Chapter 1
Chapter One
Ripley
Present
Icackle at Brooks’ angry expression as I slide a full shot glass across the table. He unclenches the fist he has lying on the table and white-knuckles the small drink all the way to his scowling mouth. He shoots it back and continues to glare in my direction.
“The rules of Redneck Wrecked are very clear,” I say innocently.
“The fuck they are, Ripley. You keep changing them every five minutes,” he growls before turning to Margot, who is tucked snuggly under his arm in the booth we’ve commandeered.
Pressing his face into her wild curls, he whispers into her ear, too quiet for me and Thea to hear over the sounds of Louie’s Bar on a Thursday night.
She blushes, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
It’s sweet. They’re sweet. Somewhere between their first date and the arrest of her stalker, she somehow tamed the big, bad Brooks, and he brought her out of her shell, blah blah blah.
I plaster on a smile, trying to remember how I should act because I’m supposed to be happy for them.
And I am, truly.
Deep down there’s happiness. Somewhere. In some basement level of my psyche, down a long, dimly lit corridor, past a few locked doors, you can find all the happiness in the world for my friends—my family. They’re coupled up and in love and getting engaged and—
Fuck, fine. I hate it here.
I’m bitter and salty—and maybe even a tiny, minuscule part of me is jealous—they’ve found their happily-ever-afters.
And I’m here alone. Waiting, day in and day out.
Waiting for my phone to ding. Waiting for a reply that sometimes takes ten long hours to come since he works all the time because he’s a serious adult person with serious responsibilities.
Serious businessman West.
Fuck, I miss him. I miss him walking in through my hotel room door and leaving that perfectly pressed suit at the threshold before he calls me pretty and makes me forget my name for the weekend.
Ugh, I need to get laid.
I barely finish the thought when Thea elbows my side.
Her hazelnut eyes are glassy and gleeful in a way only tequila can make them.
Tequila is also to blame for her humorously loud stage whisper when she says, “Oh, look who’s here!
Oop, and he’s looking.” She melts into a fit of giggles at my shoulder.
I look over to the door and track a tall, tattooed man walking over to the bar, eyes locked on our table. He glances at Thea first, then at me. And his gaze lingers, lips twisting up a little, before the spell is broken, and he’s just another patron ordering a drink at the bar.
Archer Bennett. He showed up in town about two and a half years ago and has now become a staple.
A staple at Prickly Rose.
A staple at Louie’s.
A staple in my bed a couple of times a week.
I don’t even know how it happened. He kept showing up all the time: at RED for lunch, here, in the fucking town square when Thea and I went to the farmer’s market.
At first, I thought he had a thing for Thea, always asking her questions, laughing at the things she said. Big golden retriever puppy energy.
Then there was a moment. He came around RED when Thea wasn’t there and somehow talked me into giving him a private tour of the closed distillery. And give him a tour I did.
Well, more like I toured him. With my cock. In the rackhouse against the straight rye we’d barrelled a few weeks prior.
Our hands brushed while I was explaining how the condenser works, and his eyes caught mine with a question, and then I found myself doing to him things that I’d yelled at Brooks about numerous times when I’d caught him back there with some girl or another.
Archer is the only other queer man I know living in Indigo Hill. Of course there are tourists passing through of all sorts of identities and orientations. And I’ve had my dalliances with a number of them, but he’s the only one here.
Which makes him convenient but also a bit of a problem.
As far as I know, he’s out. At the very least he doesn’t hide his sexuality.
Moving here from NYC, he hasn’t had a reason to keep that part of himself private.
When I asked him to keep this… thing between us just between us, he was cool with it at first. But now…
now every time I remind him, I can practically see his sad puppy ears droop when his shoulders slump on the way out the door at 3 a.m.
I’m absolutely using him. And it’s probably why I haven’t said anything to Thea about him.
It’s not something I’m proud of. She thinks he has a crush on me.
And maybe he does, but I see zero future with him, he’s too sweet for me.
And the sex is good, great even. It’s just not explosively, amazingly, make-me-see-stars great, not like with… West.
Everything always comes back to him. Years. Years of constant texting and video calls, and I still don’t even know the man’s name. Fuck me.
“Who’s up for a nightcap at RED?” I ask the table.
I’m ready to get out of here, anything to avoid an awkward run in with my fuckbuddy.
They all agree, and I go over to the bar to settle up our tab.
Archer tries to catch my eye again, but I resist, pushing my glasses up my nose, waiting as the bartender runs my card.
I’ve been clear on what this is—and even clearer on what it isn’t—and he needs to get on board with it.
Stepping outside, I take a deep breath of the warm April air.
Winter hung around much too long this year.
Tonight is a perfect mid-sixty degrees. I find Thea and Margot chatting at the corner of the building as Brooks smokes a little farther away.
He’s been trying to quit, but he says the cravings are a bitch when he drinks, something else he doesn’t do much of anymore without an occasion.
Thea links her arm with mine, her eyes on her phone as we walk the few blocks to RED.
“How’s Care Bear?” I ask, still using the nickname he hates.
“He’s good, out to dinner with Seth. He says hi,” she replies with a dreamy smile. Her fiancé flew out to Seattle a few days ago. He’s a silent owner of a restaurant there and had a few meetings with the other owners—one of whom is Seth, his best friend—about some changes they’re making.
“You said he’ll be back by Saturday?”
“Yup, I can’t wait!”
“Yeah, can’t wait to get railed on every surface of your house,” I say teasingly, knowing how true the statement is. The two of them have barely come up for air since they got back together a year and a half ago. I try not to touch anything when I visit.
“And Seth’s coming with him? Is he staying with you guys?”
“He’s flying in on Wednesday and getting a hotel room. He didn’t want to intrude on our space.”
“Must be nice to be able to afford a month-long hotel stay.” From what Thea’s told me of their history, the man comes from money and apparently wasn’t taught humility. She’s thrown around words like “snob” and “silver spoon” when describing him.
“Mmmhmmm,” she hums. “But honestly, it’s probably better. I’d be losing my mind having to watch what I say or do inside my own house.”
“Are you sure you want him here? I know you guys have big plans for the B Thea’s still texting, her glass ignored, Margot’s taking tentative sips—I know bourbon is not her drink of choice—and Brooks shoots his like the tequila we’ve been putting back all night. Fucking savage.
“Alright, nightcap done, time to go,” says Brooks, hopping off his stool and swatting at his girlfriend’s butt to get her moving. “I have to get Margot home. She has an early day tomorrow.”
“Oh, I’m okay,” she says in her sweet Margot way.
“I don’t have to go in til two.” She smiles up at Brooks, and they share a not-so-subtle silent exchange that screams let’s get out of here so we can fuck like bunnies until the sun comes up.
“On second thought, I am really tired. Thanks for the fun night,” she adds, jumping off her seat and coming around to hug Thea then me.
“Have fun boinking—I mean sleeping!” I call to their retreating backs as they head out through the distillery. Brooks’ casual wave of his middle finger is the only reply I get.
I refill my glass and turn to Thea. “What’s going on with your boo?”
She finally turns her phone screen side down, indicating I have her full attention and smiles. “Oh, nothing, he’s back at Seth’s now. Cary tried to get him to go and meet up with a few of their friends, but Seth said he had to get back and look over a few reports.”
“Well, he sounds like fun,” I deadpan. “You sure you guys want him as the best man? I can’t imagine what the bachelor party will turn into since a board meeting seems like his idea of a good time.”
“Stop,” Thea says as she giggles. “He’s not that bad. I mean, I don’t love the guy, and he works way too much, but he’s been a good friend to Cary for a long time. Besides, what’s his alternative? Brooks?”
We both shudder at the thought of putting Brooks in charge of planning a stag night—we’d all either end up arrested or he’d forget to show up, there’s no in between.