Blue Crush (5 page)

She thinks that if there’s no cleavage, it’s not appropriate going-out wear. The fact that I picked a best friend similar to my mom is some scary psychological shit I try not to overanalyze.

“Oh, by the way,” Nessa says, digging into her giant bag. She pulls out a small compact and lifts the lid, revealing deep violet eye shadow. One eye screwed shut, her mouth pursed closed, she sweeps the shadow above the smoky gray color already applied to her eyelid. “Do you mind if we meet up with Mira?”

I lean over the locker bench for my purse, using the metal locker door for balance. The edge cuts into my tight grip. “Mira?”
Lewis’s Mira?

She attacked Zach when he asked me about school at the taco dinner party. Her pointed glares the next day at the beach barbecue didn’t leave much to the imagination. She hates me, and Nessa wants us to go out with her?

This is supposed to be a fun girls’ night, but Mira is Nessa’s friend and I can’t say no. Looking in the mirror at the end of the lockers, I stretch my mouth wide and smooth on the ruby lipstick Cali forced into my hand after she stealthily stole my lip balm. “Yeah, sure.” I rub my lips together and smile. The reflection in the mirror reveals a solid poker face. “The more the merrier.”

Cali’s eyes are wide as I return her lipstick. She tucks the tube in her purse and covertly squeezes my arm. She gets my distress without me having to say anything. Having Cali in my corner helps.

Nessa smiles shakily. “I’m glad it’s not a problem, because I sort of already invited her. She sounded down when she called.”

I pull my small purse with the long strap over my head and across my body. “Is she meeting us here?”

“She’s a dealer at Harrah’s. She gets off in a little bit. I thought we could grab a drink and wait for her there, then head to the club.”

This should be an interesting night.

The walk to Harrah’s is entertaining. An intoxicated hipster sits in front of the CVS like he’s on his living room couch, while tourists with their Keep Tahoe Blue T-shirts swarm the sidewalk between the casinos. A lust for winnings, hook-ups, and general naughtiness permeates the air.

We enter Harrah’s double doors and order drinks at one of the bars. It’s while I’m waiting for my drink that I see them: the beautiful couple off to the side of a pit, Mira still in her uniform, facing Lewis.

I thought I had purged him from my system, but now I’m drinking in his face, his body, the way he holds himself—careful but assured. My heart kicks up like I’m running a sprint, my breathing a choppy mess. The irrational urge to go to him has me squirming in my seat.

Mira’s voice rises above the clamor of noise, which is saying a lot, because hello, we’re in a casino—that’s like talking over a wind tunnel. She thrusts her arms out angrily, spitting fire at Lewis, and he seems to be taking it.

Nessa follows my gaze. “Damn
,
I’ve never seen them fight like that.”

“What’s going on?”

Nessa lifts a shoulder. “No idea. Mira’s not easy, but they’re tight, you know?”

I shake my head. I don’t know. Seems more like they clash.

“Well, I mentioned how Lewis, Zach, and Mira—how their families go way back?” Nessa says. “Lewis and Mira sort of grew up together. He returned to town partly for her. He wanted to help his dad with the business now that his dad’s getting older and he wanted to be closer to Mira. He’s protective of her.”

Sure, she’s his girlfriend, and Mira is obsessed with Lewis. I’m surprised she allowed any distance between them.

I have the worst attraction radar. Lewis is this protective, devoted boyfriend. He’s not available. Why won’t the fact stick in my head? It’s like I need it tattooed on my brain.

“Where was he before?” Cali asks.

“College—Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo. He graduated in construction management. He worked for a company on the central coast and returned about a year ago.”

A nearby cashier gapes from her cage at Mira’s arm-waving. Mira’s creating a huge scene and Lewis is like this brick wall, taking the heat and not backing down.

Almost as if he senses me, he looks up.

Our eyes lock and my heart literally stops, then surges double-time, a flood of warmth pulsing down my limbs. Mira follows his gaze, hers narrowing. My body tenses, caught between heated anger from Mira and a different heated intensity from Lewis.

He says one last thing to Mira, then strides off in the opposite direction.

Mira looks after him, her chest rising and falling. Anger, hurt, it’s there on her face.

I have more questions, like why Nessa was surprised to see Lewis and Mira arguing, and what could have caused it—prying questions that seem of utmost importance—but Mira’s approaching, her glare boring a hole in me.

Her lips twitch in a semblance of a smile. “Hi, Nessa.”

“Everything okay?” Nessa asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, sure. Lewis is just being stubborn. He’ll come around.” She gives me a calculated glance and tiny prickles sting my back. “I’ll switch out of my uniform and meet you in twenty.”

Cali and I exchange a look. After witnessing Lewis and Mira fighting, and then feeling the heat of Mira’s negative vibes, I’m so not looking forward to tonight.

The minute we enter the Blue club, all eyes turn to Mira with her glossy dark brown hair in even waves, showcasing her striking features. In a short red dress, she leads us to a booth off to the side of the dance floor. A waitress I don’t know, but wearing a uniform I’m personally familiar with, approaches.

“Margarita on the rocks.” Mira flips her hair flirtatiously over a shoulder. Male heads rotate like she waved a flag.

“Patron,” Cali says.

I glance up, surprised. Cali doesn’t bring out the big guns unless she’s looking to get hammered.

Nessa and I order Sierras.

EDM vibrates the air, the dance floor filled with girls in short, tight dresses and the guys maneuvering to feel them up. One guy bites his lower lip as if he’s really getting into the music, or the girl whose ass he’s grinding on, her black tube dress scrunched up to within an inch of her crotch. I’m internally laughing and cringing, when I notice the dark orb several feet above their heads. I’ve never liked the fact that the casino watches us. Totally creepy.

Mira’s beauty pays off in short order as a round of Purple Hooters slides across the table, followed by something called a Buckshot. A guy at the bar, in a tailored leather shirt that probably cost as much as my car, salutes Mira. She flashes him a smile, but doesn’t wave him over.

Cali is the first to drain her shots and order more, passing me another as well. I take it gladly, feeling like I could use it.

Several rounds later, my ass slips down the seat of our booth like the pleather has been greased—or shit, we’re at Blue; this could be real leather. I scratch the surface with my nail, the material a dark blur. Elbowing my way upright, my shoulders cant to the side.

Huh.
I might actually be drunk.

Have I ever been smashed before? College wasn’t the drunkfest for me that it is for most co-eds. I mean, I drank. A lot. But most of the time I walked around with a light buzz even if I’d drunk my friends under the table. My awe-inspiring tolerance, built from years of my mother’s influence, dates back to my tweens.

Cali takes off to dance, sneaking a drunk pic of me with her phone. She sticks out her tongue.

Biiitch.

I sit up to steal the iPhone from her, only the room wavers like a funhouse. Better not stand.

Mira hates me and I probably shouldn’t engage her, but my cares died a few shots ago. “I don’t get it.” I’m slurring? Wow, wasted. “How are you getting men to send you drinks?”

The way Mira works men over is a mystery. My mom is confident and beautiful, but I never liked how she jumped from one guy to the next. But Mira I can’t help but admire. She has these guys dangling from a cord and she’s not even doing anything. I’ve lost count of the orders sent our way. Shit, I didn’t even know men still bought women drinks. Impressive.

Mira looks up with a smug expression and gives another hair toss, the action cheesy and something I never in a million years would use, but several guys turn in her direction.

Mental note taken.

Our waitress thunks the first of three glasses on the table. “Kamikazes from the gentlemen two tables over.”

My head tracks the descent of each shot. “More?”
Definitely slurring.
“You’re gonna have to carry me out, and it’s won’t be pretty. Both of you are shorter.”

Mira and Nessa exchange a look and smile. Nessa giggles.

My mouth fills with acid and Chambord as I eye the potent beverage in my hand. “I don’t know if I can do another.” Have I uttered those words in my life?

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a weakass.” Mira seems almost sober, but she can’t be. She’s had as much to drink as I have.

“I’ll do another if you do,” Nessa says.

How does
she
do it? Something’s not right here. “Nessa, you’re so little, I could bench-press you … if I bench-pressed … or went to the gym. Gym’s not my thing. I’d rather run or hike—be outside, as long as there aren’t bugs … or mountain lions … Wait—what were we talking about? Oh yeah, another shot. K—but we have to take a taxi home. I can’t drive.”

Mira shoves a drink at me. Didn’t I just pound one? What happened to hers? Is that two in front of me? “I arranged for someone to pick us up.”

Nessa and I look at each other, then Mira. “You did?” we say in unison.

“Who?” Nessa asks.

“Don’t worry about it. I called a few minutes ago when I went to the bathroom. They’ll be here soon. That is, unless you guys want to stay and party?” She eyes me.

I’m not the one whipping my hair around, flagging men. I’ve had too much to drink, and I lost track of my best friend. Speaking of … “You guys see Cali anywhere?”

Nessa shakes her head. Mira gazes away, as if she might help me look, but her focus settles instead on the entrance of the club.

No way am I leaving without Cali. I reach for my phone to call her and see a text. It’s from Cali and she says she’s getting a ride from a coworker.

I guess that’s okay. At least she knows her driver. I have no idea who Mira finagled to pick us up.

Two guys in designer jeans, black T-shirts, and shiny blazers walk toward us. I’m freaking praying they’re not our ride. They each have short hair, and paired with the club jackets, they’re like twinsies, though one is distinctly better looking than the other.

Nessa giggles. “Mira, your suitors are on their way. Guess they got tired of waiting for an invitation.”

Nessa is sloshed. She’s a giggler drunk.

Mira flashes the men a flirty smile. They look to be around forty, and even if I’m being conservative, a twenty-year age gap is a bit pervy. “How do you know they’re coming for me?”

“Oh, I have a hunch.” Nessa nudges me in the ribs and I catch myself before I fall out of the booth. “Besides, they’re staring at you.”

The creepers take each of us in. The one with thinning hair, a tan line on his ring finger, and white loafers that clash spectacularly with his midnight blue blazer, slides in beside Mira. “Mind if we join you?”

I shrink in my seat, attempting to hide, but the cute creeper with blond hair, beard stubble, and laugh lines around his eyes squishes in next to me. He’s on my left and Nessa and Mira block me on the right.

Cute Creeper’s cologne is so strong my eyes water. The scent combined with too much alcohol causes nausea to roil through my stomach. “Mira, when’s our ride coming?”

“In a minute.” She leans on her forearms, thrusting her small, pert breasts into White Loafers’s vision. His gaze homes in like a laser.

Cute Creeper chats my ear off for the next ten minutes. I get by with minimal articulation, managing to breathe out of my mouth instead of my nose, until he decides to touch me.

He runs his fingers through my hair. “How is your hair so shiny?”

Eeew.
I take a slow, steady breath, the cologne assaulting my senses because I forgot to breath out of my mouth, and try to ignore the hand making another pass at my scalp—

Mira looks past our table, a smug expression crossing her face. “Our ride is here.”

I lean to the side, attempting to disentangle Cute Creeper’s fingers, and glance at the entrance. Lewis’s gaze flickers between me and Cute Creeper, his nostrils flaring.

She called him?

Lewis’s gaze shifts from the creeper’s hand in my hair and he glares accusingly at me.

This isn’t
my
fault. Mira’s the one sending out girl signals, luring in men. I want nothing to do with this.

For some reason, accepting a ride from Lewis is a bad idea. I know this, yet I can’t bring myself to care. Better a ride from him than getting pawed by forty-year-olds. And no way will these polished club guys stick around with Lewis approaching. He’s in agitated mountain god mode, the energy he’s giving off, intense.

I’ve only seen Lewis wear collared work shirts, like earlier when he was with Mira at Harrah’s. Now he’s all casual ease, a fitted heather T-shirt snug on his biceps and chest, and it’s doing funny things to my internal temperature.

Maybe close proximity to Lewis isn’t such a good idea.

Cute Creeper stands abruptly. He nudges his friend and nods toward Lewis. White Loafers mumbles something about meeting up with friends and heads off toward the bar with his buddy.

I let out a breath.
Sweet relief.

“Ready?” Lewis says in a clipped tone, eyes focused on Mira.

Mira slips out of the booth and reaches for his arm. He doesn’t give her a chance to latch on. He walks ahead, his long limbs eating up the distance to the exit.

I wobble to my feet and Nessa does too. Mira and Nessa do a good job keeping up with Lewis, but something is wrong with my equilibrium.

I pick up my pace to catch up and nail my hip on the corner of a booth, bouncing like a pinball into bodies trolling the dance floor.

That’s gonna bruise
.

A warm, masculine voice chuckles above my ear. “You okay?” The body attached to the voice appears to be holding me up.