Mira attacked Zach when he asked me about school at the taco dinner party. Her pointed glares the next day at the beach barbecue didn’t leave much to the imagination. She hates me, and Nessa wants us to go out with her?

  This is supposed to be a fun girls’ night, but Mira is Nessa’s friend and I can’t say no. Looking in the mirror at the end of the lockers, I stretch my mouth wide and smooth on the ruby lipstick Cali forced into my hand after she stealthily stole my lip balm. “Yeah, sure.” I rub my lips together and smile. The reflection in the mirror reveals a solid poker face. “The more the merrier.”

  Cali’s eyes are wide as I return her lipstick. She tucks the tube in her purse and covertly squeezes my arm. She gets my distress without me having to say anything.

  Nessa smiles shakily. “I’m glad it’s not a problem, because I sort of already invited her. She sounded down when she called.”

  I pull my small purse with the long strap over my head and across my body. “Is she meeting us here?”

  “She’s a dealer next door. She gets off in a little bit. I thought we could grab a drink and wait for her there, then head to the club.”

  This should be an interesting night.

  The walk to the other casino is entertaining. A hipster I suspect is either drunk or high sits in front of the drugstore we pass like he’s on his living room couch, while tourists with their Keep Tahoe Blue T-shirts swarm the sidewalk between the casinos. A lust for winnings, hookups, and general naughtiness permeates the air.

  We enter the casino’s double doors and order drinks at one of the bars. It’s while I’m waiting for my drink that I see them: the beautiful couple off to the side of a pit, Mira still in her uniform, facing Lewis.

  I thought I had purged him from my system. He’s nearly a stranger to me. But now I’m drinking in Lewis’s face, his body, the way he holds himself—careful but assured. My heart kicks up like I’m running a sprint, my breathing a choppy mess. The irrational urge to go to him has me squirming in my seat. What is it about this guy?

  Across the distance, Mira’s voice rises above the clamor of noise. Which is saying a lot, because hello, we’re in a casino—that’s like talking over a wind tunnel. She thrusts her arms out angrily, spitting fire at Lewis, and he seems to be taking it.

  Nessa and Cali follow my gaze. “Damn,” Nessa says. “I’ve never seen them fight like that.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  Nessa lifts a shoulder. “No idea. Mira’s not easy, but they’re tight, you know?”

  I shake my head. I don’t know. Seems more like they clash.

  “I mentioned how Lewis, Zach, and Mira—how their families go way back?” I nod, remembering. “Well, Lewis and Mira sort of grew up together. H
e returned to town partly for her. He wanted to help his dad with the business now that his dad’s getting older, and he wanted to be closer to Mira. He’s protective of her.”

  Sure, she’s his girlfriend, and Mira is obsessed with Lewis. I’m surprised she allowed any distance between them.

  I have the worst attraction radar. Lewis is this protective, devoted boyfriend. He’s not available. Why won’t the fact stick in my head? It’s like I need it tattooed on my brain.

  “Where was he before?” Cali asks.

  “College—Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo. He graduated in construction management. He worked for a company on the central coast and returned about a year ago.”

  A nearby cashier gapes from her cage at Mira’s arm-waving. Mira’s creating a huge scene and Lewis is like this brick wall, taking the heat and not backing down.

  Almost as if he senses me, he looks over.

  Our eyes lock and my heart literally stops, then surges double-time, a flood of warmth pulsing down my limbs. Mira follows his gaze, her eyes narrowing. My body tenses, caught between heated anger from Mira and a different heated intensity from Lewis.

  Lewis says something to Mira, then strides off in the opposite direction.

  Mira looks after him, her chest rising and falling. Anger, hurt, written across her face.

  I have more questions, like why Nessa was surprised to see Lewis and Mira arguing, and what could have caused it—prying questions that seem of utmost importance—but Mira’s approaching, her glare boring a hole in me.

  Her lips twitch in a semblance of a smile. “Hi, Nessa.”

  “Everything okay?” Nessa asks hesitantly.

  “Yeah, sure. Lewis is just being stubborn. He’ll come around.” She gives me a calculated glance and tiny prickles sting my back. “I’ll switch out of my uniform and meet you in twenty.”

  Cali and I exchange a look. After witnessing Lewis and Mira fighting, and then feeling the heat of Mira’s negative vibes, I’m so not looking forward to tonight.

  The minute we enter the Blue club, all eyes turn to Mira with her glossy dark brown hair in even waves, showcasing her striking features. In a short red dress, she leads us to a booth off to the side of the dance floor. A waitress I don’t know, but wearing a uniform I’m personally familiar with, approaches.

  “Margarita on the rocks.” Mira flips her hair flirtatiously over a shoulder. Male heads rotate like she waved a flag.

  “Patrón,” Cali says.

  I glance up, surprised. Cali doesn’t bring out the big guns unless she’s looking to get hammered.

  Nessa and I order Sierras.

  EDM vibrates the air, the dance floor filled with girls in short, tight dresses and the guys maneuvering to feel them up. One guy bites his lower lip as if he’s really getting into the music, or the girl whose ass he’s grinding on, her black tube dress scrunched up to within an inch of her crotch. I’m internally laughing and cringing, when I notice the dark orb several feet above their heads. I’ve never liked the fact that the casino watches us. Totally creepy.

  Mira’s beauty pays off in short order as a round of Purple Hooters slides across the table, followed by something called a Buckshot. A guy at the bar, in a tailored leather shirt that probably cost as much as my car, salutes Mira. She flashes him a smile, but doesn’t wave him over.

  Cali is the first to drain her shots and order more, passing me another as well. I take it gladly, feeling like I could use it.

  Several rounds later, my ass slips down the seat of our booth like the pleather has been greased—or shit, we’re at Blue; this could be real leather. I scratch the surface with my nail, the material a dark blur. I elbow my way upright, my shoulders canting to the side.

  Huh. I might actually be drunk.

  Have I ever been smashed before? College wasn’t the drunkfest for me that it is for most co-eds. I mean, I drank. A lot. But most of the time I walked around with a light buzz even if I’d drunk my friends under the table. My awe-inspiring tolerance, built from years of my mother’s influence, dates back to my tweens.

  Cali stands to go dance, sneaking a drunk pic of me with her phone. She sticks out her tongue.

  Biiitch.

  I sit up to steal the iPhone from her, only the room wavers like a funhouse. Better not stand.

  Mira hates me and I probably shouldn’t engage her, but my cares died a few shots ago. “I don’t get it.” I’m slurring? Wow, wasted. “How are you getting men to send you drinks?”

  The way Mira works men over is a mystery. My mom is confident and beautiful, but I never liked how she jumped from one guy to the next. But Mira I can’t help but admire. She has these guys dangling from a cord and she’s not even doing anything. I’ve lost count of the orders sent our way. Shit, I didn’t even know men still bought women drinks. Impressive.

  Mira looks up with a smug expression and gives another hair toss, the action cheesy and something I never in a million years would use, but several guys turn in her direction.

  Mental note taken.

  Our waitress thunks the first of three glasses on the table. “Kamikazes from the gentlemen two tables over.”

  My head tracks the descent of each shot. “More?” Definitely slurring. “You’re gonna have to carry me out, and it’s won’t be pretty. Both of you are shorter.”

  Mira and Nessa exchange a look and smile. Nessa giggles.

  My mouth fills with acid and Chambord as I eye the potent beverage in my hand. “I don’t know if I can do another.” Have I uttered those words in my life?

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be a weakass.” Mira seems almost sober, but she can’t be. She’s had as much to drink as I have.

  “I’ll do another if you do,” Nessa says.

  How does she do it? Something’s not right here. “Nessa, you’re so little, I could bench-press you… if I bench-pressed… or went to the gym. Gym’s not my thing. I’d rather run or hike—be outside, as long as there aren’t bugs… or mountain lions… Wait—what were we talking about? Oh yeah, another shot. K—but we have to take an Uber home. I can’t drive.”

  Mira shoves a drink at me. Didn’t I just pound one? What happened to hers? Is that two in front of me? “I arranged for someone to pick us up,” she says.

  Nessa and I look at each other, then Mira. “You did?” we say in unison.

  “Who?” Nessa asks.

  “Don’t worry about it. I called a few minutes ago when I went to the bathroom. They’ll be here soon. That is, unless you guys want to stay and party?” She eyes me.

  I’m not the one whipping my hair around, flagging men. I’ve had too much to drink, and I lost track of my best friend. Speaking of… “You guys see Cali anywhere?”

  Nessa shakes her head. Mira gazes away, as if she might help me look, but her focus settles instead on the entrance of the club.

  No way am I leaving without Cali. I reach for my phone to call her and see a text. It’s from Cali and she says she’s getting a ride from a coworker.

  I guess that’s okay. At least she knows her driver. I have no idea who Mira finagled to pick us up.

  Two guys in designer jeans, black T-shirts, and shiny blazers walk toward us. I’m freaking praying they’re not our ride. They each have short hair, and paired with the club jackets, they’re like twinsies, though one is distinctly better looking than the other.

  Nessa giggles. “Mira, your suitors are on their way. Guess they got tired of waiting for an invitation.”

  Nessa is sloshed. She’s a giggler drunk.

  Mira flashes the men a flirty smile. “How do you know they’re coming for me?”

  The men look to be around forty, and even if I’m being conservative, a twenty-year age gap is a bit pervy.

  “Oh, I have a hunch.” Nessa nudges me in the ribs and I catch myself before I fall out of the booth. “Besides, they’re staring at you.”

  The creepers take each of us in. The one with thinning hair, a tan line on his ring finger, and white loafers that clash s
pectacularly with his midnight-blue blazer, slides in beside Mira. “Mind if we join you?”

  I shrink in my seat, attempting to hide, but the cute creeper with blond hair, beard stubble, and laugh lines around his eyes squishes in next to me. He’s on my left, and Nessa and Mira block me on the right.

  Cute Creeper’s cologne is so strong my eyes water. The scent combined with too much alcohol causes nausea to roil through my stomach. “Mira, when’s our ride coming?”

  “In a minute.” She leans on her forearms, thrusting her small, pert breasts into White Loafers’s vision. His gaze homes in like a laser.

  Cute Creeper chats my ear off for the next ten minutes. I get by with minimal articulation, managing to breathe out of my mouth instead of my nose, until he decides to touch me.

  He runs his fingers through my hair. “How is your hair so shiny?”

  Eeew. I take a slow, steady breath, the cologne assaulting my senses because I forgot to breath out of my mouth, and try to ignore the hand making another pass at my scalp—

  Mira looks past our table, a smug expression crossing her face. “Our ride is here.”

  I lean to the side, attempting to disentangle Cute Creeper’s fingers, and glance at the entrance. Lewis’s gaze flickers between me and Cute Creeper, his nostrils flaring.

  She called him?

  Lewis’s gaze shifts from the creeper’s hand in my hair and he glares accusingly at me.

  This isn’t my fault. Mira’s the one sending out girl signals, luring in men. I want nothing to do with this.

  For some reason, accepting a ride from Lewis is a bad idea. I know this, yet I can’t bring myself to care. Better a ride from him than getting pawed by forty-year-olds. And no way will these polished club guys stick around with Lewis approaching. He’s in agitated mountain god mode, the energy he’s giving off intense.

  I’ve only seen Lewis wear collared work shirts, like earlier when he was with Mira at the other casino. Now he’s all casual ease, a fitted heather T-shirt snug on his biceps and chest, and it’s doing funny things to my internal temperature.