by Chance : Poison & Wine, book 2

by Sigal Ehrlich

  “Oh, wow. She’s—”

  He completes my words with, “A powerhouse.”

  “Did you talk to the others?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and looks away.

  “It’s your decision, but I wouldn’t pass on it. I think they’ll understand.”

  He nods, seeming utterly troubled. His eyes return to mine for a beat. He’s about to add something but keeps it unsaid. By his expression alone, I’m led to believe that I probably wouldn’t have liked what he was about to say.

  “I need to talk to her again. A few other things she said need to be ironed out.” There’s no hint of pleasure or excitement in that either.

  I nod to my wine.

  I lift my wineglass to my lips and ask, “You’re not drinking wine?”

  Chewing on bread, he shakes his head. He swallows and says, “I try not to drink before going on the bike, and I try to avoid drinking in the evenings, just in case my roommate needs me.” He smiles at me.

  I down the wine, feeling yet again like I’m losing control of myself. Of what he makes me feel.

  “Talking about him, I should get going. I hate for him to be by himself at night. Come with? I bet he’d love the company. The old man has a thing for stunning blondes.”

  I shake my head with a cheeky smile. “The womanizing apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I see.”

  Ricky’s lips jolt. “I don’t have a thing for stunning blondes in general. I have a thing for you, babe.”

  When I lock the door behind him ten minutes later, I let out a heavy sigh.

  Turning off the lights in the apartment, I go over a list in my head of all the things that bothered me tonight. How effortlessly he makes me surrender to him. And that glimpse into his vulnerable side, how easily it left cracks in my high walls. Why didn’t I tell him about the others? How quickly he made me forget about the others. Taking the pill—why did I let that blunt lie leave my mouth?

  As I switch off the light in the bedroom, I convince myself that nipping this thing in the bud is the best option for all parties concerned.

  Put Your Lips on the Beast’s Mouth Already

  “Don’t come near me with the blindfold,” I say in my no-nonsense voice.

  “Stop playing games. You know you want it.”

  I shake my head at the wicked laugh that follows said statement. “Panda, I swear, I’m going to smack you with something,” I threaten.

  “Okay, okay. Party pooper,” Panda says and turns to Kayla, brandishing the blindfold. It’s enough for Kayla to raise an eyebrow for Pandora to back away with her hands raised in surrender.

  Ever the enthusiast, Panda then turns to Anna.

  My sister smiles at Panda as one would smile at a mischievous toddler. “I’m the driver. If you think I can pull it off with the blindfold, I’m game.”

  Panda laughs self-deprecatingly and shrugs. “It will sure add thrill to the drive.”

  “Yeah, the hot doctor will be thrilled if we wreck his beloved car,” I say, referring to my sister’s boyfriend, Liam, who lent us his precious Land Rover for our trip to the wilderness, as Panda put it.

  Panda grins at us impishly. “It all depends. I think that if our treasured chicken at the wheel will let him operate on her”—she gestures to Anna, putting air quotes around operate—“then we’re safe.”

  With her hands on the steering wheel, my sister turns to Pandora in the passenger seat. “You know you’ll have to put the address in the GPS eventually, right? I mean—you know—if we want to get there eventually, wherever it may be.”

  Panda grins. “Nope, I’ll just guide you.”

  “Great,” I say. “I feel much more confident now.”

  By my side, Kayla snickers.

  “Start the car,” Pandora says in a mechanical voice. “Head north.”

  Anna laughs, and thus the ride to God knows where begins.

  “Fetch.” Panda throws a few snacks at the back seat, laughing.

  “Let’s stop for coffee,” Kayla suggests.

  “Turn on the radio,” I say, peeling a candy bar.

  “Oooh, I have something better than the radio, hold on!” Panda declares and adds, “Jonathan helped me download this thing and convert it—”

  “For goodness’ sake, can you please call the guy by his goddamn name?” I tell Panda. When she met her boyfriend, Danny, she decided that Jonathan was a better fit than his given name. The little nut job just won’t give in. Poor guy probably has a personality disorder after a few good months with his batty main squeeze.

  “There are nuts and fruits in my bag,” my sister says, ever the health advocate.

  “Stop ruining the fun,” I volley and get a tongue stuck out at me via the rearview mirror.

  I’m smiling to myself, having a great time with my friends, stuffing my face with candy till Panda finally manages to connect her phone to the speakers. My next chew gets stuck in my throat, and I need to cough a couple of times in an attempt not to die.

  Wordlessly, Kayla offers me a water bottle. I take it and nod in gratitude.

  Ricky’s voice fills the car, followed by everyone raving about the band’s last performance. I say nothing, too preoccupied with the contradicting feelings that I’m afraid are developing into an ulcer.

  “You know,” Panda turns to face the back seat. “When we first met you”—she looks at Kayla—“I thought you and Ricky would make such a hot couple.”

  The lurch of my stomach isn’t amusing.

  “You’re not the first one,” Kayla replies. “It was never even an option. We love each other, like siblings.” She then laughs dismissively. “Just imagine fending off all the women who flock to him like crazy birds. It’s a full-time job. You should see how many phone numbers he gets after every show.” She laughs. “I’ve seen him in action. You lay eyes on our boy, kiss your poor heart goodbye.”

  I take a tissue out of my bag and spit out the piece of chocolate in my mouth. My appetite is officially lost. When I look up, I catch my sister’s empathetic look via the mirror. I twist my mouth and blink as if to communicate I couldn’t care less.

  “But I don’t think that anyone even stands a chance,” Kayla adds, and I feel her stare boring into me. I chance a glance at her, and she throws me a conspirative smile.

  Both Kayla and Panda look at me now.

  “What?” I return their stares.

  Panda plops a lollipop into her mouth. She positions it in her cheek and asks, “What’s going on between you two?”

  No one knows about last night, including my sister, and that’s how I want to keep it. “Nothing.”

  Panda pulls the lollipop out of her mouth with a popping sound. “Not sure I’m buying it. He literally begged you to stay, on stage, in front of everyone and their mommas.”

  “So what, two friends having a drink after a show? I don’t understand the big deal.”

  “I don’t think that undressing each other with your eyes is much of a friendly gesture.” She places air quotes around friendly. Pointing the candy at me, she adds, “Nor do any of us look at our friends like we want to bang the living shit out of them.” She sticks the lollipop back in her mouth and talks around it. “See, that’s a little too friendly if you ask me.”

  “Nothing is going on,” I insist.

  Panda shrugs; she smiles a wicked little smile as she turns to check her phone for the navigation.

  I sigh to myself. I’m not hiding anything. I just don’t think it’s a thing. It was a one-time glitch between friends, never to be repeated. He’ll go back to his flock, and I’ll go back to mine. No harm done. With my determination acting as the wind beneath my wings, I text the “friend” in subject. It’s our first-ever text communication, but I keep it short and to the point.

  Victoria to Ricky: I’d appreciate keeping what happened to ourselves.

  I hit send and regret it a moment later, not the gist of it but the way I communicated it. Not a heartbeat later, his response lands on my phone.


  Ricky to Victoria: Whatever you want, Victoria.

  I know that texts are simply what they are—words, text. But somehow, this one feels like it comes with a distinctive tone, and it’s not a pleased one. I try to push aside the thought that he didn’t call me babe or use my nickname. Not to mention the fact that he quickly consented. I’m possibly not the only one seeing our sexual encounter as a thing with little significance. So much for “a beginning of a new insatiable obsession.”

  This one is as good as done.

  The rest of the drive is as entertaining as ever. About forty-five minutes later, we get out of the vehicle, stretch, and in unison trade glances between a grinning Pandora and the huge sign welcoming us to an animal sanctuary.

  “We’re going to pet cows!” Panda exclaims with too much zeal.

  I blink at her trying to understand the source of said enthusiasm. “Wait a minute,” I say. “You dragged us out in this weather, on a Saturday, to pet farm animals?”

  Anna grins at me and winks at Pandora supportively.

  I turn to Kayla with my arms spread, wordlessly asking, are we really doing this?

  She twists her lips. “We’re a captive audience.” She tips her chin at me. “Might as well get it over with. Coming, Barbie?”

  I gesture for Kayla to take the lead. “After you, Drummer girl.”

  We enter the gates, immediately welcomed by a lovely sharp scent of fresh body waste and hay. I cannot help myself when I gag a couple of times, making my friends laugh their asses off.

  And as if it’s not enough that our little miss sunshine brought us here, next comes our official guide to the place, and it’s as if someone cloned Panda. What the two lack in physical resemblance, they make up for in cheerful energy.

  “Shoot me now,” Kayla murmurs next to my ear.

  “Make it two bullets, please,” I counter. Kayla snorts in response.

  “Shush, you two. If you don’t stop, I’ll have to separate you,” Anna says over a mocking smile.

  “Cows hold their ears in four different positions,” says Panda’s unidentical twin, pointing at a diagram of four cow heads. “One and two show that they’re relaxed. Three and four tell us that they’re alert. That’s when you need to back away slowly.”

  “I can’t believe she’s making us do this,” I murmur.

  “You’ll be able to notice that their noses’ temperature will decrease while their heads and necks are being stroked.” I give her a look that says, I’m not touching no cow nose, gurl.

  Keeping her megawatt smile, Daisy who . . . wait for it . . . was named after one of the cows(!) exclaims, “Are we ready to pet some cows, cuddle troops?”

  “I’m going to clock her,” Kayla mutters under her breath, making me snort a laugh.

  Panda and Anna bond with the cattle as if they were born on a farm. It looks like they are having a girls’ night out with the livestock. They’re so happy. Petting, hugging, selfies—the whole shebang.

  Taking my hand in hers, Kayla pulls me closer to one of the cows who’s grazing on the grass. I yelp, sliding over something muddy. I hold on to Kayla not to fall flat on my butt. We both turn our stares to my shoe. My breathy curse collides with Kayla’s laughter.

  Shitty scent, shitty weather, and now I also have a shitty shoe. Things can’t get any better.

  “That’s Betsie. She’s a real darling!” Daisy tells us, radiating a sparkly smile.

  Kayla and Betsie immediately click. Kayla lets Betsie sniff her hand, and not long after, she strokes her. I smile, thinking Betsie does look harmless and maybe even a little cute.

  I’d die for Betsie’s eyelashes.

  I take a step forward, sending my hand to join Kayla, only I do it with the tips of my fingers, my body tilting backward.

  “Since when do female cows have horns?” I ask.

  “Most city folks find it surprising,” Daisy says from somewhere behind us, her voice ever chipper like she’s just had five expressos. “Actually, quite a few female breeds have horns.”

  “Just like our dear Vicky,” Kayla teases before adding, “Just get in here and give old Bets a good rub.”

  When I get a little closer, Betsie bows her head. I stroke her and inch a little closer. I’m a bit bent, inching even a little closer but still keeping a healthy distance. Then, Betsie decides to lift her head mid-cuddle without any notice, catching her horns on my leggings. When the animal straightens to her full height, I both feel and hear the rip in the fabric. She shakes her head a little, and there are more ripping sounds and extra scratches on my skin. When I finally manage to release myself from the pitchfork that’s connected to the animal’s head with a shriek, my friends are in stitches.

  I put my hand on my butt, feeling for the damage. A hole has been ripped from the middle of my right cheek to my hip. I turn sideways to assess the damage with my eyes, and I’m mortified to learn that not only half of my butt is exposed but the damn beast also tore my thong at the hip.

  “Oh my God, I’m dying.” My supportive sister holds her stomach.

  “Vic, hold on, don’t move. This needs to be commemorated for future generations!” Panda aims her phone at me, laughing crazily.

  Kayla grins a wide, wide grin. “Leave it to Barbie to get her panties ripped even on an innocent, friendly outing.”

  “Drummer girl, hand over your jean jacket, and can it,” I extend my hand demandingly. However, even I can’t stop the laughter from leaving my mouth.

  I secure Kayla’s jacket around my waist, opting not to moon the patrons making friends with the animals.

  Five minutes into the drive back and Pandora changes our group chat image to a new photo of all of us with lethal Betsie in the middle. Thirty minutes later, we stop for an early dinner, a new pair of jeans for me, and arnica cream for my poor, bruised bum.

  We end the trip at Poison and Wine.

  As we cram around the table in our usual booth, Kayla says she’ll join us later, explaining they have a band meeting in Matt’s office at the back of the bar. Just the notion that Ricky is in the building makes me hyper-aware of any movement around the space. So much for nipping this thing in the bud. Difficult is done at once, but the impossible takes a little longer.

  We’re halfway through our glasses of rosé when Danny, aka Jonathan, Pandora’s boyfriend, joins us. Liam, Anna’s boyfriend, joins not long after, bringing his friend Fredrik along. For a beat, I stealthily look at them. At my sister and Liam, how she’s snuggled against him, and when he kisses her temple, how she glances up at him. The way he looks back at her . . . like she’s the most magnificent thing in the world. For some reason, it puts a knot in my stomach I can’t fully explain.

  And then there’s Panda and Danny sharing the sweetest, most intimate stare.

  The cynic in me begs to ridicule it, but I can’t deny the little tug in my heart and the unfamiliar, sad notion that follows as I remember my text message to Ricky. I shake myself out of the moment, forcing a calm smile.

  We order another bottle of rosé and a couple of beer bottles for the new additions. We get a few glances and smiles from other patrons around us, what with the sounds of laughter coming from our table. Everyone is in good spirits, and the conversations just flow.

  I laugh out loud at something Fredrik said, how in a recent road trip with a friend, they passed through a small fisherman village. “Not the most welcoming crowd,” Fredrik says, grinning at us. After a minor altercation with a local about lukewarm chowder, they found a headless fish attached to their windshield wiper.

  Still laughing, my eyes fall on my sister, who looks a bit distracted, looking at something ahead. I follow her line of vision, and my stomach tightens. It’s the band walking out of the backroom. The somber looks on their faces is disconcerting. But what affects me the most is the sight of Ricky, standing at the bar, his head slightly bowed, a strand of dark hair covering his eye. His face is a bit shaded, but I can still make out the stony expression.

 
; As Kayla makes her way to join us, I decide to check up on her soon-to-be band ex-lead singer.

  “I’ve got to go to the ladies’ room,” I say, excusing myself from our table. I make my way over to the bar, looking back to confirm no one at the table is watching me.

  “Hey,” I say softly, nearing Ricky. He brings his eyes to mine, and for a fleeting moment, happiness touches his features. It stays till he takes a step forward to kiss me, and I step back, intercepting the attempt. The spark of joy is gone. I squeeze his hand instead, where the gesture isn’t visible to anyone but us. “You okay?”

  His jaw ticks as he studies me for a silent moment. “I told them,” he says.

  Holding his stare, I say, “So you made your decision then. How did they take it?”

  He throws back a shot and puts it back on the bar with a small thud. “They were cool about it, but . . . ” He sighs. “I know they were just trying to make me feel better. However you look at it, I’m fucking it up for them. For my benefit.”

  We stand in silence for a few beats, our eyes doing all the talking, then he shakes his head dismissively. “Let’s talk later,” he says, seeming even more displeased.

  “Sure. Are you guys performing? I can stay after the show.”

  “We are,” he says and adds, “Let’s meet somewhere less crowded. I can drop by your place later.” I’m about to object, but something about the way he looks at me stops me from doing so.

  “Vic,” he says next in a low voice.

  “Mm.”

  “If I don’t kiss you right now, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

  His words shock me, sink to my core, heating me from the inside out. I part my lips, lost for words. Ricky grips my bicep, not entirely gently, directing me to a nook behind the bar. And then he kisses me. Kisses me so profoundly, I press against him reflexively, whimpering into his mouth. It’s like my mind has a mind of its own when it comes to this guy. Before things get out of control, like where they seem to be heading, I ease back from his lips, gently pushing his chest.

  “I need to get back to the others,” I say and walk away, not looking back.