Chapter 29
CARMEN
My eyes screw shut as the stiff drink burns its way down my throat.
I shake some sense back into my head and cough into my wrist. “What was that?”
Maddie, whose face is still contorted across from me, answers, “Scarlett insists on us starting with a shot of that every time we have a girls’ night out.”
“Hey, nights out are about unwinding,” Scarlett answers with a grin. “You lightweights can switch to seltzers or whatever if you want, but a good night out needs the right start.”
I haven’t hung out with these girls too many times, but I already feel comfortable around them.
I don’t know if it’s too early to really think of them as friends, but I do know that I’ve never been part of a group like this, a group I’m actually eager to let my guard down around.
And after the best week of writing I’ve had in a long, long time, the idea of rewarding myself with a good time is appealing.
“You know what? Fuck it,” I say, making eye contact with Scarlett. “Let’s order another round.”
Scarlett flags over a waitress, and we place a new order. Scarlett and I both order the same shot. Jasmine and Harper get a lighter cocktail. Maddie, true to Scarlett’s prediction, orders a seltzer. The service is quick tonight, and soon we have our drinks.
“Lightweight,” Scarlett teases Maddie as she reaches for hers.
“Degenerate,” Maddie parries back.
Scarlett shrugs with a smile, like the truth of Maddie’s claim is water off her back. “To being ourselves,” she says, offering her glass up for a toast.
At my old college, when I’d go out with people like this, usually acquaintances in my and my ex’s shared social circle, myself is the last thing I ever felt like. But with these girls, it’s easy. It’s comfortable to just be me. They don’t expect anything else.
I just don’t know if they’ll continue to be so welcoming if what Jamie and I are doing gets too emotionally messy and I end up hurting him …
I quickly join the rest of the girls in clanking my glass against theirs and then downing my drink. Tonight is about relaxing and having fun, two things I’ve done far too little of in the last year, and I shouldn’t waste it worrying about potential disaster.
We talk for a while about Jasmine’s trip to Japan that she’s taking during spring break.
She has an older cousin she’s close to who got a job with a company in Tokyo, who’s going to let her stay at her place for free.
That sets off a conversation about what places in the world we all want to see.
Harper talks about her trip to Paris earlier this year.
The girls jump at the opportunity to bring me up to speed on Harper and Sebastian’s history, how they used to hate each other, and the role that Paris trip played in them falling in love.
Harper and Sebastian are both smart and witty, so I can’t stop thinking that I’d have loved to have a front row seat to some of the verbal sparring they used to engage in. It would probably inspire some dialogue for the main characters of my book.
Speaking of which, eventually the conversation turns to my writing.
“So we’re definitely going to be characters in one of your books, right, Carmen?” Jasmine asks.
Maddie gasps, excitement bursting onto her face. “Oh my gosh! I never even thought of that! Of course we’re going to be characters! Right?”
The twinge of embarrassment that always comes when I talk to people about my writing hits me. But I try to push it down. These girls have made me feel nothing but proud and confident in my journey as a writer. I should be eager to talk with them and joke around about it.
“Well, I will need a lot of victims if anyone actually reads my first book and wants me to continue the series.”
Maddie’s face lights up even brighter. “Oh! I want to be a murder victim!”
The other four of us double over laughing. Maddie being desperate to get murdered in a book is too much.
“What kind of murder?” Harper asks when we get our breath back. “Assassination? Crime of passion? Kidnapped and chopped up in a remote cabin?”
Maddie taps her index finger thoughtfully against her chin.
“I like the sound of a crime of passion. Like, my husband’s jealousy over the way men look at me every time we go out together—because I’m so beautiful and glamorous—slowly drives him insane.
He murders me because he’s convinced I’m having an affair. ”
“Would you be having an affair?” Jasmine asks.
Maddie gasps, offended. “Of course not! I’d never cheat, not even on my insanely jealous, rich, possibly Mafia-boss fictional husband.”
“If you’re going to get murdered for it, you’d might as well get some hot sex out of the exchange,” Scarlett argues.
“Never,” Maddie says proudly. “I’m not the cheating type. Even if he does deserve it. I’m going to be a wrongful murder victim, thank you very much.”
Harper snorts. “I think it would be wrong of your insanely jealous Mafia-boss husband to murder you even if you had cheated.”
“I can concede that,” Maddie answers thoughtfully, “but I still didn’t do it.”
“I don’t think I want to be a murder victim,” Harper says.
“Fraidy-cat,” Maddie interjects.
“But can I be one of the murderers?” Harper continues.
“Me, too!” Scarlett jumps on. “What if Harper and I are a travelling serial killer duo? We’ve been getting away with it for years—until we show up in your town.”
One of my eyebrows hitches. “That could be an interesting idea.”
Jasmine lets out a whine. “What can I be, then? The murderer and murder victim are already taken, and those are the two most interesting roles in a mystery book!”
“You could be a colorful side character,” Maddie offers sympathetically.
Jasmine pouts. “I guess …”
We keep laughing over ridiculous conversations, and the drinks keep coming. Before long, I realize I’m tipsy. My cheeks feel pleasantly warm, and it’s all too easy to keep the smile on my face.
“Hey, isn’t that Veikko?” Maddie says, nodding across the bar.
It is. Veikko is standing leaning against the bar counter, throwing back a shot. He slams the glass onto the counter and orders another one, which he downs just as quickly.
I know none of us girls are ones to talk, given how we’ve been indulging in alcohol this evening, but the way Veikko’s drinking seems … concerning. Probably because, even at this distance, he’s radiating a negative energy that’s clearly fueling his consumption.
We watch him make eye contact with a girl sitting near him. A strange look passes over his face, almost a grimace. Then he orders another shot, sucks it down, and sighs with a strange kind of resignation before he approaches her. It’s almost like he’s forcing himself to do so.
“What’s going on with him?” I ask.
Harper sighs. “I don’t know. But I know Sebastian’s been worried about him. He and Felix are having some giant spat that no one knows the reason for.”
But we’re all too tipsy and having too good a time to focus too much on the hunky Finnish hockey player.
We keep drinking and keep laughing over absurd conversations.
At one point, a song Harper and Maddie love starts to play, and the girls even succeed in dragging me onto the dance floor for a little while.
When we get back to our table, I’m sweaty, out of breath, and quickly graduating from tipsy to wasted. If I’m being honest, I’m probably there already. That’s confirmed when I go to use the bathroom and find that my ability to walk in a straight line is severely impaired.
On my way back to our table, my dizziness veers me off course, and I end up colliding with a hard, broad object. My alcohol-soaked brain soon realizes it’s a chest. A very well-built, manly chest.
For a moment, it makes me think of Jamie, and a fuzzy feeling glides through me. Then I look up and see that the man looking down at me with a smirk is definitely not Jamie. The feeling quickly retreats, replaced with a cold one.
“Sorry,” I blurt, taking a stumbling step backward.
The man’s hands rest on my shoulders, steadying me. My lips curl in a frown. I don’t like the way his hands feel on me. Not that there’s even anything objectively wrong with them. They’re just not Jamie’s.
If I were sober, my brain would be trying to convince me that there’s some other reason I recoil from this stranger’s touch. But my inebriated brain can do nothing but recognize the truth.
“Careful, sugar,” the guy says. He talks with a southern accent that doesn’t sound too bad on his smooth voice, objectively speaking.
“I’m okay,” I answer, shrugging out of his grasp.
“Hope our loss last week isn’t what’s driving you to drink so much tonight,” he says with a wink.
My brow furrows. “Loss?”
“The football game.” His grin notches higher. “Maybe it’s better if you didn’t watch this one. Watch next week. My knee’s feeling better, so you’ll get to see me make a couple sacks this time.”
I blink, feeling disoriented in this random conversation. “Oh. I’m not really into sports. Except hockey.”
Why did I say that? I’m not into hockey, either. Just because I watched the last couple games and found my eyes glued to the screen whenever Jamie was on the ice, doesn’t mean I’m into it.
A cocky glimmer lights up in his eyes. “We’ll have to make you a fan, then. I’m sure I can get you tickets to the next home game. And a jersey, too. I bet you’d look real good with a star edge rusher’s name on your back.”
“She doesn’t need any man’s name on her back to look good.”
My stomach tilts. My heart patters in response to the familiar voice that just slid into the conversation.
Jamie steps between the football player and me. His green eyes flash with protectiveness.
“O’Donnell,” the football player nods.
“Harrisson,” Jamie nods back.
They’re both guarded and drawn up like two rams about to butt heads. It’s a bit ridiculous. But if I said that being right next to Jamie as he squares his shoulders and radiates possessive energy isn’t just a little bit hot, I’d be lying.
Harrisson nods toward me, his eyes still latched onto Jamie’s. “Your girl?”
Jamie glances at me for a beat. My stomach curls in anticipation of how he’s going to answer that question.
“First of all, she’s her own girl. Second of all, she’s definitely not yours.”
Harrisson sizes up Jamie, then smirks. “Not tonight, I guess.”
“Not ever.”
One of the football player’s eyebrows rises. “You sure about that?”
“Very.”
The tension simmering between the two men ratchets up for moment, before Harrisson shrugs and relaxes his posture. “Alright, O’Donnell. Have a good night with your girl.”
Jamie just told him that I’m nobody’s girl, but he doesn’t feel the need to correct Harrisson this time.
Worryingly, neither do I.