Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
Charli
What a week.
I pull open the heavy, wooden door and step inside the familiarity of The Tipsy Lizard. My eyes are immediately drawn to the bar, where I spot Lizzie and Collin both working as a solid unit. Even from back here by the entrance, I see the way my brother smiles at the woman he loves.
Glancing to my left, I look for the rest of my siblings, not finding any of them here yet.
On Friday nights we usually tend to gather.
Sometimes to have a drink after a long week and unwind, sometimes just to catch up and there’s no alcohol involved.
And sometimes it’s to tie one on, which is the way I’m leaning tonight.
This week has been hell.
The salon I rent space from informed me my monthly rent was going to increase next month, thanks to an increase in rent and utilities they’ve been hit with.
I went to place an order with my supplier for massage oils, only to find an increase in prices there too.
And when I brought home bedding to wash, my machine started leaking water all over my floor.
Just one more thing I need to have repaired sooner rather than later.
I rely on my space, my massage supplies, and my washing machine as part of my business. I’m a massage therapist and have steadily built my business over the last seven years.
“Hey, rough day?” Collin asks as I fling my purse onto the bar and plop on the stool.
My eyes narrow. “What gave it away? My resting bitch face?”
He flashes an easy smile. “You growled when you sat down.”
“Because my back hurts from being bent over clients all day.”
“You should get a massage,” he goads, slapping a coaster with the bar logo printed on it.
Lifting my hand, I extend my middle finger. “You’re a funny guy.”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I hear they’re pretty relaxing and helpful with back and muscle pain. I know a woman, so if you’re wanting to get on her schedule, let me know and I’ll get you her cell number.”
I just stare at him, slowly blinking. When he doesn’t say anything else, I reply, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.” The sarcasm is heavy.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“Margarita, strong. But I want Lizzie to make it because she makes them better.” I give him a cheesy smile, showing too many teeth to be natural.
He exhales and turns around. “Lizzie, difficult customer wants a margarita made by you. She’s a little pissy, so make it extra strong. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”
Lizzie laughs and approaches. “Hi, Charli. Bad day?”
“Bad week,” I tell her.
“Strawberry, lime, or peach?”
“Peach, please,” I reply, excited to try her new flavor.
“Coming right up,” she states, moving to the blender and preparing one of her signature margaritas.
She knows I prefer it blended, with a sugar rim instead of salt.
I’m weird like that, but Lizzie doesn’t balk about making it a little different than normal.
She moves to the cooler and pulls out a small mason jar.
Inside is liquid and fruit, and I’m transfixed watching what she does.
She pulls a pair of tongs out and removes a slice of peach, stabbing it with a pick and placing it on top of the frozen slush in my glass.
“The world’s best peach margarita,” she proclaims, placing it on the coaster in front of me.
“You’re the best,” I announce, taking a long sip of the sweet, frozen goodness. “Oh my God, that’s so good.”
“Isn’t it?” she asks, leaning against the bar. “It’s strong too. I threw in an extra shot of tequila.”
“You’re a godsend,” I mutter before taking another drink.
“And the fruit is soaked in tequila.”
My eyes widen. “Seriously?”
Lizzie winks and offers a smile.
Collin places a glass of ice water beside my coaster before turning to help other customers.
The bar isn’t too busy, but there has definitely been an uptick in patrons since Lizzie took over and made her upgrades.
Sure, the regulars are still at the opposite end of the bar, but there’s now a handful of tables in use, as well as a few seats filled between them and me.
The door opens behind me, but I keep my focus on the fruity concoction in my glass.
I already know who has arrived. It’s as if I can sense them, even without seeing either one.
The barstool directly to my right is pulled out as my brother slides onto the seat.
“Is that one of her non-alcoholic drinks?”
“Nope. This one is fully loaded,” I tell him, grabbing the pick and examining the fruit slice.
“Ahh, bad day?” Camden asks.
“Rough week,” I mutter as the stool to my left is moved.
Quinn slides onto the stool, his arm brushing against mine as he sits, sending a wave of goosebumps across my flesh.
Well, that was weird.
It must be cold in here.
Good thing I have this margarita to help warm me up.
I bend forward and take a bite of the peach. The tequila is rich, smooth, and complements the sweet fruit perfectly. “Damn, she’s a fucking genius,” I mumble to myself, biting off the rest of the peach and chewing.
Before I can say a word, Quinn reaches over and grabs my glass. My eyes narrow as he takes a sip of the peach drink, making a face as he replaces it in front of me. “Is that sugar?”
“Yes,” I confirm hastily, reaching for the glass and wiping off his lip print. “Do you just take anyone’s drink?”
He smirks at me, those very lips imprinted on my glass now on full kissable display. “You’re not just anyone, Cactus.”
First off…WHAT. THE. FUCK?
Kissable lips?
No, no, they are not. Quinn’s mouth is most definitely not kissable in any way.
“Cactus?” I ask, my blue eyes narrowing into little slits.
“Yep. You’re kinda pretty to look at but prickly as hell, and no doubt will stab me when I get too close.”
I bark out a laugh as Collin walks over. “What can I get you two?” he asks Camden and Quinn, dropping coasters in front of them.
“Night Crüe draft, please,” Camden states.
Quinn adds, “Same.”
The oldest Miller sibling turns to pour two beers in frosted mugs, and while Camden and Quinn talk around me—since I’m sitting directly between them—I try to focus ahead and on my drink.
Not that I don’t enjoy engaging in conversation with them, but I still can’t get over the fact I noticed how kissable Quinn’s lips were.
How in the hell did that happen?
Quinn has been a part of my family for almost as long as Camden has.
They became friends in kindergarten, and things quickly evolved into a deep friendship.
I don’t recall a lot of detail about those early days, but to hear my mom talk, she started giving him rides home after school, which turned into Q just staying with us until his mom got off work.
Over the years, Quinn would be wherever Camden was, and even though it was annoying at times, it was just how it was.
He was a part of the family, like another younger brother.
Except this “brother” isn’t actually related to me.
Collin sets the mugs down in front of Tweedledee and Tweedledum and asks, “Which one of you is driving?”
“I am,” Quinn replies, taking a sip of his beer. “This’ll be my only drink.”
“I can drive,” Camden insists. “We brought my truck.”
“I’m not driving,” I mutter, taking another sip of my margarita.
“I’ll drive.”
We all look back and find Cade standing behind us, hands on his hips.
“Oh, look! Big brother’s here,” Camden chirps, lifting his beer in salute. “And he’s DD.”
He pulls out the stool Quinn is sitting on and motions for him to move. Quinn does, grabbing his drink and walking over to the empty seat beside Camden. Instead of Cade taking the stool he vacated, he helps Oaklee sit on it and presses his lips to hers before spinning her forward to face the bar.
“Hi,” she says to me, a big smile on her face.
“Hey,” I reply, feeling a bit more content now that Oaklee is here. Both of the twin brothers hit the girlfriend lottery when they met Lizzie and Oaklee.
“Ohh, what’s that?” she asks, pointing to my glass.
“Peach margarita with an extra shot. There was even a peach slice on the top that was soaked in tequila,” I tell her, taking another pull from the straw.
“Yep, I’m getting that, but without the extra shot. I’ll be falling down before I’m even halfway done with it,” she says with a giggle.
“My brother would never let you fall,” I insist, glancing over to the stool Cade has pulled out on the right side of Quinn and sits on.
“No, he wouldn’t,” Oaklee agrees. To Collin, she says, “I’ll have a peach margarita too, but without the extra kick.”
Collin runs a bar towel over the hardwood around us, wiping up what little condensation might have fallen onto the bar top since our arrival. “I suppose Lizzie needs to make yours too?”
“Yes,” I immediately respond, turning my attention to Oaklee. “She makes a better margarita than this ugly guy.”
Oaklee giggles and tries to hide it. “I’m not laughing because you’re ugly, Collin.”
He gives me a deadpan look. “I’d hope not, considering I look rather similar to the guy you’re dating.”
She flashes a wide grin. “He’s pretty sexy, isn’t he?”
“Gross,” I mutter, shivering in disgust at the thought of any of my brothers being labeled sexy.
Normally, Quinn would be firmly planted in that category too, but for some reason, I find myself glancing to my right.
My eyes seek him out, entirely on their own.
He’s still on the same side of the L-shaped bar as me, right before it turns and heads ninety-degrees across the room.
While I don’t have a great view of him, I catch his profile.
Has his jaw always been that square and strong?
And what is going on with that dark matting of stubble?
Why in the hell does it looks so fucking sexy?