“SHE’S SO GROSS.” The girl on my lap points at a female with her tongue down Finn’s throat a table away. Despite the dim lighting of Crave and the packed house, Finn’s current entertainment is putting on a performance for the ages. “You can see her ass cheeks out the bottom of her skirt.”
“You can’t sell it if you don’t advertise.” I take another slug of the beer I’ve been nursing for the last hour. Setting the bottle down, I take in her lifted, colored-in brow. “She shows ass. You show tits. What’s the difference?”
“The difference is I’m not a whore,” she says with a hint of superiority that irks me.
“You might want to be careful with that.”
She twists her lips together, considering if I am insinuating that her following me into the john, locking the door, dropping to her knees, and giving me head like a porn star—all without even giving me her name—constitutes a whore in my book. I let her ponder that.
“I only offered that because it was you, Branch Best.”
“And maybe she’s only tongue-fucking him because he’s Finn Miller,” I volley back, watching my best friend almost fall out of his chair. “A very, very drunk Finn Miller. Up you go.”
We get to our feet, and I turn to the group of people that have congregated around Finn and I. They’re all pretty much sloshed, thanks to Finn’s open tab, friendly spirit, and recent signing bonus for a contract extension.
“See y’all next time I’m in town,” I tell them. “Don’t burn the place down.”
“Can I get one more picture?” Peck, a guy I’ve taken a handful of photos with tonight stands, his cell phone in hand.
“No more pictures,” the bartender says, coming around the end of the bar. He gives me a knowing look. “Peck, watch the bar for me for a minute, will ya?”
Peck nods and meanders to the backside of the counter, giving me a nod of his hat as he takes an order.
“You’re trusting him back there?” I laugh.
“He’s harmless. Known him since I was a baby.” He extends a hand and we shake. “Name’s Machlan Gibson. Nice to meet ya.”
“Thanks for letting us crash your bar,” I laugh, watching Finn straight hit the floor. The crowd around us bursts into laughter. “I gotta get him out of here before this shit ends up online.”
“Hey!” Machlan booms. Instantly, the crowd quiets down. “Nobody’s gonna be posting any of this online or you’re banned for life and I’ll tell your mama all the sordid things I know about you. Got it?” Once he’s made eye contact with half his patrons, he turns back to me. “Now let’s get him out of here before Peck gets heavy-handed with the whiskey and all hell breaks loose.”
It takes the two of us to get Finn’s six-seven ass to his feet and strapped into the passenger’s side of my black Rover. The crowd surprises me by staying inside on Machlan’s command and giving us some room.
“Hey, thanks again, Machlan,” I say as the window rolls down and I get settled into the driver’s seat. “Shit. I forgot to pay the tab.”
“Don’t worry about it. Finn will get even with me.”
“You do realize he probably owes you a few hundred, right?”
“He’ll be in and settle up. I’ve known the Millers most of my life.” He shakes my hand again and turns back to the bar. “Thanks for coming in tonight.”
Flicking on the ignition, the lights come to life. I pull down the small road with the town’s only two streetlights to the stop sign at the “T” at the end of the road.
Finn snores beside me, drool coming out of the side of his mouth. Laughing, I swing a left, and within seconds, it’s nothing but unlit countryside.
“What are you laughing at, asshole?” Finn mutters, not bothering to open his eyes.
“You have slobber all over your cheek.”
“It’s a part of the process. It’s how you still know you’re alive. You can feel the spit.” One eye fights to open. “You’re sober, right?”
“I’m driving, aren’t I?”
He lets his lid drop closed as he snuggles into the leather seat. “I like it here.”
“You’re more than welcome to sleep in my car, but don’t get your spit all over the place. I have limits, man.”
“I mean, here. In Linton. At the cabin.”
“You just liked the way that girl fondled you,” I chuckle.
“I did. Not gonna lie. But I also like just being with normal people for a change.”
“Maybe you’re just drunk as hell.”
Maybe not, too. There’s a feeling up here that I can’t quite put my finger on. It reminds me of being home, back in Tennessee, a place I haven’t visited in a long damn time. The quiet, the way the night actually gets so dark the stars look like little silver lights in the sky, the way the people shake your hand and ask you how you are and then actually wait for your response. They’re all things I’d almost forgotten about. I’d stopped expecting them and now that I’ve witnessed them after all these years, I realize how much I like them.
“Do you ever miss just being a normal person?” Finn asks, as if he’s reading my mind.
“I’ve always been exceptional, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He acts like he didn’t hear me. “I’m not saying I don’t enjoy an easy lay, because God knows I do. But do you remember a point when it wasn’t just laid out there for you because you’re on the starting line-up for the Legends? You know, when you had to actually work for it?”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a swallow that burns all the way down. “The ones smart enough to make you work for it are smart enough to stay the hell away.”
“If I ever settle down, I want to be sure she’s with me because she wants a life with me. Not because the first ten choices didn’t.”
Finn moans on, blubbering in his drunken stupor while my mind twists with a few things it’s been toying with lately. Like, how I am nearing thirty and have an excessively large bank account, but little else to show for myself.
When I was drafted, I thought the contract and endorsements and money were everything. I didn’t see the shady side of things, the parts that are downright disturbing. Despite my college coach’s advice to “find balance,” I didn’t and now I live this life I’ve started to feel is very lopsided, and I have no idea how to find the happy medium of fame and normalcy.
Finn laughs as I pull the car next to Poppy’s. Turning off the headlights, I spy a candle flickering on the screened-in porch. My pulse quickens as I wonder if Layla’s out there.
“All of this is the alcohol talking,” Finn chuckles. “I kinda wax poetic when I drink whiskey.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s a fucking truth serum for you.”
“I need a serum that will magically plant me in my bed,” he groans.
“Can you walk? You’re a big motherfucker to carry in by myself.”
“I’d pay to see that,” he says, struggling to sit up. “Can I do it without puking? That’s the real question.”
Climbing out of the car, I make my way around the front and help him out of his seat. He makes it to the house okay, but stops at the front door to vomit in the hedges.
“You are one nasty motherfucker,” I laugh, opening the door as he walks in. “How much did you drink?”
“Too much.” He grips the handrail leading upstairs and wobbles his way to the landing. “Did you pay Mach?”
“Nope. You’ll need to settle that tomorrow.”
“I don’t even want to know what that looks like.” He stumbles into his room at the end of the hall and falls face-first into the blankets. He’s snoring before his dangling feet stop moving.
Turning to go, I stop in my tracks at the sight before me. Layla is standing just inches away. Her straight hair hangs loose over her narrow shoulders, her body’s curves on full display in the clingy white one-piece shorts and tee-shirt thing she has on.
“I can smell the liquor from here,” she says, waving her hand back and forth in front of her face as she peers around the corner at Finn. “He’s in one piece. I’ll call Machlan and let him know.”
A niggle of jealousy fires away. “You know Machlan?”
“Of course.” She pulls the door closed and then stands with her hands on her hips. “Crave is our favorite place. They have great hamburgers and sometimes, if Peck is in a good mood, the best steaks you’ve ever had.”
“I make a good steak. How do you like it?”
“Well done.” She walks by me, the scent of pineapples trailing behind her. She doesn’t look over her shoulder to see if I follow, and while I’m sure I seem like a lost puppy, I do, indeed follow.
“Well done isn’t even steak anymore,” I contend, a couple of steps behind her. “It’s overpriced hamburger at that point.”
“So you probably don’t agree with dipping it in ketchup either?”
I just look at her, making her laugh. She flips on the lights in the kitchen and retrieves a bottle of red wine from the fridge.
“I did a whole piece on dipping sauces on my blog,” she says, bottle in hand. “I tried a Chimichurri, an ancho-chile-almond sauce, this fruit one that had plums and cherries that was supposed to be out of this world.” She wrinkles her nose. “Turns out, I just like ketchup.”
“I just like that you’ve thought so much about it,” I chuckle.
“I’m not a normal girl. You hear men complain all the time about their girlfriend not knowing what they want for dinner. Look, I knew what I wanted for dinner at lunchtime because I’ve been thinking about it since then.”
Her face has been stripped of makeup, a set of diamond stud earrings shine from her earlobes. She looks fresh, clean, so natural. My chest tingles like I’ve just taken a shot of Jager, and I haven’t had any damn Jager all night.
She bends over and picks up a napkin off the floor. Her cleavage is on full display, her shirt scooping so low it’s obvious there’s no bra on those babies.
She lifts a glass from the counter and pours a glass half-full with wine. “Want some?”
“I definitely want some,” I croak, licking my lips.
She rolls her eyes. “Wine, Best. Do you want some wine?”
“I better not,” I say. “Have any lemonade in there?”
“I do.” She sets down the wine glass and grabs a clean one from the cabinet. “I’ll pour some and head to the porch. Why don’t you go wash Crave off yourself.”
“How about I pour the lemonade and you wash me?”
“I can’t deal with you,” she laughs and leaves the room.
I watch her go, her ass swaying to the beat of a song I can’t hear. Leaping off the stool, I head to the shower. She’s right—I gotta get something off, but it isn’t Crave.