Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(17)
"Could I get two Margaritas?"
"Sure," Jade replies, the amusement in her tone puts a smirk on my lips. I don't miss the barely there noise of disbelief she makes while moving down the bar to mix the drinks. Turning to look at the oblivious woman beside me, the one who ordered a girly mixed drink in a bar full of old men and doped up bikers, I shake my head.
"I think you stumbled into the wrong place, Barbie."
With her fancy designer bag, platinum blonde hair, and glossy pink lips, the girl looks like she was meant to be at Sinner's, not this hole in the wall dumpster fire.
"My name's not Barbie, asshat," she shoots back with an angry scoff. There’s a look in her eyes that I can’t exactly pinpoint. A look that says, I think I know you, but I can’t be too sure. It confuses yet intrigues me.
I push my now empty beer bottle away from me before resting my elbows on the bar and leaning forward, testing her. "And my name's not asshat, but you already knew that."
"Right," she hums in agreement. "It's Braden." She avoids any further eye contact, staring forward at the wall of glass bottles so that I have trouble catching the slight twitch in the corner of her mouth.
"Do I know you?" I ask, my tone growing colder by the second, my hackles rising. When I was younger, I would have taken her knowledge of me as a compliment. But now, with a famous half-brother and a newfound love for privacy, I’m not that guy anymore.
"Not really," she replies cockily. My face tightens as I zone in on her proud expression. What the fuck does that mean?
"Here you go. I'm sorry that it took so long. We don't usually carry the mix up front," Jade mutters, joining us again, this time with two green slushie filled glasses.
"That's okay. Thank you." The blonde shoots her a look of appreciation, wrapping her small hands around the two glasses and shooting me a stern glare before walking away with a strong sway of her hips.
"Margarita's, huh," Jade mumbles to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. She rounds the bar and walks to an empty table, starting to wipe it down.
I keep my eyes locked on the back of the blonde, watching her maneuver around the empty tables before stopping in front of an occupied one. She sets the first drink down in front of a brunette facing the opposite direction, before placing the other down in front of an empty seat.
The blonde is wearing a wicked grin when she sits down, now facing my direction. She says something to her friend seconds before the brunette whips around, her wild eyes searching the bar before stopping on mine.
I feel my jaw unhinge when our eyes meet. Sierra?
Chapter Eight
Sierra
“Have you been here before?" I ask, dragging my eyes across the wooden sign that dangles awkwardly from above the door of this supposed Jim's bar.
"A time or two.” Sophie replies casually, like it’s not out of the ordinary for her to stumble upon places like this. And I suppose it isn’t. Sophie always was the fearless leader between the two of us, not afraid of anything or anyone. She has a natural type of confidence, the kind that doesn’t waver regardless of the situation. I’m the opposite. I wear a false sense of bravery like my favourite oversized sweatshirt: constantly. It’s become second nature to me. There’s no time to be shy in my world.
Sophie and I stand out in this neighbourhood. We look out of place with our expensive heels and glossy, blown out hair. I spin to face the street, too anxious to look at the exterior of the building any longer and immediately feel every set of curious eyes that latch onto my spine from behind the bar’s front window. Being watched brings forward such an eerie type of feeling, one that sits like a lump of coal in your belly as a sick reminder to keep your guard up. I slide my hand into the right pocket of my wool coat and wrap my fingers around a pen, clicking down on the end over and over again as if on instinct. I only realize my breathing has sped up once it starts to return back to a normal, healthy rhythm.
After running a shaky hand over my hair and sucking in a few deep breaths, I spin back around. Sophie is trapped inside her own bubble of excitement as she takes a step forward and yanks open the door. I stay rooted in place and listen to the creaky hinges with a judgmental brow raised to the sky. When I make no immediate move to follow her inside, my best friend wraps a dainty hand around my forearm and pulls me in with an unbelievably firm grip.
The musky smell hits me like a brick wall when we cross the threshold, making my nose crinkle. I attempt to find an empty table through the thick layer of cigarette smoke in the air. "When I told you that Clare ditched me, I was expecting you to take me somewhere a little less . . . dirty," I grumble while squeezing my body through a small gap between two occupied tables. I sound judgemental, and I know that I’m being exactly that. But I don’t do well in new places unless I’m five tequila shots deep.
"Well, suck it up, buttercup. I'm tired of the same old, same old. Live a little, Sierra.”
It's not hard to see where she’s coming from and wish that I could swallow my own worries in order to make her happy. But it isn’t as easy for me to ‘live a little,’ as it is for her. "Okay. But why here of all places? Those guys are literally smoking joints back there."
She stops us in front of a two-person table and tosses her purse down on the top beside the words, suck a dick, that have been etched into the wood. Following my stare, she looks at the massive group of intimidating bikers before giggling like a schoolgirl.