Blitzed

by Alexa Martin

  “I don’t know if you knew this, but I’m just not a talkative person,” he says, and I have to fight back my sarcastic retort. “Something about you though, it just makes it easy for me to talk to you. You’re smart and funny and just a really good time to be around. That party was a nightmare for me, but I was excited to see you again. Even though it meant TK riding me again about you. And then that phone call . . . it was a surprise.” He lifts his chin and squares his shoulders, looking me in the eyes. “I just need you to know that will never happen again. I don’t want you afraid of me.”

  All of my air leaves me in a whoosh.

  Nobody has ever looked at me like that before. Nobody has ever spoken to me like that either. It’s like his entire being depends on my believing him. Like he needs my trust more than he needs his next breath.

  I nod my head, my anger and grudge dissipating in record time. “I believe you.”

  His eyes fall shut as he draws in a breath so deep, it’s a miracle there’s any air left for the rest of us. But when he opens his eyes, the floor falls from beneath me. Because, hand to god, I’ve never seen anything like it. His full lips tip up at the corners, his smile mischievous and fucking lush, his eyes dancing with a glimmer that I’ve never seen before. In five seconds, it’s like he became a new person.

  “Your beer.” Mike interrupts the moment, forcing my eyes away from Maxwell and to his stupid glasses that I’d bet my life are not prescription. “A blond ale, barley wine, milk stout, blackberry saison, and our session porter.” His hand hovers over each beer as he tells us the names, and I see a decent bartender for the first time. “Let me know if you have any questions or need anything,” he says, meeting my eyes and not Maxwell’s.

  “Thanks, Jake.” I use his real name this time. I guess Maxwell’s apology turned me into a big old softy.

  Jake’s chin jerks and a blush rises from beneath his beard as a genuine smile appears. He turns on a skip and hurries away, probably afraid my nice mood is fleeting.

  Maxwell’s deep chuckle pulls my attention, his white teeth on full display against his dark skin. “Do you instill fear into the hearts of all the local breweries you try out?”

  “Only the ones who staff Misogynistic Mikes behind the bar.” I lift the barley wine to my lips because . . . well . . . it’s barley wine, and why wouldn’t I?

  “Misogynistic Mike?” he repeats before his eyes crinkle at the corners, his smile widens, and he throws his head back laughing.

  This time, I don’t ignore the warmth that floods my system as I take pleasure in knowing that I gave him that laughter.

  And while I will never become a Lady Mustang, having a friend like Maxwell could never be a bad thing.

  Six

  “You seriously cannot still be mad at us,” Charli shouts over the rumble of the packed bar.

  The Mustangs game is playing on all of the TVs. Women around the bar are either sports fanatics who are relieved to find a place to watch football without the mansplaining or just here to get a sneak peek of the players’ better halves. A few have no idea what’s going on and just came for a cocktail.

  “Seems like you may have underestimated me.” I shove a glass of the barley wine into her hands.

  I’m not actually mad. In what I’d consider one of the biggest surprises of the year, I was able to get over my grudge-holding abilities and had the best time with Maxwell. We’d never actually spent time alone together, but it was everything I always imagined . . . not that I imagined it often or anything . . .

  At Barley Remix, he just reinforced that I was right with my initial assumptions about him. On top of being the most attractive guy I’ve ever seen in real life, he’s hysterical and so freaking smart I developed a complex. I learned more about him in two—fine, four, whatever—hours than I had in the time I’ve known him.

  I learned that he went to Princeton and majored in mechanical and aerospace engineering. He also has his own foundation where he works with inner-city children and helps foster a love of STEM and sends a group of kids on a fully paid trip to space camp. He got all shy telling me, but eventually I was able to pry it out of him that when he retires, he wants to go back to school. He wants to work for NASA one day.

  A professional football player and literal rocket scientist.

  I called him a slacker.

  He said he was trying to match my passion one day.

  Now I know he’s a shit liar.

  And I haven’t shared a morsel of it with my girls. I keep telling myself it’s because I’m holding my pretend grudge. But really, I feel special knowing this about him. I mean, yes, you could probably find all of this in a simple Google search, but still. Maxwell opened up and shared with me . . . and after being around Maxwell, I know that anything from him is a big deal.

  So I’ve held it close and ignored what that might say about me.

  “Bitch. Stop. Max came over to give Jagger a signed glove for show-and-tell yesterday before he went to the facility. I asked him how beers with you was, and you know his fine chocolate self was quiet and didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to. As soon as I said your name, I swear his ass blushed and those perfect teeth went on full display before he shook his head and walked away.” Vonnie arches an eyebrow at me, sipping her signature French martini with a splash of champagne. “That smile coming from that man? It said it all.”

  “I have nothing to do with these crazy-ass WAGS.” Sadie, Poppy’s best friend and club waitress extraordinaire, waves a rhinestone-covered nail at me and purses her glitter-covered lips my way. “I want to know everything. The few times Max came to the club, I swear he inspected his shoes the entire time. But that shy man shit does not trick me. I bet he’s freaky as fuck.”

  The thought of what Maxwell is like in bed causes me to miss the shot glass I’m aiming the vodka in.

  “I like Max,” Jacqueline says. I still startle a little every time she speaks, it took her so long to get comfortable with us.

  “I don’t want to slash his tires and egg his house anymore, if that’s what you want to know.”

  Jacqueline’s eyes grow to the size of quarters. “You were going to slash his tires and egg his house?”

  And suddenly, the mystery of why it took Jacqueline so long to warm up to us becomes crystal clear.

  “Probably not.” I place her Model Behavior on the bar, her cheeks flushing when she sees her namesake cocktail. “I mean, he lives in a gated community and I bet he parks his car in the garage. The logistics were all over the place.”

  The flush drains from her cheeks and she goes white. “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” she whispers into her drink.

  “You’ll never be on my bad side.” I wink, turning to Poppy, who is unusually quiet.

  “Yo!” I snap in front of her face, startling her out of whatever daydream she’s lost in. “Earth to Poppy! Are you all right? Is this a tequila night?”

  “Ummm . . .” Her eyes shift around the room and she doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m not feeling great, I think I’ll stick with Sprite tonight.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  Poppy doesn’t drink soda.

  She said Ace and TK were encouraging too many bad eating habits and soda was the easiest thing to kick. And when Poppy decides on something, she sticks with it.

  The gears in my head start kicking into overdrive, and my eyes widen.

  I shove the martini glass I was preparing to fill back on the bar and yell for Tanya, the newest HERS family member, to cover me.

  “You.” I point at Poppy. “Office. Now.”

  Four sets of eyes turn to us, and four asses rise from their seats to follow us. Poppy turns panicked eyes to me and I can almost see her pulse throbbing in her neck.

  “You guys stay,” I tell them before they lose their seats. “Save Poppy’s seat, and if you could keep an eye out for Tanya, I�
��d really appreciate it.”

  Tanya doesn’t need help. She’s new here, but her family owns the oldest, most amazing Indian restaurant in Denver. The Khatri family is like royalty when it comes to local restaurateurs. The only reason she’s working here is because she wants to start her own bar one day, but didn’t want to ride her family’s coattails to the top.

  And since I tell these women everything (except about Maxwell), they are well aware of this fact and all of them, sans Jacqueline, glare at me with pursed lips.

  “I hope you know you just bought one night of us barging into your house unannounced,” Vonnie, never one to be left out, tells Poppy.

  Poppy rolls her eyes. “You guys do that every week.”

  She speaks the truth. We aren’t a group who respects boundaries.

  I follow her into my office and lock the door behind me.

  “What’s going on?” I don’t waste any time because if we’re gone for too long, those bitches will bust this door down.

  “Nothing.” She turns away from me and studies the pictures on my wall that she’s seen a million times like they are the most interesting things in the universe.

  “You’re the worst liar in the world,” I say, stating the obvious. “Is Ace okay? Did TK do something? You know I have access to a remote plot of land in the mountains and an excavator if you need me to hide a body.”

  “You know saying shit like that is why Jacqueline was afraid to be alone with us for months, right?” A smile tugs on the corner of her mouth, but the worried look is still haunting her eyes.

  “Yeah, I’m figuring that out.” I walk over to her, all joking forgotten. “Seriously though, are you all right? I can almost hear your heartbeat from here.”

  She chews on her bottom lip and clasps her hands together, but even that doesn’t stop them from fidgeting. “I’m pregnant.”

  “I knew it!” I scream, damn near doing a toe touch. My feet move of their own accord and before I know what I’m doing, my arms are locked tight around her as I force us to jump around in circles.

  “Brynn!” She pushes me away, her ashen skin green. She runs to my trash can and dry heaves.

  I gather her long curls and hold them behind her head.

  After what feels like an eternity, but in reality is probably only two minutes, she collapses onto the rug hiding the concrete floors.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, and want to slap myself. She’s lying on the floor next to my trash can. Of course she’s not all right.

  She throws an arm across her face. “I’m freaking the fuck out.”

  “What did TK say?”

  “I haven’t told him yet,” she whispers.

  “Poppy.” I lower myself to the floor beside her. “Why not? He’s going to be so fucking excited.”

  I don’t say that to comfort her. Poppy and Ace are TK’s entire world. I mean, the guy walked away from millions of dollars to be with them. Thanks to his crazy-ass mom, he missed out on Ace’s early life. It’s something he doesn’t talk about much, but on the happenstance it’s brought up, he can’t mask the hurt and regret that he wasn’t there from the beginning.

  “It’s stupid.” She sits up, tracing the pattern on the rug with her fingers. “I keep thinking about my pregnancy with Ace and how hurt I was when he wasn’t happy about it.”

  I consider my words carefully; I don’t want to upset her more than she already is. “You know that wasn’t TK though.”

  “I know. But I’m in school. We’re supposed to be getting married in seven months, and now I’m going to be a freaking whale—you have no idea what pregnancy does to my hips. TK is just getting adjusted to his non-football-playing days and I’m throwing this at him.” She brings her hands to her face and I think she’s crying until a giggle breaks through.

  What the fuck?

  “I’m sorry.” She snorts. “These hormones have turned me into a maniac.”

  “You are not.”

  She is, but I’m smart enough to not agree.

  “Liar.” She laughs, wiping the tears away from her eyes, and I don’t even think to ask if they are from laughing or crying.

  “TK had to know that sex means a baby is a possibility, so this can’t come as a huge surprise.”

  “I had an IUD,” she tells me. “We thought we were covered.”

  “Wait.” Now I think the color has probably drained from my face. “What do you mean?”

  She cocks an eyebrow, staring at me like I’m an idiot. “I had an IUD. When I went to my doctor after my positive pregnancy test, they removed it after confirming I was pregnant.”

  “Okay, but why didn’t it work? Was yours inserted wrong?”

  “Brynn, you do know that no birth control is one hundred percent effective, right?”

  “Well, yes, but the IUD is supposed to work!” I stand up, pacing the room, fully hysterical now. “I depend on that little fucker! If the condom malfunctions, I’m still supposed be covered! You mean to tell me it might turn on me?”

  “Yeah.” She laughs, and I guess I should at least be happy that my internal crisis has lightened her mood. “But you still have to have sex, and I’ve never even heard you talk about a guy.”

  That’s because I’m on a strict one-night-stand regimen. No relationships. Hell, I don’t even like getting their numbers most of the time.

  Dammit.

  Looks like I have to make better choices.

  This sucks.

  “I mean, IUDs are still pretty effective. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  She’s right. I’ve been living my best, slightly skanky (but I’m grown and I have needs too) life for a long time and I’ve never gotten pregnant. I take a deep breath, turn my attention back to her.

  “I’m back,” I say. Her eyes are dancing with laughter, but also questions, and I know I’m going to have to share my exploits with her soon. “How far along are you?”

  “Ten weeks. But!” She holds up her hands and hurries on. “I just found out on Wednesday. I thought it was just stress from school and construction.”

  “Wait here.” I know it’s a crapshoot on whether or not she’ll listen. I unlock the office door and run to the bar, grabbing her purse from Vonnie’s lap, and sprint back to Poppy before anybody can question me. “Go home and tell TK,” I say when I return.

  “But—”

  “Nope.” I cut her off before she can think of an excuse. “You did your last pregnancy on your own, and as much as I don’t mind holding your hair while you dry heave into my overpriced Crate and Barrel trash can, TK is going to spoil the shit out of you, and you deserve that.” I shove her purse into her arms, grab my keys from my desk, and pull her out the back door. “Let’s go.”

  “Dammit.” She sighs, knowing she has been defeated. “You’re a bossy bitch.”

  “I’m the boss, bitch.” I unlock the doors to my SUV. “Now let me take your pregnant ass home.”

  Seven

  The city of Denver is building a new rec center down the street from HERS. It’s a huge project. They’ve been working on it for almost a year already and aren’t even remotely close to finished. Every day before going to HERS, I drive or walk by the construction site to see what progress they’ve made over the last twenty-four hours.

  Every day since they broke ground, that has been my routine.

  And the only consequence has been frustration because of how freaking slow they move.

  Until today.

  I guess when my dad told me I should avoid construction sites because nails and all sorts of shit (my word, not his) get tossed around, I should’ve listened.

  Because it’s nearing midnight and I’m stuck on the side of I-25 with a flat tire thanks to a giant nail. And, because I’m apparently still a fourteen-year-old who lives to defy her father, I never replaced the spare tire in my trunk and I ca
nceled my roadside assistance program to help save money for the two-thousand-dollar pair of sneakers I’ve been dying for.

  So if you’re keeping score, my life is basically an accumulation of shit decisions.

  My dad is the first SOS call I put out, but when he doesn’t answer, I don’t even attempt to call again. Although he will never admit it, Frank Sterling has a sleep disorder. Once he falls asleep, he is dead to the world. He will not, I repeat, will not wake up until he has had a full eight hours of sleep.

  Since it’s a Monday, Paisley and Tanya are alone at HERS until close. It’s slow, but not slow enough to only have one person. Plus, safety in numbers and all that jazz. I don’t like any of my girls being alone. So they’re out too.

  I shoot Marlee a text. She lives in New York, but I feel like being stuck on the side of a highway means I could meet my doom and she should have one last text to remember me by.

  If I die tonight, know that I love you. And also if you’d kept your ass in Colorado, you could have prevented my untimely death. PS Kiss those babies for me.

  I attach a selfie of me standing on the hill opposite of the guardrail, my bottom lip sticking out with my Land Rover sitting sadly behind me.

  She doesn’t respond. Probably because it’s the middle of the night and she has two psycho children who suck all the energy out of her on a daily basis.

  I scroll down my contacts until I hit TK. He’ll save me.

  “Brynny Bear!” he booms into the phone, too chipper to have been asleep. This bodes well for my future. “What it do?”

  “I’m stuck on—”

  “Oh shit. Poppy just ran for the bathroom again. That’s the fourth time tonight. Is this normal? I don’t think this is normal. We’re calling the doctor tomorrow.” He rambles on, talking more to himself than me. “Here,” I hear him say. “Talk to Brynn for a second.”

  “Wait.” I try and yell into the receiver to get his attention. “Just call me back!” I shout, but it’s too late. I hear the phone drop on what I’m assuming is their pillow-covered couch.