I’m going to pretend throwing back shots like it’s my job instead of authoring is not setting a bad example and corrupting the next generation. A girl has her limits.
“Hi, Wife.” Sean greets me with my nickname when he sees me.
“Hi, Husband,” I return, using my own moniker for him. Closing in on double digits, he’s growing into a bigger charmer than any of the guys outside, but he’s been telling me he’s going to marry me since he was three.
If it weren’t for the beauty to my right, I might have considered putting in the time and waiting for him to be legal. With the way my love life—or more accurately, my lack of one—has been going, I’m pretty sure I’ll still be single in nine years. Alas, Sean and Carlee are destined for each other.
“Wife?” a voice asks, and it’s then I notice a dark-haired boy sitting next to Sean on the screen. “You guys are that official?” He points at Carlee.
“Oh, I wasn’t talking to Cars, Mav. Hold on.” Sean slings an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Madz, this is Maverick. Mav, this is Maddey, Carlee’s sister-wife.”
“You and your family are so weird.” Maverick shakes his head. “But I thought your sister’s name was Jordy or something.”
“It is. Maddey is one of her best friends. I’ll draw you a family tree later.” Sean holds up a hand, halting Maverick from interrupting. “Yes, we know they look a lot alike. You should hear the jabs Ry would take from Coach Parker and his teammates about it, but that’s not the point.”
“Nick holding up okay up there?” I toss back a shot. “Is he enjoying his vacation from The Steele Maker?”
Nick Parker—and yes we take immense pleasure in teasing him for having the same name as the dad in The Parent Trap—is one of the BTU Titans alums who switched to fighting out of Rocky and Vince’s family gym after graduation. I may not have known a whole lot about hockey prior to dating Ryan, and sure, maybe Nick wasn’t Miracle level, but even I could see his talent on the ice. He was the only one surprised by the prestigious Lake Placid camp’s call to come coach for the summer.
“Dude”—Carlee and I both snicker at how Sean always seems to slip into calling us dude or bro when excited or serious—“I thought Ry was bad when he would go all Cap on us, but he’s got nothing on Nick as a coach.” His blue eyes widen when he realizes what he said, and I’m struck by how much he looks like his oldest brother. “Don’t tell him I said that.”
I toast him with my shot glass then toss it back, my belly warming as the coffee-flavored liqueur hits it for the third time. I can hold my liquor surprisingly well for a girl of my size, but even I’ll be trashed if I keep up this pace. Honestly, though, I can’t say I care too much.
I’m boomeranging shot number four for my Instagram feed when Skye bends over the back of the couch to put her face in mine.
“Oh no.” She eyes the Yeti-shaped shot glass in my hand before bringing her gaze back to me. “What has you doing brother shooters?”
“Brother shooters?” I call to her retreating back.
Readers ask me all the time where I come up with some of the things in my books. I answer by taking screenshots of the infamous Coven Conversations. None of us are normal, and I wouldn’t change it one bit.
“I’ve been friends with both you and Jordan long enough to recognize when the work we’re putting in on a bottle of tequila is because of something the OPB brigade brought on.” Skye fills her own Blizzards mascot glass to the brim when she returns.
The fuzziness from the alcohol means it takes me a second to work out the acronym, but I snort when the meaning hits me. Yes, there is a huge overprotective brother brigade in our group. Jordan and I may be the ones to suffer the most, but all the Covenettes fall victim to it whether related by blood or honorary induction.
We clink glasses and toss them back, my eyes closing as the happy buzz starts to set in.
“Dex left,” I say, pouring us a refill.
“Ah.” Skye looks around as if to make sure we are still one SEAL short but accepts the next round held out to her. “So we’re getting you drunk so you don’t do something stupid about him playing bodyguard behind your back?”
I give her a finger gun for her spot-on assessment.
“Okay then. Bottoms up.”
Another clink and down the hatch it goes.
Ahh, that’s better. I tap my teeth to make sure they are still there. Them going numb is always the first sign I’m well on my way to a good time.
“So this is where you’re hiding,” Jordan says, squeezing in between Carlee and me. “What are you doing?”
“Corrupting the youth,” Sean says, making me realize I forgot all about him on video chat.
I snort, slapping a hand over my face when tequila comes out of my nose. Shit that burns. Jordan hits me with one of her mom looks that says Don’t encourage him, but I can’t help it—my husband is funny as hell.
“Holy crap that’s trippy.” Maverick’s finger bounces between Jordan and me.
“Fucking A,” Sean agrees.
“Sean Patrick!” Jordan scolds. “I swear it’s like you want Mom to ban you from my house.”
“Don’t worry, Jordy.” Sean waves off her concern. “Mom knows I pick up way worse hanging out at Ryan’s. Hockey players aren’t exactly known for having the cleanest language.”
“Or sailors.” I snicker, recalling all the times Peggy and Babs, my mom, would scold Dad for cursing in front of us growing up.
Witnessing Jack McClain being threatened with having his mouth washed out with soap is still one of the best memories I have.
Oh what a potty mouth Dad has. Potty mouth. *hehe* What a silly saying. Why do they call it that? Is it because the language is dirty? Who comes up with stuff like that?
Then there’s the word potty itself. What a fun word. Potty. Pot-ty. Po-t-ty.
“What the hell are you doing?” Skye digs an elbow into my ribs.
“Huh?” is my brilliant response.
“Were you mouthing the word potty?”
Was I? Oh shit. Three cheers for tequila. Hip hip, hooray!
Speaking of…
More shots.
I’m about to tip shot number whatever-I-lost-count-I’m-an-author-I-don’t-math when a hand covers the glass before it reaches my lips.
“I may not be a bartender anymore, but I think we should cut you off.” Skye eases it from my grip, ignoring my dropped jaw completely.
“Why don’t you just shout ‘Andy’s coming’ and ruin all my fun.” I pout.
“As epic as it was when you had the Blizzards go viral doing that challenge, when you start fist-pumping and singing LMFAO’s ‘Shots’ to yourself, we know we’re doing it for your own good,” Jordan cajoles.
Wait…was I doing that? I look to my left, and son of a bitch my arm is raised. Tequila is so fun.
“I love you guys. You’re my favorite.” I put an arm around both my female besties and pull them into me.
“Oh man, I’m missing drunk Maddey—that’s no fun,” Sean says.
“Remember when she tried to give us ‘The Talk’ on New Year’s?” I groan at Carlee blowing up my spot.