Page 31 of Sundown Somewhere

I need a drink.

“Shots.”

My declaration is short, sweet, and leaves no room for question. Thankfully, as my best friend, Dolly doesn’t think twice. In fact, she responds the only way she knows how. By one-upping me.

“Tequila.”

The wild is back in her smile, and my heart squeezes. Fuck yes.

I nod, taking her hand and leading her through the crowd to an open spot past the stage, crossing over an uneven dance floor laid over the sand. Oversized Adirondack chairs surround cast iron fire pits, strategically placed among the high top bar tables, giving the space an easygoing feel. The kind of place you could spend all night chilling, listening to the cover band. Which is exactly what I intend to do.

I park my bestie in one of the oversize chairs, then set off to find her the requested beverage. It doesn’t take long, a waitress intercepting me along the way, talking me into something I’ve never heard of. Although “talking into” is maybe a stretch. All it took was a simple question and I knew it was the perfect way to get this evening started.

“Tequila flights?” Dolly’s eyes bug out of her head as if she were a cartoon character trying to get a better look at something that excited her. The rev of my pulse makes my skin buzz, and it takes every ounce of control that I have to stop myself from uttering the comment that is right on the tip of my tongue as the waitress sets down the wooden trays, each with three shot glasses filled with different tequilas. “You are askin’ for trouble.”

“Should I go ahead and ask the band if they know your song now, or wait ’til you’re a couple in?” I tease, prepared for whatever gets thrown at me for such a remark. Literally and figuratively.

“Ha, ha. You know damn well tequila does not make my clothes fall off. Also, they don’t make the girl in that song’s clothes fall off either. She loses an earring, and a shoe, and a contact.”

I chuckle, grabbing the salt from my tray. Dolly absolutely can hold her liquor. Or at least she used to be able to—it’s been a long time since we’ve done this kind of thing. Six years anyhow…ever since Jeff came into her life.

“Well then, here’s to it.”

Licking in between my thumb and forefinger, I dose it with salt and hold up the first shot. Dolly does the same, clinking her glass with mine, then throwing it back. The tequila burns going down, flaring up my nostrils as I suck on a lime. Dolly doesn’t seem fazed by it, tossing her beautiful blonde hair over her shoulder and looking like she’s ready to take on the world.

“That one was for forgetting the past,” she says, picking up the next shot. “This one is for living in the moment.”

We repeat the steps—salt, tequila, lime—this one going down a little smoother than the last. I’m sure if I asked there would be an explanation as to what each one of these tequilas is, and how there’s a distinction between them. But right now, none of that matters.

Holding up the third, she slides to the edge of her chair and sucks in a deep breath. “And this one…this is for embracing the future.”

“To whatever awaits you.”

“Us,” she adds. “Whatever awaits us.”

“Us,” I repeat, my gut clenching, wondering what she means by that.

Whatever this life holds, I’ll be by her side. Dolly knows this. And really, that’s probably what she’s thinking. That this toast is to our future as best friends. Always.

Still, a part of me worries that it’s her giving up on love. On her dream of having a family. Of that little white house on lots of land. The dream I know she keeps close to the vest, worried that if she’s too open about it that the old biddies in town will harass her even more about being in her midthirties and not married. Made that much worse after being left at the altar. I know she’s hurting—that Jeff pulling that stunt did a number on both her heart and her self-esteem, but I can’t let her give up on that.

Clicking our glasses, we send our third and final shot down the hatch, this one actually feeling pretty smooth. Whatever that one was, all the rest need to be. Even if it bankrupts me paying for them.

“Another round?” I ask, as Dolly slips back into the chair.

She shakes her head, blinking slowly. “Not yet. Right now I’m going to let those sink in. Give me five and I think I’ll be numb enough to not care that Jeff doesn’t love me.”

“He’s a dumbass.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t love me. He asked me to marry him.”

She has me there. That’s sound enough logic—sober or tipsy.

“I would have done it the second he asked. Run away right then and tied the knot. But no, he wanted to wait. And wait more. Six years wasted. Six years. Like…he couldn’t have told me at any other point that he didn’t love me?” she continues, starting to ramble. Yeah, the tequila is starting to kick in.

I nod, letting her have her moment. I know she needs it.

“Why didn’t he love me, Hux?” she asks, tears hovering on the edge of her voice.