Fumbled (Playbook #2)(64)

“People forget to write their names all the time!” I defend the creep.

“That’s true,” Sadie agrees, swiveling her chair to face Vonnie and Charli. “But do they also say things like, ‘You’ll be mine. I’ll make sure of it.’? And mention your real name as well as the alias you used at the club?”

After getting the job at HERS, it was easier to tell Vonnie and Charli about my past employment at the Emerald Cabaret. When I did spill, they didn’t balk, instead, their reaction was much like Brynn’s. I guess they had both gone with Justin and Shawn after TK introduced the club to the team. Obviously, I wasn’t working the night they went. But in a crazy twist of events, Sadie was and they loved her. So merging my friends ended up being easier than I ever expected.

“But—” I try and fail to defend myself.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Sadie says, cutting me off. “I’m asking Vonnie and Charli, not you.”

I give her my best stink eye and stick out my tongue. I don’t know why I introduced them.

“Girl.” Vonnie looks at me, concern written all over her face. “Why didn’t you tell us about this?”

“Wait, wait, wait. And here’s the kicker,” Sadie says before I can answer . . . again. “Whoever left the note took out the lightbulb from her porch light.”

Welp.

I guess I can cross Sadie off my Christmas list this year . . . and forever.

Freaking traitor.

“What the fuck, Poppy?” Charli asks, her face a little paler than it was a few minutes ago. “This is really scary. Did you call the police?”

“No.” I avoid eye contact, focusing on putting the finishing touches on Sadie’s cotton candy martini.

“I’m just going to put it out there,” Vonnie announces in the no-nonsense tone I’ve come to know her for. “When I was in law school, I studied some scary-ass cases. Stalkers always escalate. You need to report this. They might not be able to make an arrest, but you want this on record if something else does happen.”

I set the pink, sickly sweet martini in front of Sadie instead of throwing it on her like I really want to. Sadie picks it up, taking a small sip before aiming a gleeful smirk my way. “But tell me again how dramatic I am, Pops.”

I roll my eyes and turn to Vonnie, not giving Sadie the satisfaction of admitting she’s right.

“I know. TK’s been saying the same thing.” My shoulders sag under the weight of defeat. I hate being wrong almost as much as I hate TK and Sadie being right. “But nothing else has happened and I’m hoping I can just ignore it away.”

“’Mmmkay,” Vonnie says over the rim of her French martini (with a splash of champagne, ’cause she’s classy AF). “Why don’t you go watch a Law & Order: SVU marathon and tell me how all the women who ignore hypermasculine men with stalker tendencies end up?”

“Gah.” I fall onto the bar, which is probably in the employee handbook under “Things Not to Do.” “Fine. If something else happens, I call the police.”

“That’s all we ask,” Charli chimes in, looking like her bronzed goddess self again. “Now to a slightly less terrifying topic, did Jane e-mail you about the Lady Mustangs meetings?”

“The third Wednesday of every month,” I say at the same time Sadie asks, “What the hell is a Lady Mustang?”

I point to Sadie, who, I hate to admit it, looks like the Little Mermaid with the bar lights bouncing off the glitter in her red hair, and say, “Also, what she said.”

I don’t see her coming, but when I look over my shoulder, Brynn is behind me with three bottles of vodka in her arms, a shit-eating grin on her face and a twinkle in her eyes. “Did I just hear Lady Mustangs?”

“Ummm . . .” I hesitate, not understanding her enthusiasm. “Yeah.”

She shoves the vodka on the shelf, causing the other bottles to wobble dangerously around it. Once her hands are free, she unties my bedazzled (courtesy of Sadie) money pouch and directs me to the other side of the bar. “You’re off.” She pushes my ass into the empty seat next to Charli. “Because one needs no responsibility and lots of alcohol when first learning about the Lady Mustangs.”

“Oh shit.” Sadie drains the rest of her martini. “I think I’m gonna need another one, too.”

Brynn reaches for the red wine Charli’s been sipping but stops short. “Nope,” she says to nobody. She walks down the bar, her long legs crossing the distance in record time, grabs a bottle off the top shelf and a shot glass off the counter. When she’s back in front of me, she slams them both on the bar top. “This calls for tequila.”

“Oh lord.” I stare at the shot glass only half an ounce away from being a tumbler and watch with wide eyes as Brynn fills it to the rim. “It can’t be that bad!”

I don’t know if I’m telling her or trying to speak it into existence, but when Vonnie stays silent—not common—and Charli pushes the shot closer to me, I know I’m in for a hell of a story.

But upside! At least we aren’t talking about me anymore.





Twenty-seven




The tequila gods hath sent Brynn to earth to punish me.

It’s the only plausible reason I can come up with as to why she not only let me, but encouraged me, to drink five monster shots of tequila followed by three Skinnygirl margaritas.