Ash

If there were ever an extreme sports of mixology event, Ash’s best friend Bobby Jordan would be the undefeated world champion. Who knows why Ash’s best friend had decided on Singapore Sling as the signature cocktail of the evening for his bar’s annual Twelfth Night party. Maybe because he looked good mixing them.

Bobby slid the drink across the bar. “Why do you have to make it a girly drink, man?” Ash asked.

His friend grinned at him. “Because of exactly that. Girls, man. Girls come to my bar for my good looks and they stay because I know how to mix the pretty, pretty drinks. And they like to watch me.”

Ash shook his head and drawled, “Well, I ain’t so much interested in the ladies tonight, so how ’bout I come back there and fix myself something to put hair on my chest?”

Bobby laughed. “You don’t need no more hair on that chest, ape man. Besides, everybody knows you need a nice little chicky-poo to get your mind off of Valerie. She fucked you up good and you need to move on.”

Ash shook his head and sipped his drink. It was sweet and cloying like candy. Girly drink for sure. “This is terrible. Move over, Bobby.”

Bobby blocked him. “No, man, this is my bar. and this ladies night shindig is my own personal Thank-Your-Personal-Baby-Jesus-Christmas-Is-Over Party. I insist. Here, I’ll make you an old-fashioned.”

“I’d appreciate it, thanks. And try not to be jealous of my chest hair. I can’t help it that God doubled down on my testosterone.” Ash pounded his fist on one of his pumped-up pectorals.

Bobby mixed up the old-fashioned and slid it in front of his friend, then his eyes glanced past Ash with an odd look on his face. “Sure, pal. Let’s hope you still got some of that manhood left to work with after what Val did to you, because you’re gonna need it.”

“What are you talking about?” Ash sipped his drink. Bobby nodded to the front door. Ash swiveled around in his barstool and suddenly felt as if he had been struck dumb.

He stood up, because that’s what you do in the presence of a queen. And that’s about all that he knew how to do at the moment when she locked eyes with him.

He didn’t know her name, but she looked like she knew him. She was taking off her flimsy lace shawl with the silver fringes and handing it over to Penny LeFleur.

“Who is that?” Ash asked his friend without taking his eyes off her.

“I believe that’s a client of Penny’s at the design studio. Penny said something about bringing her along tonight. She supposedly landed a big fish with this account. I don’t know her name, but she’s old money. Way older than your sorry-ass Boudreaux money, my man.”

Ash turned to his friend and laughed. “Oh yeah, then why’s she partying over here in Freret and not whisking our girl away to some tony club in the Garden District?” He took a healthy gulp of his drink and enjoyed the burn on the way down.

“I don’t know, I guess she and Penny hit it off.”

Ash turned again and she was still watching him. And now, she was approaching. The woman had deep brown, intense eyes, high cheekbones, a heart-shaped face, and wild blonde hair. He had the feeling she was about to hit it off with more than just Penny. Was it possible that this incredible-looking female was making a beeline for him? Was he dreaming?

Ash detected her scent long before she slithered up close to the bar and stood right next to him. It was a mix of sandalwood and lavender. The big, bad wolf in him latched on to it.

She wore a dangerously short sequin dress, five-inch fuck-me heels. Her hair and makeup looked impeccable. No way that wasn’t professional. At least ten pounds of antique diamonds sparkled on her wrists, neck and earlobes.

“What you drinkin’, darlin’?” Her eyes homed in on the girly drink on the bar next to Ash, the one he had tasted and set aside in exchange for his old-fashioned. Her voice felt like a cool satin sheet sliding across his chest on a steamy night in July.

Ash was doing his best not to drool. He kept his eyes focused on hers, despite knowing full well her nipples were trying to poke through the thin fabric of that glittery dress. But even focusing on her eyes—her long lashes accented with some kind of teeny rhinestones that gave her the look of an unearthly snow queen—gave him an insta-boner.

“Ah…” He looked for words. Words, man, think of words. The woman asked you a question. “Old-fashioned. What’s your poison? I’ll fix you whatever.”

“Hey, that’s my job,” Bobby said, interrupting, but Ash ignored him.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the girly drink. Every time she spoke, her lashes fluttered at him like she was beckoning him to come closer.

“Ah…Singapore Sling or some shit that my man Bobby here thought would help him seduce the ladies.”

“Hey!” Bobby said.

The Snow Queen smiled and picked up the girly drink. “I love these colorful cocktails,” she said. “Makes me happy to look at them.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Ma’am, let me make you a fresh one, that one has Ash’s cooties all over it.”

She leaned sideways against the bar and sassily thrust out one hip. She spoke to Bobby but kept her eyes trained on Ash. “I ain’t scared of Ash’s germs. He looks like good people to me.” And then she winked one of those gorgeous brown eyes, picked up the cocktail and held it aloft.

“To Ash and his cooties,” she said, raising her glass. Ash laughed and raised his drink, not knowing what to say back.

“Rosemary,” she said, as if answering the question by reading his mind. “My name is Rosemary.”

He nodded and they clinked glasses. “To Rosemary. My favorite flavor.”

They kept their eyes locked on each other as they sipped their drinks. Then they surprised each other by tossing back their drinks in two huge gulps.

Rosemary laughed as she watched him dab a tiny dribble off his chin and slam his glass on the bar. Then she followed suit, with a bravado that matched his. Shit, a woman who can drink, too.

He held out his hand, “Ashton Boudreaux.”

She smiled coyly and accepted his proffered hand. “Rosemary DuChamps.”

If Ash had been drinking as she announced her family name, he would have done a comedic spit take. “Did you say DuChamps? As in DuChamps Shipping?”

She sighed and pushed her empty glass toward Bobby. “Bartender, how ’bout another one of those,” she said, laying on the drawl thickly. Then she turned back to Ash. “And DuChamps Trucking. And DuChamps Sugar. And DuChamps Steel. Yes. That one. Got any more questions about my rich daddy?”

Ash could tell she was on the verge of walking away. She likely got asked out a lot just because of her family name. He decided against asking any more questions about her family or its well-known colossal amounts of money. “I do not. You got any questions about my daddy and his slightly smaller-but-respectable fortune?”

She raised an eyebrow. “And tell me, Ashton, who is your daddy?”

Just then, Penny barged in and slumped an arm around Ash’s shoulder. “Why, everybody knows his daddy! Ash here’s the son of Jimmy Boudreaux of JB Chicken! I’m so glad to see y’all are getting acquainted! Rosemary, Ash. Ash, Rosemary; Bobby, Rosemary. Rosemary, Bobby. Y’all, Rosemary is officially in the crew now, I hope that’s OK. She is the best. The. Best.”

Yes, Penny was always this gregarious whenever the group got together. Especially when she’d had a few. It looked to Ash as if Penny had started early.

Rosemary laughed. “We pre-gamed at my place. Don’t worry, my driver dropped us off.”

“Aww, I love drunk Penny,” Ash said, putting an arm around his friend’s waist.

Rosemary’s other eyebrow went up in curiosity as she glanced back and forth between the two friends.

“Oh, no,” Ash said, anticipating her question. “We’re not a thing,” he said. “We’re just friends, always just friends. We’ve known each other since, what, homeschool days?”

Penny laughed, “Yeah, I gotta remember to tell you a story about the time Ash and Bobby and the rest of the crew put on a big talent show just for the parents…”

Bobby cut her off, coming around the bar and putting a supporting arm around her. “Yes, that’s a good story, I’m sure you’ll remember to tell it tomorrow. Meanwhile, come along, ol’ Lucky Penny. Something I need you to see. Our old homie Vann West sent me an aged bottle of Suntory all the way from Tokyo.”

Penny was immediately distracted. “Oh my gawd, let’s open that bitch!”

Ash and Bobby nodded at each other. Bobby busted Ash’s chops constantly, but he was a good wingman. Bobby knew right away that Ash didn’t want this Snow Queen knowing all his embarrassing homeschool stories.

As Bobby and Penny disappeared to share the bottle with the rest of the gang, Rosemary goggled at him. “You guys are friends with Vann West, the famous TV chef?”

He gave her his best crooked “aw shucks” grin. “He’s just another kid from the old gang, you know? It’s not an exclusive club or anything. We have room for new friends, too, even if her name is DuChamps.”

She sipped a second Singapore Sling and shot him a devious look. “Just one problem.”

Ash leaned in and got a whiff of her perfume, layered on top of her natural scent. It was a tricky thing, picking a fragrance that fit with one’s scent, as well as all the other things that mingled together on a woman’s body. Lotion, moisturizer, chapstick, hair products. Somehow the Snow Queen had gotten it all 100 percent aligned perfectly. Nearly impossible to do for a normal human woman, in Ash’s opinion.

There was no way they were not leaving together. “And what problem would that be?”

“I don’t wanna be your friend.”

Ash’s face fell. “Oh. OK.” He kept it cool. He guessed he should change that private nickname of hers to Ice Queen. He looked down at the bar, away from her gaze.

“Ash,” she said, bending close to catch his eye.

“Yeah?” he reluctantly met her gaze once again.

“You didn’t ask me what I do want.”

He shrugged. “All right then, non-friend. What do you want?”

God almighty, she could strike a man dead with that expression on her face, and that man would die happy. She said no words, but instead brought the little red cocktail straw up close to her lips, stuck out her tongue and slowly licked the straw from the tip on down to just below the rim. And then back up again to the tip. The entire time she did not break eye contact with Ash.

Damn. Those lips. He could already feel them on him. Around him. Who was this woman, sidling up next to him in that dangerous dress. He had learned her name, but who was she, really?

“Did Bobby get the date wrong?” he asked her.

“Excuse me, sugar?”

“I mean, this was supposed to be a Twelfth Night party, but all I can see in front of me is a juicy little Christmas present.”

She laughed and wolfed her second drink. Damn. Dayum. A hot ass who smells amazing, gets right to the point and can hold her liquor.

“Grandma, gimme that heirloom ring, ’cause I’m fixin’ to put it on this one,” he said, and could not keep himself from grinning ear to ear.

She set the glass on the bar and locked onto his eyes one more time. “You ’bout done talking, Boudreaux? ’Cause I myself am ready to go.”

He nodded, stood up straight and offered his arm to the lady.

“Good manners,” she commented.

“My mama didn’t raise a slouch. Bobby or any one of seven people here will make sure Penny gets home. Let’s go, Ms. DuChamps.”