“A thousand.”
I release her hand like she’s covered in open sores and reach around to pull my wallet from my pocket. Her outstretched hand is already waiting before I’ve got it open.
Counting off the bills, I drop them into her palm and give her a hard look. “You renege on this deal, I promise I will find you and you’ll regret it.”
Her bony fingers crumple the bills into her fist. “Nice doing business with you,Boone.”
“Get the hell out of my sight.”
Without a look or a word to Ripley, Brandy stomps out of the bar, slamming the door behind her.
“Dirty whore,” the bird calls after her, but even that can’t pierce through the fury and disbelief gripping me. I stalk back to the bar and pull my own phone from my pocket.
The screen of my phone is packed with notifications. Texts. Missed calls. Messages. I bypass them for the gossip site. One search is all it takes to see that Brandy was telling the truth.
Amber Fleet Marries Hollywood Producerin Surprise Vegas Ceremony
Ihurlmy phone at the wall with the strength I used to reserve for pitching a strike, and it shatters against Hank Williams’s face with a roar that drowns out Kenny Chesney’s lies about no shirt, no shoes, and no problems.
For fuck’s sake, why would you do this, Amber?
7
Ripley
The bottleof Jack is empty, and Frisco pushes himself to a standing position. He spent an hour on the phone talking to people about the situation while Boone Thrasher sat at the bar in silence, pouring liquor down his throat.
The man is going to be hurting tomorrow, and not just his pride. I’ve spent enough years behind the bar to recognize a wicked hangover in the making.
“You done, man?”
It’s my job to assess how hammered someone is before they leave my bar, and Frisco’s slurred words and sloppy movements tell me that he’s blasted too.
“You want me to call you both a cab?”
Boone finally speaks. “I got a car.” He wrenches the keys from his pocket, and something goes flying before pinging against the concrete floor when it lands.
My eyesight is far from perfect, but the meteorite-sized stone on that silver circle means it’s obviously a ring.
Oh my God, was he going to propose to his girlfriend?
The question slams into me harder than Boone hit the whiskey.
That would make sense why he got so pissed and then went quiet.I let the possibility turn over in my head a few times.
Wow. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the balls? You’re planning to propose, carrying around a rock big enough to anchor a boat, and your girlfriend getsmarriedto someone else.
And this, my friends, is why I avoid celebrities at all cost. Their lives aren’t normal, and I want nothing to do with the craziness that clings to them like ticks on a hound.
Boone stumbles across the floor to retrieve the ring, but instead of shoving it back in his pocket, he crosses back to the bar and slams it down on the wood.
I wince, hoping it didn’t scratch. Then again, what does it matter to me?
“Here. I think this’ll more than cover the tab for tonight.” He waves toward the stools where Earl and Pearl sat earlier. “And theirs.”
Jingling the keys in his hand, he says to Frisco, “Let’s get out of here before the circus shows up.”
While his attention is momentarily distracted, I snatch the keys from between his fingers, and he whips his head around to look at me.