High Strung (Power Station Book 1) (4 page)

“Nothing. That’s the whole point. Sometimes you don’t need to achieve anything. You can just do it for fun. So come on. Be reckless, we can even pick up some pie on the way out. Angelo’s is just as good as Carmine’s.” Megs wiggled her eyebrows enthusiastically.

I wanted to argue, to tell her no, but in all honestly, it was easier just to give in. One night wasn’t going to change anything and if it meant appeasing Megs and making her happy, then I could put off my pity party for twenty-four hours and hit it hard tomorrow. Besides I knew she wasn’t going to let up until I agreed. She would probably blow up my phone until I eventually gave in, so I was probably just saving us both the time in between.

“Fine. I’ll go,” I conceded, raising my hands in defeat. “Tonight better not suck.”

****

After a quick trip home to Brooklyn, I packed an overnight bag, ignored the final notice bills stuffed in my mailbox, and made my way back to the city. I had decided that while I was happy to raid Megs’s wardrobe for our evening adventure, I wanted to get a few personal items to equip me to crash on Megs’s sofa, rather than to try and navigate my way home later in the dark.

I had settled on a simple, fitted, little black dress that was way shorter than I was comfortable wearing, teamed with a pair of my own chunky black wedges. It was by far the most conservative outfit Megs had decreed acceptable, nixing most of my earlier choices. I made my peace with the fact I was going to be flashing a little more flesh than usual, applied some makeup, and left my long hair untethered to tumble down my back.

“You look great. Stop tugging at your hem,” Megs whispered as we stepped out of the cab and onto the sidewalk.

I couldn’t help it; the dress barely covered my ass and it had been a challenge not to flash anything as I navigated out of the cab.

“It’s so short.” I couldn’t resist giving the dress one last tug as we made our way to the long line that stretched out in front of the doorway of
Panic
, the ironic name of the club Megs had taken us to.

“We are going to be out here forever. This line is so long.” The girl in front of us complained. Her male counterpart simply shrugged and pushed his hands into his pockets. She was right; it was going to be a long wait.

“Let’s see if there isn’t a quicker way.” I smiled, pulling Megs out of line and approached the giant who was guarding the entrance.

“You ladies on the list?” The large bouncer looked us over, his security number swinging from the chain around his thick neck.

“Sure,” I smiled hoping we could wing it and get into the club sooner. While I wasn’t thrilled about coming out in the first place, getting inside was going to be a hell of a lot more fun than standing outside on the street. Especially given the cheery disposition of our fellow waitees. Losing my nerve and hailing a cab was also another possibility the longer we stood outside.

“I’m Ash and this is Megs. We should be listed there somewhere,” I bluffed, wondering if we got caught out whether he was going to make us go to the end of the line.

He consulted his clipboard before raising his eyebrow in question. “Ashley Brookes?”

“Yep. That’s me and this is my plus one,” I lied, silently hoping karma wasn’t going to bite me on the ass and the real Ashley Brookes didn’t arrive in the next five seconds.

“Says here your guest is supposed to be your husband, Keith Brookes.”

“He’s not feeling well tonight, so I decided to drag out my best friend instead. You know how men can be when they get the sniffles. I left him tucked up in bed.” I smiled sweetly wondering where this new bravado had come from. I guess I had committed so it was best just to see it all the way through.

“Well okay then, show Mack your IDs on the way in. Have a nice night.” He pointed to the other bouncer, sporting the number thirty-four, whose job it seemed was solely checking IDs. I guess there was a pecking order even with security guards.

Mack grunted as we held up our IDs for inspection, barely taking the time to check if they were authentic before waving us over to the line that required no payment of cover charge. Score.

“That was amazing, Ash. I can’t believe we bypassed the line.” Megs’s face beamed with excitement as we walked into the belly of the club and were hit by a wall of flashing lights and deafening noise.

“So now what?” I screamed over the loud music pumping through the space. The wild strobes that were sweeping through the room seemed to have no sequence or rhythm.

“Drinks. Lots and lots of drinks. You, my friend, are going to have a good time tonight. Forget your grand plan, forget the interview, and forget everything else. For one night, you need to just
BE
,” Megs screamed back, her voice barely audible over the thumping bass.

“Is that some new-aged therapy shit?” I laughed as we waded through the crowd toward the bar, feeling more comfortable taking my chances with the friendly bottles of alcohol rather than the dance floor.

“You don’t need a therapist, Ash, you need to relax. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself.” Megs put her arm around my shoulders and hugged me. She was right. One night wasn’t going to kill me.

“I’m trying.” I shrugged, wondering when was the last time I had honestly loosened the reins. While most kids had been partying through high school I had been studying my ass off for my SATs. When I hit college, I continued to keep my head down, not willing to throw away the opportunity to achieve my dreams for some keg beer and Sorority parties. Besides, when I wasn’t studying I was helping out my parents, hiding out in the kitchen until I hit twenty-one, and then behind the bar.

“Well, try harder. We’ve been in this place for fifteen minutes and we haven’t had our first drink yet.” Megs squeezed her body close to mine. Her gorgeous face had started to bead with a thin sheen of perspiration.

“Okay, okay.” We made our way to the bar in order to rectify the no-drink situation. Knowing how obnoxious it was when some jackass waved or hollered in your face, I waited until the bartender made his way over to our side of the bar before attempting to place our order.

“What can I get you?” The bartender leaned into us, grinning appreciatively at Megs’s barely there dress. Out of the two of us she was the one who usually got the attention. She was not only extremely intelligent but she was also classically beautiful. Her blonde hair and blue-green eyes complemented her delicate features. Add to that her pint-sized figure, she was most men’s dream girl. If she wasn’t my best friend I would have had to hate her.

“I’ll have a Long Island Iced Tea.” Megs smiled, thankfully not ordering anything that required a cocktail umbrella and embarrassing us.

“And I’ll have a Dirty Martini, but can you make it fifty-fifty Noilly Prat and Tanquary 10, lots of brine with three olives.” I leaned over the bar in an effort to make myself heard.

“She’ll have a Dirty Martini, make it how you want to make it.” Megs waved me off. “You’re not working tonight, remember? Let the man do his job. After a few of those suckers you aren’t going to care how they are made.”

“It’s no problem, sweetheart. You’re paying for it so I’ll make it anyway you like.” He smiled. I wasn’t sure who
sweetheart
was directed at but either way I was happy to see he was making my drink as per my prescription.

“Thank you.” I watched as he grabbed the liquor bottles off the shelves and started mixing the drinks. There was something poetic about watching the liquid spill from the measure pourer and into a Boston glass.

I tried not to stare as he shook my Martini, giving me a wink as he poured it into the chilled glass resting on the bar. He then turned his attention to building Megs’s Long Island in the high ball in front of us, garnishing it with a lemon spiral. I had to hand it to him, he took pride in his craft.

“Keep them coming.” Megs handed over her black Amex that he happily exchanged for a bar token.

“Megs, you don’t really want to do that. Remember, I grew up in a bar.” The delicious icy gin-vermouth sensation complemented by the saltiness of the brine exploded across my tongue as I took a sip.

“Yeah, I actually do. Last time you were drunk was New Years Eve when we were doing shots of Jose Cuervo in my apartment. I think you’re due.” Megs grinned, reminding me of the impromptu party we’d had after finishing our shift at Garro’s. Having not being able to participate in the revelry until after the bar had closed, we’d made our way to her apartment and did shots of silver tequila until we both passed out. New Year’s Day did not treat us kindly.

“Fine, it’s your money.” I took another sip from my glass.

Megs held her glass up with a mischievous grin. “I propose a toast. To great friends and great futures, and to wherever either of those takes us.”

“And to the questionable decisions we’re undoubtedly about to make,” I added before clinking my glass against hers.

Megs shimmied with excitement, her grin splitting wildly across her face. “Now you’re talking.”

“I’m telling you, I
think we should have some input into who Lexi is hiring.” I threw back the Jack and Coke the waitress delivered, wanting to get my buzz sooner than later.

This wasn’t our usual hang out but I was in need of a change, bored with the same faces I’d been seeing at the other Manhattan clubs. The strobes flashed with an irregular cadence while the big-ass screens designed for our privacy shook under the thump of the bass. The gen pop part of the club was separated from us by a bunch of drapes and out-of-work linebackers.

I’d dragged Jase and Troy along for the ride with neither of them giving me much resistance. It’s not like either of them had plans, and with Jase having recently broken up with his off-on, long-distance girl, Erin, I decided it was time to go on the prowl, and for me and my brothers to enjoy being single in the greatest city on earth.

“Why the fuck do you care who she hires? This isn’t the whole Sydney thing again, is it?” Troy stood and grabbed the two beers off her tray and handed one to Jason.

“Thanks, Beth. Give us twenty and then bring another round.” He slid a fifty onto her tray giving her the all clear to leave. She gave him a pretty smile before she turned to walk away. He didn’t even look at her ass as he sat back down on the couch. Troy had always been so fucking smooth; why he wasn’t banging a different broad every night still perplexed me.

“No, it’s got nothing to with her.” I put my tumbler onto the table in front of us. “Fuck, you boys gossip more than a bunch of old ladies. Who even told you about her and me?” Syd and I had only happened one time but everyone seemed to know about it. I assumed she must have talked; after all, it had probably been a while since anyone had made her come like I had. I wore the scratches she tore into my back for a fucking week. Who knew she was that wild in the sack.

“You did, numbnuts.” Jason laughed, bumping my shoulder with his fist.

“Okay, so maybe I did. Who remembers?” I couldn’t recall spilling but honestly it was months ago, it’s probably for the best, I didn’t like hiding shit from my brothers. “Anyway, it’s got nothing to do with Sydney. Shit wouldn’t have worked out with us. She’s
English
.”

“You make it sound like she has an extra head or something.” Troy laughed as he nursed his beer. He and Jase hated clubs, preferring shit-hole bars with pool tables, dartboards, and draft beer. He didn’t bitch about it though, which was cool, proving what a team player he was by tagging along.

“Not you, too. I explained it to Stone this morning.” I failed to understand why this concept was so fucking hard. Didn’t we all study this shit in school? No wonder there is an outcry over the state of the education system.

“Is this the Declaration of Independence thing or the zee versus zed thing?” Troy piped in giving me faith the bastard had been paying attention.

“It’s the Declaration thing but seriously, who even says zed?” I shrugged.

“You do realize the language we speak is
English
so
they
are probably right,” Jason added smugly, the fucker probably thinking that because he had a college degree he knew better.

“Screw zed. As far as I’m concerned, that fancy piece of paper our forefathers signed means
I
get to say zee.” How this was even up for discussion was beyond me, Ben Franklin would be turning in his grave with this completely unpatriotic banter.