Page 13 of Shane

“Yeah, it is.”

“Damn.” She checks her cell phone. “Minka is outside. She’s having trouble getting in.”

“Why?”

“Because Minka looks about thirteen years old on a good day. The poor thing always gets carded. I’m going to have to go talk to the security guy at the front to get her in.”

“Okay, I’ll try to make my way to the bar. Maybe by the time you get back, I’ll have made some progress.”

“Cool, just order us a round of tequila shots,” she orders as she flips her long blonde hair and heads to the door.

Pepper acts nothing like she did when my father and I first met her during the summer. Instead of the sweet, all-American, good-girl image she portrayed, she actually has more of a wild, bossy, blonde thing going on.

Naturally, she doesn’t leave me any money to buy the shots but it’s whatever. Fortunately, my father gave me an in-case-of-emergency credit card to use. I’ll just run a tab and deal with him admonishing me about the balance later. I don’t think paying for drinks at a Vegas bar crawl is what he had in mind when he gave it to me.

Three bartenders are moving at the speed of light, taking orders and pouring drinks, but when I raise my arm to try and get someone’s attention, nobody even gives me a second glance. I guess I need to get closer to one of them or hike up my dress.

When I suddenly become squished by two burly-looking guys looking to maneuver in front of me and place their order first, I react, “Hey!”

One of them grunts back at me and the other completely ignores me, already two sheets to the wind.

“The key is to push them back,” a velvety deep voice says beside me, elbowing one of the guys with his right arm. “Then raise your hand with a twenty dollar bill in it. They will see you then. I’m convinced that bartenders can smell money.”

When I pivot in the tight space to identify my champion, I become tongue-tied as I rake my gaze from his well-developed chest up to his mesmerizing eyes, one green and one brown. I'm too dumbfounded to immediately respond, my gaze held captive by the strange color combination sparking in his eyes.

“Dude!” the guy he shoved protests, startling me out of my hot boy stupor.

“You were shoving my new friend here,” he retorts. “Wait your turn, asshat.”

“There’s no taking turns at The Pike.”

“There is now. Now what did you want to order?” hot boy asks me, actively ignoring their belligerence.

“Um, tequila shots, please," I finally stutter, pulling out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from my crossbody purse.

“How many shots do you want?”

“I think four should do it.”

“You’re going to drink four shots?” His mouth tilts one side up into a smirk.

“I’m here with some friends.”

“Ah, understood. Well, you’ll need more than that twenty to cover it.”

“I’ve got a credit card.” I reach inside my bag for my wallet, but he stops me by placing his hand gently on the inside of my wrist.

“It gets too wild in here to start a tab. The bartender holds onto the card, and you may never get to the bar again to close it out,” he tells me. “Put your card away. Your first round is on me, beautiful.”

My mother taught me not to accept favors, especially drinks from boys I don’t know but the fact that he’s waiting for a response, respecting my right to say yes or no to the offer, makes the offer that much more appealing.

“I appreciate it, although you really don’t have to do that.”

“Not a problem__.” He waits for me to tell him my name.

“Kennedy.”

“Hey Kennedy, I’m Shane.”