Page 248 of Unexpected Hero

I take a swig of my tea, then promptly spit it back into the glass. “Mother of pearl! What is this mess?” Facing Freya, I stick my tongue out and gag, drawing a boisterous giggle from her.

She looks at the guy who bought the drinks. “Did you order sweet tea?”

“No. She ask for tea, yes?”

Freya glances back at me and narrows her eyes. “You have to specify sweet tea, Lettie. We’ve been over this. Florida isn’t really in the south. They probably don’t have sweet tea here, anyhow. I’m surprised they had regular tea.”

“What you like instead?” the man asks, looking concerned. He seems like a nice enough guy.

“I’ll take a diet soda.”

He grabs the dishwater they’re trying to pass off as tea and hands it back to the bartender, quickly replacing it with something drinkable.

My first sip of the soda is tentative. Thankfully, it tastes normal.

Freya and I sing along with the music while sipping our non-alcoholic beverages. The guys hover, but Vanessa keeps talking to them. She’s giving them enough attention to make them stick around. I wish she wouldn’t. This is supposed to be girl time. Not that I want to talk to her anyhow.

I exchange looks with Freya, both of us silently communicating our discomfort. She eventually has enough and interrupts Vanessa and the men, reaching between them and pulling her away from them. “Coming on a little strong here, guys. We need our friend back. You’ve had her long enough. Why don’t you take a walk, huh?”

Both men seem taken aback with her tone. The taller one holds his palms out and lowers his chin, clearly embarrassed by getting called out. “Ladies, I wish you will have lovely night. Night as lovely as you. Good luck singing, Lettie. We root for you.”

He smiles warmly before moseying off. Maybe it’s a Russian accent.

We didn’t have any Russians back home in Climax. But he sounds like the guy in a movie I watched recently. I think he was Russian. Or Ukrainian?

The other man follows. At least they took the hint without calling us unsavory names. Maybe they aren’t so creepy. Wherever they’re from, they must have learned to have manners toward ladies.

The DJ makes an announcement when the music dies out. “Last call to sign up for the singing contest. Someone is going home tonight a thousand bucks richer.”

A trill of excitement zaps over at me when I check my watch. Less than an hour now.

A good song starts, and we take to the dance floor. We laugh and sing along, shaking our asses and finally having the night I wanted. But it’s still lacking, and I’m antsy to see James.

When we get back to the bar, Vanessa sits between Freya and me. She finishes the drink that one of the guys from earlier bought her while we were dancing. He said it was his apology. They tried to give one to Freya and me too, but it was booze, so we passed.

Must have been a strong apology, judging by how drunk Vanessa is getting.

Drunk? Scratch that. Not just drunk, but three-quarters to shitfaced. Here’s to hoping she’s less annoying when she’s hammered. Drunk people are always way less annoying — said no one ever.

Five minutes later, I’m here with breaking news: Drunk Vanessa is not less annoying. She’s worse. Far worse.

She reeks of booze and bitch, the latter being 150 proof. Leaning close, she cups her hand around her lips and puts it to my ear. “Did James do-do a one leg sssuspension on… on you yet? It’s the perfect height for him to lick your—”

Cutting her off, I bang my fist on the bar. “Finish that sentence, and imma snatch ya bald.”

She flinches, jerking backward and nearly tumbling onto Freya to get away from me.

Miraculously, Vanessa lands on shaky legs instead of her face and then bolts straight up, throwing her arms over her head. “And she’s okay!” she yells before busting out in laughter.

I’d sure love to send her home to be with the Lord right about now. But murder is wrong and all. And I’m aiming for good karma.

“Okay, I think this has been enough fun for one night.” Freya tips her chin at Vanessa, who is stumbling, humming, and being a general drunk mess behind us.

General Drunk Mess, reporting for duty, my conscience jokes.

“Keep an eye on her for a sec,” Freya suggests. “I need to get the keys out of her purse.”

Rolling my eyes, I spin the barstool around to look after our drunkard. Freya grabs Vanessa’s purse off the floor and goes spelunking.

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