On The Rocks

Casey and I stand on the porch of Hunter’s house, looking at each other before we open the door and walk in.

“Who are we?” Casey asks me in a quiet voice.

“We’re the two baddest chicks in the Outer Banks,” I tell her.

“And where are we?” she asks, her voice getting a little louder.

“We’re on the cusp… on the threshold… on the brink of going in,” I quickly respond.

“And what are we getting ready to do?” she asks with extreme urgency.

“We’re getting ready to show her the way it is.”

“And why are we doing it?” she asks with an evil grin.

“Because if I catch Sasha ever trying to kiss Hunter again, I’m going to knock her teeth out… so consider this a public service of sorts for the woman.”

“Damn skippy,” Casey exclaims. We give each other a high-five, then we take it down low, tickling our fingertips against one another, and then bump our hips together.

Yes, this is our preparation routine we always do any time one of us has a problem and the other one is riding wingman to help solve said problem.

The problem is, of course, Sasha. Hunter insisted on doing this get-together so I could get to know John, but that unfortunately meant I needed to get to know Sasha.

Before I left work for the day, Hunter pulled me aside and assured me that he talked with Sasha, that she was remorseful for what happened, and that it was water under the bridge. He told me everything would be fine, and then he reminded me that he wanted me to stay the night with him. Before I could even decline that invitation again, he made sure to remind me of the one-hour test he wanted to try out on me, which made my blood race hot and my resolve to sleep in my own bed weaken.

So in order to reinforce myself, I had Casey pick me up, purposefully leaving my truck so I would have to go home at the end of the evening.

Back to Sasha. I know Hunter reassured me that she would not be a problem, and that I could expect to have a carefree evening of good food, good beer, and good friends. I wasn’t so optimistic, and let me tell you why.

There is something us women have that’s called a ‘gut instinct’. I can’t explain it, I have no clue how it works, and I’m sure there are no scientific studies on it. However, I’ve had it appear in situations over my lifetime, and I’m guessing at least eight out of every ten times it was spot-on accurate.

My gut instinct told me that Sasha still has it bad for Hunter. I know Hunter says that yes, she may have been thinking that, but the kiss was before she knew he had a girlfriend. Fine… I’ll give her that. But when I marched up to Hunter and let myself glance at her, the look on her face was cunning, calculating, and challenging, and she was telling me that it was game on.

I’m also choosing not to give Sasha the benefit of the doubt, mainly because Casey isn’t. That trip out to California sealed the deal for Casey. She felt Sasha’s behavior was appalling, but even worse—Casey felt deep down that it was her inherent nature. In essence, based on their interaction, she had a ‘gut instinct’ about Sasha too, and I was therefore going to trust it as well.

I look at Casey in the eye, take a deep breath, and ask, “How do I look?”

She sweeps her gaze down me, taking in the long maxi-dress I had chosen—a butter-yellow color that set off my tan and made my eyes glow gold. I paired it with silver sandals and left my hair down loose. I was going for casual and carefree, just the way Hunter said tonight’s get-together would be.

“You look gorgeous, girl.”

“Thanks. Now, let’s get this initial awkward part of introductions with her over, so we can drink some beer.”

“Amen, sister.”

Casey opens the door, and we step into Hunter’s foyer. It’s quiet, so I assume everyone is out on the deck. We head into the kitchen to put the beer that we brought into the fridge. Before I can even turn around to walk toward the back deck, strong arms circle around me from behind, and I’m pulled back into warm, hard chest muscle.