Trouble (Orsen Brothers #1)

by Aubrey Watts

  JUSTIFIED #1 FREE COPY

  Chapter 1

  The club is packed, dimly lit and noisy; bad techno music blasts from a sound system in the corner of the room, drowning out the conversations going on around me. The booth I’m sitting in is trashed; the table is littered with marijuana and coke residue, empty bottles, and half-full glasses of champagne. Some of it is mine. Most of it isn’t.

  Olivia smiles at me impressively from across the table. I wasn’t planning on coming out tonight. I fully intended on curling up in bed with a good mystery novel and a glass of chardonnay but my friends are anything if not convincing.

  “We’re really glad you came out tonight!”

  Vega waves a manicured hand in my direction and takes a sip of her third, maybe fourth, glass of champagne. If she’s not drunk yet, she will be soon. “Liv, you owe me ten bucks!”

  Olivia chuckles and rolls her eyes, pulling the crumpled bill out of her wallet and handing it over. I give them both a smile. This is the way it’s been our entire lives—just the three of us, polar opposites that somehow found a way to fit together.

  Tonight we’re at the Linx, a gaudy club on the west side of town, celebrating Olivia’s thirtieth birthday and subsequent descent into actual adulthood. This, we’ve decided, is our final hurrah—our last real chance to behave hedonistically. Liv is the last one of the three of us still in her twenties, but after midnight, that all changes. After midnight we grow up.

  That’s the plan at least.

  “Are you kidding?” I say, running a hand through my hair, “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

  The music pans from techno to trance, and although there’s little difference, it proves easier to speak over. Vega bends her head to snort a line off the table.

  Olivia laughter is sardonic. “You missed out last weekend, though!” she says, “Vega fucked this really hot DJ. Francisco something or another. He was pretty young, though. It was almost predatory.”

  Vega wipes the excess powder from her nostril and shoves Olivia playfully in the shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Bitch, he was eighteen, thank you very much. I saw his ID.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Before or after you blew him?”

  Laughter bubbles over her pink lips. It’s contagious and I quickly find myself laughing right along with her.

  “Really though,” I speak up, finding my voice, “I’m glad you’re dating again.”

  Vega shrugs. “Yeah, I figured it was time.” Her pale cheeks are flushed pink and her pupils are dilated. Her high is setting in. She rubs a chipped red fingernail over the lipstick stain on the edge of her glass, “I was getting tired of not having sex. Besides, Andrew has moved on. He’s dating his intern now, you know.”

  Ouch.

  My shocked expression must be obvious; Vega takes one look at me and laughs. “Yeah, pathetic right? And to think we actually tried to make it work for a while. The divorce was tough, don’t get me wrong, but it was probably the best thing I ever did for myself.”

  Her tone falters. She doesn’t entirely sound as though she entirely believes herself.

  She raises her drink in the air. “Anyway, here’s to not give a shit.”

  Olivia and I nod in agreement and the three of us clank our glasses together. Vega downs the last of her champagne in one sip and smiles.

  “As for the DJ—I found him in my living room watching Cartoon Network after we had sex. I doubt we’ll be seeing each other again anytime soon.”

  I meet eyes with Olivia and we explode into a fit of laughter that leaves us both breathless. Vega nods at me and I regain my composure.

  “What about you, Cass?”

  I take a sip of my champagne and raise an eyebrow at her, not entirely following.

  “Anything new in the love department?”

  Nope, I want to say. Absolutely nothing. My love life is drier than the Sahara. Instead, I push a smile across my face and shrug. “Not really,” I manage with a wave of my hand, “I mean…I went on a few Match dates recently, but nothing serious.”

  Olivia rests her chin in her hands. “Any of them cute?”

  I shrug and think it over. There was Anthony, the dental hygienist; Matthew, the telecommunications specialist; And John, the paramedic—but they were all pretty run of the mill.

  “Nah,” I say, shaking my head, “I mean, objectively, I guess. But none of them were really anything to write home about.”

  Olivia nods and sits up a little straighter. “Well…were they at least good in bed?”

  I roll my eyes. The question doesn’t surprise me as much as it should.

  “Trust me, it definitely didn’t get that far.”

  I remember Anthony’s halitosis breath and cringe. It seemed pretty unacceptable for a dental hygienist.

  “What?” Olivia frowns, leaning against the table to hear me better. The music is techno again, and this time, it’s even louder than before.

  “It never really got that far!”

  It’s a sad truth. Olivia and Vega’s steamy retellings of their own sexual conquests are the only thing keeping me with a foot still in that world. I’ll never admit it out loud, but I’ve started to live vicariously through them.

  “Well I have some news,” Olivia says with a coy smile. Vega and I exchange a glance, fully aware of the level of detail that is about to be unleashed on us.

  “Do tell,” I say.

  Vega, however, doesn’t seem to care either way.

  Olivia sucks in a sharp breath and her words spill out all at once. “His name is Luis. He’s a plastic surgeon from San Francisco but he just opened a new office here in Los Angeles. I met him at the park last week and he asked me out for dinner. We went to the Charlatan and he was a perfect gentleman. He didn’t even try to sleep with me. And trust me, I really wanted to. We’re going out again next Friday. Oh, and did I mention that he’s a total babe? Because he is.”

  She smiles big and brightly in a way I’ve seen dozens of times.

  “He sounds great, Liv,” I say.

  Internally—I can’t help but wonder how long this guy will last.

  “We get it,” Vega chides in without looking at us, “the sun shines from his ass.”

  Olivia’s smile dissipates. She tucks a loose brown curl behind her ear and crosses her arms over her chest. “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?”

  Uh oh, I think. So it begins.

  But Vega doesn’t answer. Her eyes are glued, leeringly, on a table full of frat boys a few feet away. They just entered the club and are already drawing attention.

  “Whatever.” Olivia rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to me. “I really want this to work out. He’s perfect.”

  They are always perfect, and she always wants it to work out. Sometimes I think she lives with her head in the sky, but there’s no point in telling her that. Dreamers rarely ever change, which is good in a way, because the world wouldn’t spin quite the same without them.

  I smile at her. “I’m happy for you.”

  Vega snorts from across the table and chews on the pad of her thumb, still staring down the frat boys. “Oh, please. Cass is just trying to be gentle. You know you’ll get tired of this guy the minute his dick starts to bore you, or the minute he does something you don’t like, be serious, Liv.”

  Vega has never been one to bite her tongue and the alcohol and coke certainly aren’t doing her any favors. Olivia slides forward in the booth and gives her an icy glare, but I’m quick to diffuse the situation.

  “Don’t be a jerk,” I say firmly, reaching for Vega’s hand. She turns to look at me and juts out her chin.

  “I’m not!”

  She pouts, reaching across the table for my champagne. Before I can interject, she downs it and wipes her hand over her mouth.

  “I just think she needs to start being more realistic, don’t you?”

  Realism is not Olivia’s calling card. Vega knows this just as much as I do, but she’s far too gone to car
e.

  “Anyway, what do you think of that guy?”

  I sigh and glance over at the table. “Which one?”

  “The blonde, the one with the red polo.”

  I narrow in on him and shrug. He’s not bad, but I wouldn’t peg him as Vega’s type—not by a long shot. He’s rowdy and unrefined, but attractive in that offhand way that most guys in their early twenties are.

  “He’s pretty cute,” I offer blandly, nodding at Olivia for support. Her expression is sour, though, and she doesn’t offer any. It’s clear that she’s pissed off.

  Vega is out of the booth and halfway towards red-polo in seconds. I start to stand up to bring her back, but Olivia reaches for my arm and pulls me back into the booth.

  “Let her go,” she says with a wave of her hand.

  Chapter 2

  “She can be a real jerk, can’t she?”

  I cast a glance at Vega and shrug. She’s in red polo’s lap with her long arms wrapped around his meaty neck and his palm is planted firmly on her bare knee.

  “She’s drunk,” I offer, turning my attention back to Olivia. I learned my lesson a long time ago when it comes to getting in-between their disagreements; it’s best just to remain neutral.

  Vega stands up and allows red polo to pull her onto the dance floor, where they gyrate bodies. She’s clumsy in her movements, and his frat brothers are starting to laugh. It’s too cringe worthy to witness. I start to stand up again to help her, but Olivia shoots me a glare that keeps me planted firmly in the booth.

  “She’s a big girl,” she admonishes, taking a sip of her drink, “she’ll be fine. She’s been like this ever since the divorce was finalized.”

  I want to ask her to elaborate but I don’t.

  “That guy she’s with kind of looks like a younger Arnold Schwarzenegger doesn’t he?”

  I do my best, “Get to the chopper!” impression, hoping it will get her to lighten up a bit, and she cracks a slight smile.

  Success.

  “Do you think she’ll go home with him?” I question, sloshing the last of my drink around in my glass.

  She waves a hand in the air. “Probably, I mean, she seems pretty dead set on making up for lost time, if you ask me. But can you imagine being married all through out college? And to a guy like Andrew?” She makes a gagging noise. “Yeah, no thanks, I’d be screwing everything within walking distance if I was her, too. It’s just her new attitude that fucking sucks.”

  I laugh and search the throng of bodies on the dance floor for Vega, not finding her.

  “It’s crazy how things can change, isn’t it?”

  “I mean, who would have thought that she would be the most promiscuous one out of the three of us. Do you remember how long she waited to have sex with Andrew?”

  Olivia laughs and leans back against the booth, stretching her arms.

  “Yeah, like two years.”

  Her eyes scan the room and focus in on a guy at the bar. She nods at him. “He’s pretty hot don’t you think?”

  I follow her train of vision. The guy she’s staring at is built like a brick house. He’s arched over the counter with a melting drink in hand, but he’s a shadow among neon lights and I can’t quite make out his face.

  “Sure,” I offer with a shrug, “but what about that Luis guy? Or are you two not quite exclusive yet?

  Olivia frowns. “What? I meant for you, you big goof!”

  What the hell?

  I give the guy another look and strain to see his face, but it’s a no go.

  “I don’t know,” I say hesitantly, pulling back, “he doesn’t really seem like my type, does he?”

  Olivia arches a brow. “Your type? What would that be? Clean cut? Boring?”

  I scoff, feigning offense. The men I’ve dated have been on the boring side, but I’ve never had any problem playing it safe. Not that it has brought me a landmine of success, either.

  I wave a hand at the guy. “I mean…he’s wearing leather.”

  It comes out sounding more prude-like than I expected.

  “So what?” Olivia sighs and rolls her eyes, “It’s a jacket and it’s cool. Come on, Cass, you’ve got to step outside of your comfort zone at some point. How do you expect to ever have fun?”

  Fun.

  It’s not a concept I’m familiar with.

  I bite down on my bottom lip and shake the melting ice in my glass. “I don’t know…I guess I’d have to get a better look at him.”

  Olivia nudges me in the shoulder and nods her head. “So go up to him. Introduce yourself. Get him to buy you a drink.”

  No way.

  I start to object but she stands up and crosses over to my side of the booth before I can. I tense as she loops an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into an unexpected hug. A random guy notices from across the bar and whistles and she gives him the finger.

  “Look,” she says, “I know you’re still really broken up about Stephen, but it’s been over a year. You’ve gotta get over him. He’s definitely over you. Or did the new, very pregnant girlfriend not make that clear enough?”

  Stephen.

  His name still catches me off guard every time it’s spoken. Olivia’s sentiment is a harsh one, and she must be able to tell by the look on my face that it hits me where it hurts, because she hugs me tighter.

  “Sorry,” she whispers, running a hand through my hair, “but you kind of had to hear it.”

  “No,” I say, picking a piece of lint off of my skirt, “you’re right.”

  “What you should do,” Olivia continues without a pause, “is hook up with someone completely different than him in every possible way. Leather jacket seems like a good candidate, no?”

  I glance over at him once more. He’s still hunched over the bar with his back turned away from us. “I don’t know,” I manage, finding my voice, “I’m not Vega. I can’t just saunter up to a guy I don’t know and bare all.”

  It’s not supposed to sound as mean as it does. I start to correct myself but Olivia talks over me. “You can be anyone you want to be. That’s the beauty in a place like this. Now…” She grabs my chin and forces me to meet her eyes. “Who do you want to be, Cassie, the nice timid girl who never takes a risk, or Cassandra, the brave seductress who doesn’t balk at the idea of a cute guy in a leather jacket buying her a drink?”

  I cringe at the sound of my full name. It’s been a long time since anyone has called me that.

  “Here. Liquid reinforcement never hurts,” Olivia comments, handing me a shot. I take it from her with an unsteady hand it swallow it back without a chaser. It burns going down, but it takes off the edge almost immediately.

  “Look, I wouldn’t tell you to do it if I didn’t think it was a good idea. Besides, he’s been checking you out all night.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, as if.”

  “Seriously, he has!”

  “I’ve caught him staring over here twice now.”

  I sigh and shake my head. “He’s probably staring at you. Did that ever occur to you?”

  Olivia balks. She’s all eyes—big and brown—and lips, pouty and pink. “No way. He’s staring at you,” she says firmly, “trust me on this.”

  I roll my eyes and chance another glance at him, pushing my bangs out of my eyes. Olivia reaches forward and unbuttons the top few buttons of my blouse.

  “Just be yourself. He’ll love you, I promise.”

  I groan, burying my face in my hands. There isn’t a single part of me that wants to do this, but if I don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it.

  “Fine, fine,” I say, standing up, “but you owe me for this.”

  Olivia holds her hands out in front of herself and nods. I start to make my way through the throngs of people who surround the booth, but her frantic voice stops me in my tracks. I turn around to look at her. She digs through her purse and pulls out a pink make-up bag, scurrying towards me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just hold on,” she says, gripp
ing my arm reassuringly. I watch as she screws the top off a tube of red lipstick.

  “Uh, come on Liv, that is so not me.”

  She shakes her head and grips my chin, not allowing me to object. My body tenses as she applies the velvet lipstick to my mouth and forces me to cooperate. When she’s done, she steps back and admires her work, smiling at me like some kind of Cheshire cat.

  “Perfect.”

  I roll my eyes and push away from her as she tries to switch her shoes, six-inch black heels, with my simple white flats, reasoning that they are sexier.

  Enough is enough.

  I comb through the mass of sweaty, gyrating bodies, allowing my slight drunkenness to lead the way. Leather jacket is in close proximity to me now. I slide into an empty barstool a few seats down from him, feeling lightheaded. Maybe it’s my buzz, or the sudden realization of what I’m about to do, or both. Either way, I find myself incapable of simply turning to look at him.

  It’s ridiculous.

  With all the courage I can muster, I turn my head ever so slightly, and…

  There he is.

  All muscle, with tattooed flesh that glows beneath the flashing lights above us. Olivia was wrong. He isn’t hot. He’s beautiful in a way capable of evoking envy in women, not just other men. And while he’s not my type—not by a long shot—I can’t help but feel intrigued.

  “Sweetheart,” a burly man waves at me from behind the bar. It takes me a second to register that he’s the bartender, and that he’s talking to me, “you there? What would you like to drink?”

  I blush. Who knows how long he’s been trying to get my attention. “Just a beer,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “whatever’s on tap will be fine. Thank you.”

  Leather jacket glances at me and I panic. I’m not supposed to find guys like him appealing; guys who don’t shave or put any thought into their outfits; guys with tattoos and full faces of stubble.

  But this isn’t me. I left myself back at the booth with Olivia. I return his smile and push what I hope is a flirtatious smile across my face, curling my lips upwards.