13. Casey
thirteen
Casey
J une 9
“Welcome to Eagle Ridge. Love this town!” Oliver trilled as he parked our Prius on Eagle Ridge’s quaint little main street, and if I had been in a better mood, I might have agreed with him. The cutesy little shops and restaurants had the sweet, small-town vibes of a Hallmark movie. He’d already given me my gift, a cute new sweater to replace the one I’d ripped, and a rose gold birthday tiara and a sash that said ‘21st Birthday’ in matching glitter. "Okay, birthday boy, what’ll it be?"
“We should have gone to Seattle. This place is too charming.” I couldn’t shake my grumpiness as I followed my brother down the street. Peeking into the window of a beautiful art gallery, I made a note to come back when I was in a better mood. Sadly, today, I couldn’t shake the grumpiness — couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing was going right on my birthday. I hadn’t even seen Matt at all.
Not that I wanted to see Matt. It was just that I’d envisioned something more exciting for my birthday than dinner with my brother.Plus, it felt a tiny bit like Matt was avoiding me.
“Come on, get into the spirit of celebration! You’re twenty-one today, Case!”
I froze mid-stride, the scent of garlic fries slamming into me like a cartoon anvil. A weathered wooden sign swung ahead—Basecamp Grill, Est. 1996. BEST BURGERS IN THE CASCADES!
Oliver followed my gaze. “No.”
“Oh yes.” I hooked my arm through his, dragging him toward the cedar-planked building. “It’s my birthday, my choice! I’m sure they have something vegetarian. Besides, we have to eat somewhere that serves booze but still allows children inside.”
Oliver snorted. “I’m 19, hardly a child.”
“Tell that to the state liquor board. Only one of us is 21, and that one of us is going to lord it over you all day.” I felt vastly more cheerful.
“But I’m vegetarian,” Oliver protested. "And that's a grill."
“I’m sure they have salads.” I shoved open the heavy oak door, the bell jingling like Christmas morning. The interior smelled like heaven — sizzling bacon fat, caramelized onions, and hops. Antique snowshoes crisscrossed above the bar where a bearded guy polished pint glasses. Every table was carved with decades of initials, the wood sticky with history.
We slid into a corner booth decorated with a stuffed moose head wearing heart-shaped sunglasses. I tossed my phone on the table, blinking down at a text from our mom asking for some photos of the party. We’d done a FaceTime with them that morning, and I’d made it sound like we had a few more friends than we did, just so she wouldn’t worry. No need to let the parents know I was a loser who only had my little brother by my side on my 21st birthday. I sighed, and quickly snapped a selfie of myself and Oliver, adding a lie that we were waiting for the rest of the party to show up.
The server arrived with waters as I hung up, her tattooed arms balancing two massive menus. “Hey guys, I'm Jess, I'll be your server tonight. Want to start with some drinks?”
I whipped out my ID like Excalibur. “A beer!” I may have yelled that a bit too loud. She picked up the license, and grinned, taking in my sash and tiara.
“Wow, 21 today! Happy birthday! What are you thinking? We have all the local craft beers, or a cider?”
I blushed. “I don’t know. Until today I’ve been limited to whatever swill they serve at college parties.”
She grinned. “Been there. How about the sampler platter? On the house for the birthday boy.”
“Okay! I want to try it all!”
Oliver kicked me under the table. “And a sparkling water for me.”
Jess winked. “Coming right up. Kitchen’s got elk sliders on special tonight.”
I went with those, while Oliver leaned in and went over the vegetarian options with her. When she left, I slumped against the leather seat.
“Excited?” Oliver asked.
“Seems like a bit of a letdown. Shouldn’t there be shots? Confetti? Strangers buying me mystery drinks that might be roofied?”
Oliver’s left eyebrow shot up. “You were planning on being roofied on your 21st?”
“No, just partying, you know?”
The beer arrived on a big tray, with miniature frosty mugs lined up in a neat row, liquid in various shades of amber and gold glinting in the sun. I took my first legal sip—hoppy bitterness exploding across my tongue—and choked. “Tastes like tree bark brewed in gym socks!”
“Sip slower, grandpa,” Oliver suggested.
“Screw that.” I downed the next mini mug in three gulps, the carbonation making my throat tingle.
By the time our burgers arrived, my head felt pleasantly fuzzy. I got a cute little tray of miniature juicy patties oozing pepper jack cheese, stacked with onion rings, and Oliver got a decent-looking veggie burger.
“So why didn’t you invite Matt?” Oliver’s question made my heart sink into my stomach. Because, really, why hadn’t Matt asked me? Or Sutton, Ben, someone? Surely they knew my birthday from my employment paperwork, or from the not-so-subtle hints I’d been dropping all week.
I pushed down my loneliness. “Those losers? Not happening.” I signaled Jess for another beer, my favorite from the sampler platter. “This is my party, and I only want people I like here.” Glancing towards the door, I pushed down thoughts of Matt's sexy body, his cock sliding against mine, the way he moaned when he came.
The second beer went down smoother, warmth pooling in my stomach, and almost made me forget about Matt's abs. Almost. I munched on my food and looked out the window, watching the tourists pass by on the sidewalk — families pushing babies in strollers and dragging grumpy toddlers, retirees snapping photos of everything. It wasn't at all what I'd pictured when I'd imagined my 21st birthday.
Across the street, neon blinked to life—a cocktail glass logo above a door propped open with a cinderblock. The bassline of some 2000s pop anthem throbbed through the twilight, beckoning me. "A bar!"
Oliver followed my gaze. “Don’t. I can’t go with you in there.”
“Oh, come on, Ollie, it’s my 21st. I need to go to a bar, it's practically required by law. And they probably won’t even card you. You look very mature for your age.” That was a total lie, Oliver still got carded at PG-13 movies. I was sure the perfect skin and Korean babyface would serve him well when he got older and actually wanted to look young, but on a 19-year-old, it was not ideal.
“Casey—” Oliver bit into the last bit of his burger, and dabbed his lips delicately with a napkin. "We could get mochi from that Japanese place you like."
"I could also get shitfaced," I said. “It’s a 21st birthday rite of passage!”
"You've had plenty of beer already. And I don’t think your tolerance is as high as you think it is."
"Well, just to prove you wrong, I think I want another! Or some mixed drinks, something with umbrellas." The buzz of alcohol hummed pleasantly behind my eyes, blurring the edges of my stupid decisions. Twenty-one deserved more than a tasty dinner and a nine PM bedtime. I waved the waitress over and paid, giving her a healthy tip.
Oliver grabbed my elbow as I prepared to make a run for it. "That's the Outpost. Wade says they card hard."
I shook him off and jogged across the street, turning back to him as I stepped onto the sidewalk, and doing a little dance to the music inside. "Good thing I'm legal. Wait, Wade? Like the construction guy? When did you talk to him?”
Oliver shrugged. “Wade grew up here, so I asked him for tips on where to take you. And a bar is not the plan!”
“Live a little, Ollie. I’m sure you can get in.”
"Casey!" Oliver's shout muffled against closing doors.
The bouncer barely glanced at my ID before waving me into a dim room lined with kitschy neon and fake antique signs. Oliver could sneak in if he really wanted to. Sadly, my brother was a die-hard rule follower, so there was no way he’d be trying to sneak past the bouncer. Oh well, if no one wanted to party with me, I was determined to make a party on my own.
The bartender looked up from polishing glasses—early thirties, arms sleeved in geometric tattoos, smile sharp enough to cut glass. "Birthday boy?" He nodded at my birthday sash, which I’d forgotten I was wearing.
"Astute observation." I slid onto a cracked leather stool. "What's your strongest something that doesn't taste like regret?"
His chuckle warmed the space between my ribs. "Let's start with a daiquiri. It’s mostly sugar."
By the second daiquiri—complete with flamingo straw and three paper umbrellas—the world developed a pleasant tilt. My phone buzzed incessantly in my pocket.
Ollie:
You’re gonna die alone in a dive bar
Wade says Matt's looking for you. I guess you missed some memo.
CASEY ANSWER ME
Memo? I wasn't going to think about work on my 21st birthday! The bartender—Kyle, according to his name tag—leaned across the mahogany bar. "Trouble in paradise?"
"Paradise requires participants." I sucked down more sugary rum. "Ever hook up with someone so frustrating you want to throat-punch them mid-orgasm?"
Kyle's eyebrow arched. "Can't say I have."
"Well, if you do, I suggest you throat-punch them before..." I looked around the bar. “Ooh, a jukebox, let’s play something danceable."
"No one here to dance with," Kyle pointed out.
“What about that guy?” I asked, pointing to a man at the end of the bar.
Kyle snorted. “None of the regulars dance. But have at it, birthday boy.”
"Maybe you'd like a private show." The floor undulated like a waterbed as I stumbled toward the jukebox, and I had to give up halfway there, and fight my way back to the bench, muttering about how tricky walking had gotten. Kyle sighed and picked up a remote and put on one of my favorite dance tunes, but my attempt at body rolls dissolved into clutching the edge of the bar as my legs refused to obey me.
Stupid legs.
"Easy there." Kyle vaulted over the bar, calloused hands steadying my hips. "Maybe hydrate?"
“Good idea. Another daiquiri? There's ice in it, right?” I said, clapping my hands as I clambered back up onto the stool, because dancing while seated sounded like a much better idea. He slid me a bottle of water, and I stuck my tongue out at him, then pulled out my phone, ignoring my brother’s increasingly frantic texts and clicking on Matt’s number.
Matt, who hadn’t bothered to do anything for my birthday.
Casey
Sex was mid anyway.
And I don’t want to know what your cock rings feel like inside me.
I’m having tons of fun and his name is Kyle.
I glanced at the bartender, who was talking to the man at the end of the bar. A bit old for me, but hot enough for a blow job, right? My thumbs moved like overcaffeinated spiders across the screen. "Definitely," I announced to my strawberry daiquiri's tiny umbrella, "not even a little bit—" The send button blurred into three copies of itself.
Casey:
Newsflash asshole I’m not obsessed with you.
Capital NOT
Like ZERO PERCENT. Less than zero.
Why wasn’t he replying? I took another long drink, and the phone started to look a little blurry.
Didn’t wnat you at my brithday party anywya.
*anyway
The bar's neon Exit sign pulsed in time with my heartbeat. Or maybe that was the bass from the jukebox playing Shania Twain's *That Don't Impress Me Much* at approximately Chernobyl meltdown decibels. Kyle, the Medium-Hot Bartender leaned across the polished bar, biceps flexing as he confiscated my third empty glass.
"Don’t tell me you’re drunk texting your ex, Birthday boy."
"Worse." I hit send on another gem.
Casey
Your FACE isn't even in love with your face.
Mic drop.
“Worse than drunk texting your ex?” Kyle asked.
“Yep, I’m drunk texting my boss-slash-nemesis-slash-best-lay-of-my-life. And he doesn’t even have the decency to reply. On my birthday!"
Kyle's eyebrow notch deepened. Before he could respond, the front door burst open with enough force to rattle the dartboard, but I didn’t look to see who had walked in. I was too busy texting Matt about how cock piercings were not as exciting as they looked.
"Twenty-one shots," I informed the ceiling. "That's the law, right? Let’s get started!"
"He's had how many?" A deep voice rumbled from behind me.
"You sound like Matt,” I muttered as I shot off another text to Matt, this one about his abs being only an 8-pack when I, myself, preferred a 24-pack. Behind me, there was a melodic ping. Someone in the bar had the same dorky phone notification that Matt did.
“Just a few watered-down cocktails," Kyle said. “But he seemed a little tipsy when he arrived.”
“Watered-down?” I gasped. “At least the Grill across the street gave me full-strength beer!”
“Thanks for coming, he seems a little—”
"—delightful?" I filled in before I swiveled too fast towards the man behind me, and my barstool tilted at an impossible angle. Strong hands caught me mid-collapse. "Oh hello, officer." My nose bumped against a throat that smelled a hell of a lot like Matt's throat. "Did you know your collarbone smells like campfire and sex?"
The low chuckle vibrated against my cheek. "Let's get you out of here, birthday boy."
I looked up and met eyes that looked a lot like Matt's pretty blue eyes. "Out of here? I belong in here! It's for 21 people!" My hips jerked against his grip.
"Case, you're a bit drunk."
"Not drunk! See? Standing! Functioning adult who doesn't—" The floor tilted. "...need rescue from some...some..." My gaze dropped to where his rolled-up sleeves strained around his biceps. "Jesus fuck, are you smuggling cantaloupes under there?"
Patrons at the pool table paused their game. Matt's jaw twitched. "Casey."
"I mean look at these!" I slapped his arm, the smack echoing. "You could crack walnuts! Juggle refrigerators! Do it now—juggle something!"
"C'mon, trouble." Matt hooked an arm around my waist. "Time to—"
"Wait!" I gripped the bar edge. "Important announcement!" The room hushed. Five faces turned. Even the jukebox skipped. "I am being kidnapped, not leaving because I want to investigate this man’s pierced dick."
Kyle choked on a laugh. Matt closed his eyes. "Casey."
"Silver hoop!" My pinky finger circled the air. "Through the—"
Matt clapped a hand over my mouth. "Thank you for the hospitality," he told Kyle through gritted teeth, dragging me backward. "Charge it to my tab?”
"Will do, Matt. Good to see you," Kyle called. “And happy birthday!”
The cold night air hit like a shotgun blast. I tripped over a parking block, saved only by Matt's iron grip on the back of my sweater. "Look!" I pointed at his truck. "Ooh, you could bend me over the tailgate and have your way with me—"
"Seatbelt." Matt boosted me into the passenger seat. Leather squeaked under my thighs as I flopped sideways.
"You didn't..." A hiccup rattled my ribs. "...say happy birthday."
Rough fingers brushed hair from my eyes. Matt's sigh smelled faintly of peppermint gum. "Happy birthday, Case."
My traitorous heart did a backflip. "You waited till..." The numbers on the dashboard clock swam. "7:58. Like a...a heathen. Why didn’t you tell me happy birthday sooner."
The buckle clicked. Matt lingered, one palm braced against the headrest. Moonlight caught the silver ring through his earlobe. "You're impossible."
"The bartender's hotter than you. I want to ride in his truck."
"Kyle?"
"The way he...shook that shaker." I demonstrated with shaky jazz hands. "So sexy."
Matt's thumb grazed my cheekbone. "Duly noted."
The engine roared to life. As we pulled onto Main Street, I pressed my forehead to the cold window. "How'd you find me anyway? Got a Casey GPS chip?"
Headlights swept across Matt's profile. "Would you believe I have a sixth sense for dramatic queers in crisis?"
"Romantic." My eyelids drooped. The world softened at the edges—the rhythmic tap of turn signals, the steady creak of Matt shifting gears. Somewhere between the post office and the craft brewery, my hand found his thigh.
"Still hate you," I mumbled into the plaid sleeve currently serving as my pillow.
The wheel turned. Warm fingers squeezed mine. "I know."
Matt’s thumb kept tracing circles over my knuckles as we drove. Or maybe that was just the asphalt vibrating through the truck floor. Everything felt liquid and warm, like the universe had melted me into a human lava lamp.
“Y’know,” I said, forehead smooshed against the passenger window, “if you wanted alone time, coulda just asked instead of kidnapping me.”
“Oliver called Wade,” Matt said, downshifting as we passed the Welcome to Eagle Ridge population sign. “Wade called me. You’re welcome.”
I squinted at a passing streetlight halo. “Why would Ollie text…your hammer hammering guy?”
“Contractor.”
“Same difference.” Pine branches slapped the roof as we left downtown. “Since when do they have each other’s numbers?”
Matt shrugged. “Beats me.”
“Traitors.” I kicked my sneakers onto the dash. The laces were covered in neon smiley faces. Ollie had given them to me as a birthday gift. “So, what? You decided to stalk me?”
“Not stalk, I let you have your fun. I waited outside the bar until I saw you clinging to the stool like you might drown without it.”
“Rude.” I slumped lower, watching his forearm flex as he steered. “How much did Ollie pay you to babysit? I’ll double it.”
“Your brother cares about you.”
“He’s an asshole with a savior complex.” The trees outside thickened, swallowing the moonlight. We weren’t headed toward camp. This road tasted like gravel and loneliness, winding up into the mountains where cell service went to die.
Matt downshifted again. The engine growled. “You texted me twelve times.”
“Bullshit.”
“Several about my cock rings.”
Oh shit. My cheeks went pink as I tried to remember what I'd sent. “Delete those.”
He snorted. The truck bounced over a rutted path barely wider than the truck. When we emerged into a small clearing, the headlights illuminated an adorably miniature house, all rustic wood and glass.
“Holy shit.” I fumbled with the seatbelt. “It’s a Hobbit hole, but like, modern!”
Matt killed the engine. “Home sweet home.”
I kicked open the door and went to leap out, but it turned out my seatbelt was still buckled, springing me back against the seat. Muttering a curse, I poked at the button a few times, but it kept moving. Finally, Matt reached over and helped me, and I tumbled out. The trees around me swirled, and I put a hand on the truck to steady myself.
“You live here?” I walked over to the house and ran my hands over the siding. “It’s so…small. Like, TARDIS small. Is it bigger on the inside?”
“It’s 420 square feet.” Matt hauled me upright when I tripped over a step. Who put a step near the door, anyway? Stupid.
I hugged the cute house, rubbing my face on the shiny front window. “Marry me, tiny house. You’re very cute.”
“You’re drooling on my window.”
“Shhh.” I patted the wall. “We’re bonding.”
Matt grabbed my shoulder and tried steering me inside. I went boneless, sliding down the exterior until my butt hit the flagstone path, my cheek squeaking down the glass.
“C’mon, birthday boy.” He hooked his hands under my armpits. “Upstairs loft’s got a view of the valley.”
“Why?” I blinked up at him. The porch light haloed his man bun. “Why’d you bring me here?”
His throat moved. “I may have promised Oliver I wouldn’t let you near any more booze.”
The world tilted as he hoisted me up into his arms. I kicked halfheartedly. “Put me down, you lumberjack fuck!”
“Say please.”
“Fuck y—”
His hand came down hard on my ass. Heat bloomed through my jeans. “Language.”
I froze. “Did you just…spank me?”
“Did you just… get hard from it?”
“Shut up.” The front door opened to reveal a minimalist space—compact kitchenette, fold-down desk, and a ladder leading to a sleeping platform. Everything smelled like cedar and the musk of Matt’s shampoo. He dumped me onto a couch upholstered in what felt like recycled sailcloth.
“You’ve got a kink,” I accused, flopping onto my back. “Big gruff mountain man needs someone to boss around.”
Matt tossed a fleece blanket over my legs. “And you need someone to stop you from licking strangers’ margarita glasses.”
“Says the guy with a Prince Albert and no plans for my birthday.”
“Casey.” Matt cuddled me close and started to say something more, but I didn’t hear it because I curled up in his lap and started snoring.