Epilogue - Annika
The bar is packed, a live band is playing, and it’s girls’ night. Can’t ask for anything more. Me, Lane, and Cassidy are posted up at the bar taking green tea shots—Jameson, sweet and sour, peach Schnapps, with a splash of Sprite—living our best lives.
“Girls, today was rough,” Cass mutters, tossing back shot number three.
“Those three asshole baseball players have been assigned roles in my show as punishment for posting inappropriate photos of themselves with the school mascot. The coach’s words were, and I quote, ‘If they’re going to act like fools, then they should find themselves an audience.
’ The only problem is they don’t know the difference between stage left and stage right and can’t seem to understand cues to save their lives. How am I supposed to work with them?”
“You think that’s bad? Damion has been hitting up my phone nonstop, trying to get me to come over and talk to him.
” Laney holds up her hand when Bea glances over, ordering another round.
“I’m not sure what I should do. Do I hear him out and give him another chance, or is that just the worst idea ever? ”
Glancing at the girls on each side of me, guilt explodes in my belly.
I’m happy. Beyond happy, actually. The last two weeks have easily been the best days of my life.
The guys are on the verge of making it to the championships, Turn the Page is thriving, and I’m having some of the best sex of my life. What more could a girl ask for?
Except maybe that her friends find happiness too.
“Anything I can do to help?”
Cass shakes her head. “No. I’ve got it under control. I’m not letting some idiot jocks ruin months of hard work. I’ll just have to show them who’s boss, that’s all.”
“I have faith in you, Cass.” I turn to Lane. “You sure you even want to consider talking to that jackass again?”
Lane shrugs, her green eyes miserable. “I don’t know what I want anymore, ya know?”
“Amen to that!” a voice says behind us, and when I turn, Reagan Paige is slipping onto the stool beside Lane.
“You too, Reagan?”
The woman heaves the biggest sigh of sighs. There’s a story there, no doubt, and I have a feeling we’re about to hear it.
Bea walks up, placing her hands on the bar top as she scans the line of us. “Y’all are lookin’ mighty pathetic this evening. Minus that one…” She points to me. “She’s damn near glowing, and it’s gross.”
I maturely stick my tongue out at her, forcing a laugh from the older woman.
“What can I get you, Reagan?”
The pretty professor glances over at the new row of shots in front of us. “Whatever they’re having. Keep ‘em coming.”
“You got it.”
When Bea steps away, I glance down to the woman who is rubbing her temples. “Care to unload your stress? I’ve been nominated as the resident drunken therapist. First session is free of charge.”
She chuckles, but it’s a tired sound. “If this is my free session, gotta make the most of it, right? So, let’s see…
Every first date I’ve had over the last year has been a disaster.
They’re either still living in Mommy’s basement and have no concept of independence or only want to get in my pants.
Then there’s the stress of our annual funding review coming up.
Traditionally speaking, creative writing has always fallen under the Liberal Arts campus, but because there’s a heavy English focus, they’ve kept it at CVU East, which is being re-evaluated.
Then, and here’s the kicker, one of the coaches said some derogatory remarks to one of the female sports reporters and is being forced to take my Romantic Literature course as a form of punishment to get in touch with a softer side of himself.
Apparently, they think I can help with that. ”
We all stare at her for a moment in complete silence. When Bea sets down her shot and places another in front of herself, I nod. Guess it’s gonna be a puking in the toilet while Roscoe takes care of me kinda night. Didn’t turn out so bad for me last time, I suppose.
“Holy hell. Okay. Yeah, I think you’ve won this round. Shots are on me.” Picking mine up, the other ladies follow suit. “To life, love, and the pursuit of happiness…or at minimum, the willpower to refrain from murdering those that piss us off.”
“Cheers!” the girls say, and we all clink our glasses and toss back the shots.
“Y’all are over there taking your prissy little shots and complaining about men. In my day, we shot tequila straight and used sex like a weapon,” Gertie interrupts, shaking her head, her face pinched in disgust. “These younger generations are so damn soft.”
Bea rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t sit there and pretend you haven’t been on these very barstools moping about some dick that did you wrong, Gert. We all have our moments of weakness. Hell, that’s practically what bars were designed for. Liquid courage.”
The crazy woman cackles until she coughs. “You ain’t wrong, but neither am I. Sounds like some of you need to pull up your big girl panties and show these boys that just because they’ve got a swingin’ sausage in their pants, you ain’t just gonna spread your buns and take it.”
The five of us share a look, then bust out in laughter.
“Sure, sure. Laugh it up now, but you’ll see. Old Gert knows what she’s talkin’ ‘bout.”
“Just for that, Gertie, a shot of tequila on me.”
She nods, her eyes sparkling behind her red-framed glasses. “Knew I liked you, Annika Reed.”
And that is how one survives life in a small town.
Lots and lots of alcohol…and good friends.