From where Oakley, Brandy, Lettie, and I were seated, we had a clear view of the door as it swung open.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Brandy remarked over the beat of the country music filling the dimly lit bar.
Bailey, Lennon, Reed, Beckham, and Callan strode in. Their almost matching attire would have made me laugh if it wasn’t for the look on Callan’s face, how it settled with relief once he saw me. I offered him a small smile and they made their way over to us. The bar wasn’t packed, but there were enough people that they had to maneuver around a few groups.
Lettie set her drink on the high top table, meeting Bailey halfway to wrap her arms around his neck and slam a kiss to his mouth. The others left them standing there and closed the distance to where we were still seated. Lennon bent to kiss the side of Oakley’s head and she leaned into him, a blush lighting up her cheeks.
“You guys weren’t having too much fun without us, were you?” Beckham asked, surveying the drinks on the table.
Brandy slid off the stool, holding her arms wide. “Can’t have fun without the life of the party, can we?”
He grinned down at her and pulled her in for a tight hug, rocking her back and forth before letting her go.
“We missed you,” Brandy told him.
“I missed you guys, too. Pool?” Beckham asked, looking at each of us with the question.
Callan ignored him, keeping his eyes locked on me with a slight furrow to his brow. I offered him another smile, but it didn’t ease the look on his face.
“I’ll play,” Bailey offered. “Teams?”
“Len and me, you and Cal?” Beckham said to him.
Callan tore his attention from me and I heaved a deep breath. “I’m good,” he said.
“Reed?” Beckham asked, facing Reed where he was leaning against the half wall that surrounded the area with the pool tables.
Reed adjusted his arms from where they were crossed. “You buying drinks?”
“Loser buys,” Beckham said, like he was reminding him of a rule they had.
“I’m not playing if I’m not drinking,” Reed stated.
Beckham clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “Always the picky asshole. Brandy?” He faced her.
“I’ll get them,” I offered before she could respond.
“Great,” Beckham said.
Callan gave him a stern look, then reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. “I’ll go with.”
“It’s okay,” I told him.
“We’ll go with her,” Lettie cut in, coming up beside Brandy.
Callan hesitated a moment, then pulled a wad of cash from his wallet and handed it to me. I took it because I knew damn well I couldn’t afford drinks for everyone. “Thanks.”
He gave me a short nod. “Let me know if you need help carrying the drinks back.”
“That’s what she’s got us for,” Brandy said, looping her arms through mine and Lettie’s.
Lettie did the same to Oakley on her other side. “You’re coming, too.”
Oakley laid her hand on Lettie’s arm. “If you insist.”
“Beers?” Lettie clarified with the guys.
“Whiskey, please,” Beck said while the others nodded.
“Four beers and a whiskey. Got it.”
With one last look at the guys, the four of us headed toward the bar on the other side, keeping our arms locked together.
“So,” Lettie started as we approached the worn wooden bar, “what’s the look on your face for?”
“What look?” I asked as we all dropped our arms. Each barstool was taken aside from the two at the end that we grouped behind.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, his tattooed arms flexing as he threw a rag over his shoulder and leaned against the counter.
Lettie listed the guys’ beverages, then ordered herself some mixed drink, along with Brandy’s and Oakley’s.
“You?” the bartender asked.
“I have a drink back at the table,” I said, gesturing behind me.
“She’ll take a lemon drop,” Oakley told the guy.
He nodded once and got to work on all of the drinks as I faced Oakley.
