7. Communication is Key
7
Tessa
“Let’s do this!”
I laugh as Skye shuffles through my front door carrying two of the biggest bottles of tequila I’ve ever seen. After closing the door behind her, I follow her into the kitchen where Hadley and Roxy are sitting around the table, sipping on cans of spiked seltzer.
“No. Nuh-uh. Get that nasty shit out of your hands,” Skye says, plopping the bottles of liquor onto the table between them. “Time to drink like real women.”
“I like the raspberry lime ones,” Hadley says, yanking her can away from Skye’s attempt to snatch it from her.
“You don’t expect us to drink all this tequila tonight, do you?” Roxy asks, eyeing the glass bottles. “Oh, shit. Are there actually worms in there?”
“Of course, not,” Skye huffs, looking at Roxy like she’s lost her marbles. “It’s tequila, not mezcal.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“Nope. Not giving you a lesson on the nuances of agave-based alcohol. Just grab some shot glasses, Tessa.”
“How about margaritas instead? I have a bottle of mixer, some rim salt, and some limes,” I say, my stomach a little queasy at the thought of shooting straight tequila all night.
“Fine,” Skye says with a frown. “We’ll make margaritas. But we start things off with a toast and a shot.”
Conceding, I grab four shot glasses from the cabinet and set them on the table. Skye fills each one to three-quarters full, and we each take one and lift it into the air.
“To life’s pleasures,” Hadley says.
“To life’s joys,” I add, saying my part.
“To lots of sex,” Roxy says.
“With big, strong boys!” Skye adds, finishing our habitual toast before we clink our glasses together and throw the shots back.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask Hadley, noting the pink color on her cheeks and her drawn expression.
“What?” she says, seeming to snap out of whatever funk she’d momentarily fallen into. “Yeah, I’m fine. Great, really. Why do you ask?”
I open my mouth to mention her strange behavior, but her eyes plead with me to just drop it. Snapping my mouth closed, I shake my head, and she smiles gratefully.
“So, Tessa,” Skye says as I hand her the glasses and ingredients to mix our drinks before heading to the freezer for some ice cubes.
“Yeah?” I ask, coming back with the ice bin and setting it on the table beside her.
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the coffee shop the other day because you were busy, but I saw Riggs Malone across the street just staring at the shop.”
“Nope. Not talking about him,” I say firmly.
“He recognized me,” she goes on like I didn’t just put the kibosh on the conversation. “Called my name and waved and everything.”
“Did you go talk to him?” Hadley asks.
“I…communicated,” Skye says, then flips up her middle finger with a deep growl.
“Oh, my God, Skye,” Roxy says with a laugh. “Can I be you when I grow up?”
“You wish,” Skye says with a wink as she hands Roxy the first margarita. “Just remember, communication is key.”
“Maybe you should try talking to him,” Hadley says, and the rest of us look at her like she’s grown a second head. “What? You’re both adults now, and the past is the past. Maybe he’s different.”
“Yeah, Tessa,” Skye says sarcastically, “maybe you should bake him a plate of goodies and welcome him to the neighborhood.”
“Riggs Malone isn’t getting anywhere near my goodies,” I say, taking a long drink of the cocktail she hands me.
Everyone laughs––even Hadley––and we take our drinks into the living room. Sitting on the floor around the coffee table, I tell Hadley and Skye about Riggs’ visit to Beans & Books. As much as I protested talking about him, I can’t seem to stop the flow of words spewing from my mouth.
“And I haven’t seen him since,” I say, lifting my glass to drain what’s left of it.
Skye takes my glass and heads back into the kitchen. She reemerges a few moments later with a fresh drink, and I thank her before taking a sip. Setting the glass down, I cross my arms over my chest and frown.
“Just who does he think he is, anyway?” I growl. “Coming back here like he owns this town? And trying to talk to me like he didn’t try to trick me out of my V-card for a bet? Asshole.”
“People can change,” Hadley offers, always the voice of reason.
“They don’t change that much,” Roxy replies. “We should do something.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, the tart liquid in my glass disappearing faster than the first one did.
“What I mean is…” she says, pausing dramatically to look us each in the eye, “maybe it’s time for some sweet revenge.”
“Oh, I like it,” Skye says, rubbing her palms together. “What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I have a few ideas.”
“Hold that thought,” Skye says, then hops up to head back into the kitchen.
I hear some banging around before she shouts “Yes,” then a couple of minutes pass before she reappears with a pitcher full of green liquid and a bowl of ice cubes. Once everyone’s glasses are refilled, she sits back down and looks at Roxy.
“Okay, you may proceed.”
Roxy shoots her a devilish smile, then looks at me. “Do you still have that spray paint I saw on the shelf in your garage?”
“Yeah, it’s still out there,” I say slowly, my gaze narrowing in suspicion.
“Here’s what I have in mind,” she says, leaning forward and waving for us to do the same.
When she finishes, Skye pumps a fist in the air, I shake my head in disbelief, and Hadley outright denies the plan.
“Don’t you think that’s a little childish?” she asks.
“Nope,” Roxy says, grinning as she takes another swig of her margarita.
“We could get arrested,” Hadley argues.
“For what?” Skye asks. “It’s just a harmless prank.”
“Trespassing, destruction of property, and defamation of character, to name a few,” Hadley says ticking the items off on her fingers.
“Okay, maybe trespassing,” Roxy says flippantly. “But nothing is being destroyed, and it’s not defamation if it’s true.”
“You know it’s not true,” Hadley groans.
“Do I?” Roxy shoots back, arching a brow.
“He’ll never know it’s us,” Skye says. “And even if he suspects, he won’t be able to prove it.”
Hadley looks to me for help, and I stare at her with unfocused eyes for a moment, before tossing back the rest of my drink and slamming the glass to the table.
“Let’s do it.”
“Yes!” Roxy shouts as she pushes herself to her feet. “I’ll get the paint. Tessa, you grab us some dark clothing from your closet. We need disguises, just in case.”
“You in, Had?” I ask, sending Hadley a pleading look and fluttering my eyelashes for good measure.
“Ugh, fine,” she says.
“Yay,” I squeal, clapping my hands together, then I rush into my room to find us some clothes.
A few minutes later, we’re all dressed in black leggings and dark-colored shirts. Skye and I have on ball caps, but I found a couple of black beanies for Roxy and Hadley. With Roxy’s fire-red hair and Hadley’s platinum blonde locks, they’d be too recognizable if they let it show. Skye and I are both brunettes, so our hair will blend with the shadows.
We shuffle outside on unsteady feet––Skye mixes a mean margarita––and giggle like schoolgirls as we zigzag across my front lawn and into Riggs’. Roxy hands us each a can of spray paint, and we get to work. By the time we’ve finished our masterpiece, I’m surprised the whole neighborhood hasn’t come out on their lawns to see what the ruckus is.
Miss Nelly’s porch light flicks on, and we scurry away, laughing as we slip and slide on the damp grass. I push through my front door with the others hot on my heels, and we collapse onto the living room floor, all of us breathing hard like we just ran a marathon.
“That was epic,” Skye says between heavy pants.
“I wish I could see his face when he finds it,” Roxy adds.
“I just hope we don’t live to regret it,” Hadley sighs.
“No regrets,” I say firmly. “Riggs Malone deserves whatever he gets.”