Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Hollie
Considering we’re most likely going to a dive bar tonight, I seem to be taking a lot more care than usual over my makeup and styling my hair.
I try not to think too closely about the motives for this.
Definitely not Clay Jackson and his two two hot pack mates – three alphas who don’t even live in this house, who I am very unlikely to be bumping into tonight.
Still, on the off chance, I want to look my best. And besides, Annie gave me strict instructions: No slouchy jeans, no oversized hoodies.
Tonight is all about dressing up and having fun.
So I pull on a glitzy top, a short skirt and my stockings and head downstairs to meet my best friend.
I find her back in the family kitchen with her mom and dad.
And I’m relieved to find that she hasn’t set me up.
She’s also dressed up tonight. In fact, she’s wearing one of her legendary little black dresses.
“Wow,” Mr. J says, whistling. “Don’t you two look the part?”
Annie inspects me closely, signaling with her hand for me to spin. I oblige her and then she nods with satisfaction. “You look great, Hollie,” she says. “You’re going to have every cowboy in that bar drooling all over you.”
“Hmm,” I say, walking toward them all. “I’m not sure that’s exactly what I want. That sounds a little bit gross.”
Mr. J laughs and slides a bowl of pasta in my direction. There’s another already waiting in front of Annie. “Eat up, girls,” he says. “I know you haven’t seen each other for a while. I know there’s going to be drinks involved and I don’t want anyone vomiting in my truck.”
I glance at Annie. “Dad’s offered to drive us to the bar and back. Our own personal Uber driver.”
“Really?” I say. “Mr. J, that’s really kind. You don’t–“
“Don’t be silly. I’m perfectly happy to do it. But, like I said, eat up.”
He points at the creamy pasta. It smells divine and I don’t have any problem following his instructions.
“What are we wearing on your feet, Hollie?” Mrs. J asks as I wolf down the dish.
“Oh,” I say, swinging out my leg and peering down at my feet. “I guess my sneakers again?”
Annie drops her fork into her bowl, the action making a large clattering sound. “Hollie Bright,” she says, “did you bring no suitable footwear?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She points toward the window, where it’s snowing again. “There’s a foot of snow out there. You can’t wear sneakers. Did you bring no boots?”
I shrug. “I don’t own any boots,” I tell her. “I live in Rockview.”
“What size are your feet, honey?” Mrs. J says, as everyone now glances at my feet and I really wish I didn’t have a hole in my stockings and that my big toe wasn’t poking right out of that hole like an ugly toadstool.
“I’m a size eight,” I say.
“Perfect!” Mrs. J gasps, clapping her hands together and then darting from the room.
Annie shrugs, clearly as confused as I am by her mom’s actions. A few minutes later, Mrs. J reappears, a pair of brown cowboy boots dangling form her hands as well as a pair of woolly socks.
“Here,” she says, dropping them by my feet. “Try those on.”
“Are you sure?” I say, examining the boots.
They’re clearly well made with a pretty white floral design up the sides.
They look expensive and I’m known for my poor coordination.
In my lifetime, I’ve condemned three pairs of expensive shoes to the garbage because of spilled drinks – and two weren’t even mine. “I don’t want to ruin them.”
“Absolutely,” she says. “Boots were made for wearing. And these are my lucky boots.”
She glances toward Mr. J who winks back at her.
“Lucky. What does that mean?” my best friend says with suspicion.
“I was wearing these boots the night I met your dad,” Mrs. J says, smiling at her husband.
“And she looked drop-dead gorgeous in them too.”
“Ew,” Annie says, “please don’t say you were wearing these boots when Clay was conceived.”
Mrs. J glares at her daughter. “Your brother was born two years after we were married, and you know that perfectly well, young lady.”
“I know,” Annie says, “just teasing.”
“These boots sound really special,” I say to Mrs. J. “I couldn’t wear them.”
“‘Course you can,” she says. “It’s good to spread the luck around. Besides, I haven’t had a chance to wear them in ages. What with Paul’s hurt knee, we can’t go dancing anymore.”
“I’ll still take you dancing,” Mr. J says, holding out his hand and pulling his wife toward him, spinning her around under his arm. She giggles and I realize just how in love Annie’s parents still are.
“Wear the boots,” Annie says. “Mom’s right. We could do with some luck.” She leans close to me and whispers right in my ear. “And you could do with getting laid? How long has it been?”
“Too long,” I mutter.
“Exactly!”
“But you should wear them,” I protest. “they’re your parents–“
“They’re two sizes too small for me,” Annie yelps.
“And you need the luck too!”
Annie grins. “Nope.” I gape at her. “I’ll tell you about it later,” she promises, “Now come on, put them on.”
I pull on the woolen socks and then drop my feet into the left boot and then the right. I’m surprised to find, when I stand on my feet, that they’re incredibly comfortable. And not only that, they look really cute.
“Are you sure?” I ask Mrs. J one last time.
“Wouldn’t have offered them if I wasn’t,” she says. “Right, come on, Paul, get these girls out to the bar. They look too drop-dead gorgeous to be standing around in my kitchen.”
The snow looks even prettier as we drive out to the bar, all lit up by the headlights of Mr. J’s truck and reflecting the holiday lights of the few sparse properties we pass by along the way.
After 15 minutes of bumpy track, we’re back on the main road, and then another five and we hit Silver Creek, the nearest town.
The bar, the Dirty Boot, sits on the far side which means I get a good chance to ogle this little mountain town as we drive through.
There’s a grocery and a hardware store, a diner and what looks like a bakery with a giant gingerbread house in its window.
We also pass a few houses, and they look a million times more wintery and Christmassy than the houses back in Rockview with snow on their roofs, garlands hanging on their front doors and lights wound round the porches and the trees.
I feel as if I’ve stepped right inside a Christmas movie.
Another a few more minutes, we’ve reached the other side of town and Mr. J is pulling up his truck outside what looks like a ramshackle old barn, the beat of music, laughter and voices already carrying across toward us on the cold air.
“This is it?” I say, leaning forward to peer out the window. “You got me all dressed up to come here!”
“Do not judge a book by its cover, Hollie Bright,” Annie declares, swinging open the cab door and jumping down.
She beckons me to follow and I do, thanking Mr. J once more for the ride.
“I’ll be here at 12 to pick you girls up – your own personal pumpkin – unless I hear otherwise.”
Annie threads her arm through mine and leads me to the bar, the music booming even more loudly with every step closer we take.
I hiss at her, “Is this another one of your pranks? Are we gonna walk inside and everyone else is in baggy jeans and hoodies after all?”
“Hollie,” she says, “this is the only place there is to go out dancing unless you fancy driving through the night. Trust me, everyone is going to be dressed in their best glad rags. Anyway,” she says, shrugging, “since when do you care what people think?”
“Hello,” I say, “always. I’ve always cared what people think. You know that.”
“Well, you shouldn’t,” Annie says, leaning on the door and holding it open for me.
Warmth and even more noise blasts straight into my face and I see the bar is packed, absolutely packed. They’re three deep around the bar itself, every table is occupied and there’s a dance floor too, already full, a band on a stage at the back, playing their hearts out.
“Okay,” I say to Annie, “I take it back.”
Because she’s right, everyone’s dressed up, most people in their cowboy boots that they’ve definitely been shining, nearly every girl dressed either in a skirt, a dress, or jeans so tight they look like they could rip with any sudden movements, Men in shirts, hair gleaming with styling product.
The aroma is overpowering, especially to an omega like me – a thick cloud of perfume, aftershave, hairspray and beer. For a moment it has my head spinning.
Annie grips my arm that bit tighter and leads me through the crowds of people. Several I notice looking our way. Several sweeping their gazes up and down our bodies.
“Jeez,” I lean forward and hiss in Annie’s ear. “Are you sure this outfit’s okay? I feel like everyone’s looking at me.”
“Because you’re a newbie,” she says. “Everyone knows everyone around here, and anyone new stands out like a sore thumb.”
“Great,” I say, “terrific.”
“Stop moaning,” she says. “Let’s get some tequila.”
Annie’s only a couple of inches taller than me, and is way more upbeat than her brother, yet she still seems to conduct his air of dominance.
In fact, at times she can be downright scary.
She has no problem pushing her way through the crowds hovering by the bar, several giant-looking cowboys stepping right out of her way and letting her pass through, until finally we reach the bar itself.
It takes Annie no time to be served and I gather that’s because one of the barmen serving tonight has an almighty big crush on my best friend.
In fact, his whole face lights up like the Christmas trees I’ve seen outside when he spies her, bypassing all the other clients waiting to come serve us first.
“Hollie,” my friend shouts, because it’s hell of a noisy in this place, “This is Travis. Travis, Hollie.”
We shake hands over the bar and then Annie’s telling him to line up four shots of tequila – two each.
Travis winks at Annie and then gets to work and I shout right back in her ear, “Got anything to tell me about this ‘Dude’?”
Annie pinches me. “Let’s just say my sex drought has well and truly ended.”
I look the man over. He’s wearing a denim shirt, the sleeves rolled up, his forearms strong and covered in inks. Dark stubble covers his chin and his eyes are dark too. Just my friend’s type. I can see why she wanted to come here and why she wanted to dress up.
Travis lines up four shot glasses in front of us, drizzling the tequila along the row and, and then slamming a little pot of salt and two slices of lime down in front of us too.
“Thank you, Travis,” Annie says with a flirtatious smile.
“My pleasure, sweetheart,” he chimes right back, the two of them eye fucking each other.
I cough loudly, snapping Annie out of it before she’s tempted to leap over the bar and climb the barman.
“Ready?” Annie ask. Pouring some of the salt onto her hand and then some onto mine.
I peer at the tequila. Me and Annie used to go out drinking a lot back in our college days.
But since she left town, and my mom got sick, I’ve spent more time on my sofa in front of the TV than I have down at any bars.
My tolerance for alcohol must definitely have taken a nosedive.
Still, there’s no way I’m backing out now, and I think with all the eyes of the townsfolk on me tonight, I’m going to need a bit of Dutch courage.
“Ready,” I say, dragging my tongue along the salt. My friend does the same.
Then, I pick up my shot glass as Annie picks up hers. We tap them together and then Annie’s counting down. “Three, two, one.”
I tip my head back, throwing the drink into my mouth and swallowing it straight away. It’s about a million times stronger than I’m expecting and immediately I’m coughing and spluttering, my eyes watering.
“Lime!” Annie shouts.
I pick it up and shove it in my mouth, sucking furiously. I can already feel the mascara I carefully applied onto my eyelashes swimming down my face.
Of course, it is at this moment precisely that the cowboy from the field – looking somehow hotter than he did several hours ago – pushes his way through the crowd and joins us.
“Hey,” he says, tipping his hat in a way that makes my stomach flip.
I suck on the lime desperately, blinking furiously, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Crap.