Reckless (Thoughtless, #3)

Later in the evening, one of my closest friends at school, Cheyenne, arrived. She was warm and outgoing, one of those girls that everyone liked. She had taken an instant liking to me and had saved my butt in our poetry class. I was sure I wouldn’t have graduated without her. Well, okay, I probably would have graduated, but she definitely helped smooth the process.

Cheyenne was followed into the bar by her girlfriend, Meadow, and the rest of the members of Poetic Bliss. I was surprised to see the band there; they weren’t scheduled to play tonight. As Cheyenne gave me a hug, Sunshine, Tuesday, and Blessing plugged in their instruments. Rain took her spot behind the lead microphone, while Meadow ducked behind the drums. Yeah, all of the members of the band had strange names. Saying their names directly to them had been a challenge at first. It’s just a little hard for me to call someone Tuesday with a straight face.

As an energized hum filled the bar, I looked between my two blond, perky pals. Cheyenne was gazing up at the girl band with an expression of adoration that I knew very well—I tended to look at the D-Bags the exact same way. Jenny was bouncing on her toes, giddiness over her successful party overwhelming her.

“Are they playing tonight . . . just for me?” I asked, surprised.

Cheyenne looked back at me, her grin wider than her home state of Texas. “Sure are! I asked Meadow if they could give you a proper goodbye.” She sighed as she looked back to her girlfriend. “They had to rearrange a couple of gigs, but they were happy to do it. Anything for my girl Kiera!”

I blinked, wondering if I’d be that cool if Kellan wanted to give a former crush such a thoughtful gift. Then again, Meadow knew me, and she knew that I was with Kellan . . . and straight. I suppose that tempered the jealousy, if there even was any; Cheyenne and I had cemented our friends-only status before they’d even started dating.

I found it difficult to concentrate on my waitressing duties once the band was in full swing. Friends kept chatting with me around every corner, and several customers that were not there for me were a little irritated by the whole thing. Eventually, Pete came out of his office and let me go several hours early. There were loud cheers and whistles as I handed him my apron. Pete patted my shoulder, thanked me for my time here at the bar, then handed me an apple-flavored sucker. I tried to not get teary-eyed, but when my coworker Kate gave me a hug, I lost it.

Kate, teary-eyed herself, walked me up to the bar. Rita was tending, as she did almost every night, and she poured us shots while Jenny grabbed the cake from the back room. For the first time since I’d known Rita, she didn’t mention my rock-god husband. She usually bragged about sleeping with him, or made some vague remark that reeked of innuendo, but tonight she seemed almost respectful as she ate some cake and chased it with a celebratory shot.

By the time the group of us had finished the cake, I’d had about six celebratory shots. They just kept miraculously appearing in front of me, and someone—usually my sister—kept encouraging me to drink them. My head was fuzzy when someone else pulled me out onto the dance floor . . . Cheyenne, I think. When I was pulled into the middle of the band’s fans, I let go of my inhibitions and danced my heart out. I’d always found dancing freeing, a way to get out of my head. The alcohol surging through my system helped there too, of course. I felt like I was floating as I twirled around.

After an eternity of dancing mixed with drinking, I was sweaty, insouciant, and feeling no pain. I bumped into a familiar, athletic body, and turned to peer up into Denny’s warm, dark eyes. He smiled down on me as he steadied me. The music, the crowd . . . it reminded me of dancing with Denny on a much different occasion. Examining my face, Denny asked, “You all right there, Kiera?”

Looking around the bar, I wondered if Denny’s girlfriend was with him. She and Denny worked for a prosperous advertising company. Denny was sort of her boss. “Is Abby here?” My question came out a little slurred. As Denny started to answer me, a random thought popped into my head and shot right out of my mouth. “You guys work together . . . so, since you’re in charge during the day, is she your boss at night?”

His cheeks red, Denny mumbled something about her being out with friends tonight while I giggled at the image now firmly etched in my head.

While I was chuckling, I noticed a friend of mine holding out another shot for me. I eagerly took it, reaching over Denny’s body to grab it. We were flush together with my arm draped over his shoulder as I tipped it back. Giggling, I handed the empty glass to my friend and wrapped my other arm around Denny; a feeling of familiarity flooded through me as our eyes locked.

Even though Jose Cuervo didn’t really care about personal boundaries, I knew in the back of my head that we were too close together. While Denny frowned at me, I gently pushed him back so that our chests were no longer touching. Well, I meant to push him. I ended up forcing myself back a step. I bumped into the guy behind me and almost lost my balance. Denny’s frown deepened as he grabbed my elbow to keep me upright.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

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