Page 74 of Reckless Skye

Stevie snatched the bottle out of Skye’s hand and took a sailor’s swig before passing it back.

Skye looked down at the bottle. ‘Fuck it.’ She raised it up, said, ‘To the best friends a girl could ask for,’ and then followed suit.

The bubbles raced down her throat, tightening her chest. But as the sensation faded, Skye’s body relaxed. Her muscles calmed. So, she had an insanely stressful year of racing ahead of her and a father who might or might not pose a very serious threat to her safety? She’d deal with those the only way she knew how: one day at a time. But tonight … Tonight was for the girls.

As ‘Fireflies’ transitioned to ‘I Gotta Feeling’ by the Black Eyed Peas, as Stevie and Andrea started dancing and singing, Stevie still in her towel, Andrea stripping her shirt as she danced, Skye accepted that for each thing that was out of her control, there was another that was not. Despite everything, she had found two world-class friends, work and an extended family that she loved, two animals she’d literally take a bullet for. And those things, however irrevocably small to another, were everything to her.

They were things she could be proud of.

They were things she would fight for.

Chapter 22

Because they were drinking, they Ubered into Phoenix.

They started with dinner at an upscale restaurant before making their way from bar to bar. By only nine p.m., they were well and truly hammered, but after a long walk down Jefferson Street, all three of them felt sufficiently revitalized for one last round.

The January air nipped along Skye’s skin as they meandered towards the bar Andrea wanted to go to, a small honky-tonk a half mile away called Dave’s. In the microscopic black dress Stevie had insisted Skye wear, about as much was left to the imagination as was protected from the elements. Skye huddled deeper into her denim and shearling jacket, thankful that at least her upper body was practically dressed.

At her side, Stevie wore baggy black jeans, a cropped sweater top, and platform sneakers. Andrea, after much debate, had settled on an outfit that Skye always thought of as her uniform: a short skirt with black winter tights underneath, a white blouse with a sweater vest over it, and Doc Martens on her feet.

They might have been an odd-looking trio, different in style and looks and personality, but they drew plenty of attention. Never more so than when they stepped into Dave’s.

The door closed behind them.

The loud chatter died suddenly, leaving Whitesnake’s ‘Here I Go Again’ the only sound in the room. It seemed as if every eye focused on them.

After a beat of silence, Stevie asked, ‘Anyone wanna buy a girl a drink?’

A few hands shot up.

A low whistle sounded from the bar.

Skye looked up to find the cowboy she’d seen at Tia’s. He sat at the end of the bar, his blond hair free of his hat, his long legs clad in denim. He waved them over.

As everyone went back to their drinks, Skye led the way to where the cowboy sat. ‘You were at Tia’s earlier.’

When he smiled, twin dimples winked. ‘Beau Baker, Tia’s son.’

Skye made introductions. ‘Skye, Stevie, Andrea.’

Beau greeted the girls in turn and then stood to hunt up an extra barstool. The moment he was out of earshot, Stevie whispered, ‘Dibs.’

Skye snorted.

Andrea didn’t say anything, just linked her hands in front of her like a schoolgirl about to be chastised.

‘So, what’ll it be?’ Beau asked once he’d set the barstool down and the girls had taken their seats. He leaned over the bar so that all three of them heard him clearly. ‘Word to the wise: stick to the basics. Last time I ordered a house cocktail here, I was sick for a week.’

Before they could even place an order, Stevie said, ‘Four shots of tequila, please!’ and did a drumroll on the bar top.

Skye’s mouth watered at the thought of forcing the shot down.

Her stomach roiled.

Andrea groaned aloud. ‘I can’t.’

Beau looked down the bar at them, his grin wide. ‘I take it you ladies have had a bit of a head start?’