Whiskey Flick Read online

  Copyright © 2019 Ryan Ringbloom

  All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the prior written permission of the author, with the exception of short quotes for purposes of review.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, places or actual events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  www.RyanRingbloom.com

  Cover Design by Wicked by Design

  Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Formatting: Allusion Graphics

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Whiskey Everything

  Also Available

  About the Author

  To my brother Erik

  and his boyfriend,

  Ken N. Jim,

  who have a dog

  named Rusty

  but will never

  get a cat

  because I quote,

  “They are not lesbians.”

  Like a Bad Chick Flick

  Three Years Ago

  “Hey guys, this is Jenn, back again to show you how to do a french braid on your own head.”

  On your own head? That sounds stupid. I use my thumb to click the remote and stop filming. If I want more subscribers, I need to make this perfect or at least have it make fucking sense. I push a few blonde strands away from my face, smile, and press start.

  “Hey guys, Jenn here to show y’all how to... grrr.” I aim the remote at the camera propped up on the dresser and stop recording again.

  Y’all? What, now I’m from the South? Somehow I think my Jersey accent might give me away. I uncross my legs and lie back on my bed. Hmm. How should I do this? I leave the camera off while I practice.

  “Hey guys, it’s Jenn,” I say to the ceiling. “Lots of you have been commenting that you liked my last video where I showed you how to do a dutch braid, so today I’m back to show you how to do a french braid.”

  Dammit, that was perfect. It figures this is the time I didn’t hit record. I sit back up and run a brush through my flattened hair, prepped and ready for a self-braid demonstration.

  Maybe what I should do is just keep recording everything I say, even though it’ll be a giant pain in the ass to go back and edit when I’m done. But if I’m serious about doing this, I’m gonna need to start figuring out the editing part sooner or later.

  I press record one last time and chuck the little remote synced with the camera off to the end of my bed. I miss the mark and it tumbles over the side, thunking down on the floor. Oh well. I’ll grab it when I’m all done.

  I face the lens.

  “Hey guys, it’s me. Jenn. I, um.... Shit.”

  Keep going.

  “Hey guys, Jenn here coming at ya with some braid... ah, fuck me hard. That’s not it.”

  “Hey, Jenn.” I laugh. “Duh.”

  “Hi everyone, it’s Jenn, the braid girl.”

  The braid girl? Where did that come from?

  “Hey guys, it’s Jenn. I know a lot of you have been asking me for french braid tips.”

  Was that it? No, I said it different last time. I chew on my thumbnail, trying to remember what I said before. I know I mentioned the dutch braid, but what did I say again? I reach for the half-eaten vanilla-frosted donut sitting on my bedside table and take a bite, chewing while mulling over what I said the good time.

  There’s a knock on my door, and my brother’s girlfriend, Sasha, peeks her head in. My face immediately lights up.

  “Is it okay if I come in?” she asks.

  “Yes! Come in.” I place the donut back on the table and rub my hands clean. I shift over on my bed to make room for her to sit next to me. “This is such a great surprise. I didn’t know you guys were coming to the cabin this weekend. I thought Henry was away.”

  Henry and Sasha have been dating almost two years. He’s proposing soon. Not many people know. But I do. I helped him pick out the ring. He’s my brother, so of course I wanted to help.

  “He’s not here. It’s just me.” She sits down on the bed where I made room, and her perfume sends subtle notes of soft flowers my way. My heart speeds up, caught somewhere between a level of comfort and a feeling of terror by my reaction to her familiar scent. “But I knew you were at the cabin and I wanted to see you,” she says.

  “You came all the way here just to see me?” A warm flush rises up my neck to my cheeks. It’s a two-hour ride to my family’s second home. That’s a long drive for a surprise visit like this.

  “Your mom let me in. She and your dad were on their way out. They told me to tell you they’d be back later.”

  “Are you spending the night?”

  “No, I’m going to be leaving soon.” Her perfectly glossed red lips give me a smile that doesn’t reach her dark eyes.

  “Why?” An overwhelming wave of disappointment floods me, and my brain scrambles to think of ways to get her to stay. “Why would you come all this way just to turn around and leave?”

  She pushes back a long strand of her chestnut hair, tucking it behind her ear. The pulse in her neck is visible, beating fast. She lifts her chin slowly to face me.

  “You and sweets,” she says, not answering my question. Her finger grazes my skin, wiping away some frosting from the side of my mouth. “It always amazes me how different you are from your brother.”

  I use the back of my hand to wipe away any remaining frosting as a knot builds in my gut.

  “Sasha, what’s wrong?”

  The silence that follows only lasts a few seconds but feels like an eternity. I know something bad is coming.

  “I broke up with Henry last night,” she finally says, looking away.

  “What?” I tighten my arms over my stomach. “No,” I all but burst out. “You can’t.”

  “I know he has a ring, Jenn.” She shakes her head, turning back, her brown eyes meeting my teary gaze. “I needed to end it now, before things went any further.”

  “You’re just nervous or have cold feet. You two are perfect for each other.”

  “We’re not.” She swallows.

  Maybe they’re not perfect, but he’s so lucky to have her. She is perfect. She can’t leave him. She can’t leave... me.

  “But now that you’re broken up, what happens?” A lump forms in my throat, and no matter how many times I swallow, it won’t go away. “I don’t see you anymore?”

  “You are the reason it lasted as long as it did,” she says. I’m dying inside, my tears beginning to spill, but she remains poised. “You are the reason I need to go.”

  “What?” I gasp. I’m the reason? “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you don’t.” She places her hands on my cheeks, and I think she’s going to wipe away the tear sliding its way down my face just like she did the frosting. But she doesn’t. Instead, she leans in and her soft lips press against mine.

  My hands go to her shoulders, ready to push her away. Only I don’t push.

  I can. But I don’t.

  Not My Stereo Type

  “I think I’m
a squirter,” my client, Melissa, whispers through a giggle.

  “What?” I pause and make eye contact with her in the mirror. “I don’t know what that means,” I say before returning to fold the fifth foil into her hair.

  “Yes, you do. A squirter.” Melissa says it again as if the problem is that I didn’t hear her correctly. I heard her just fine. I have no clue what the word means, and I shrug. “Oh my God, Jenn, a squirter. When a girl, ya know... comes hard. Like in porn.”

  “Oh.” I tip my chin up, feigning an understanding. What is she saying? That if a woman comes hard enough, stuff squirts out? Yuck. Who openly discusses something like that with their hairdresser? “I don’t watch porn,” I say and can only guess that I am a soft comer as I have never squirted.

  “Really? But you’re a lesbian.” Her brows crease in confusion, because as accepted and open-minded as people have become, the stereotypes still linger. Although, this is a new one for me.

  “Yes, but I usually spend most of my free time shopping for lumber at the Home Depot,” I say with a straight face.

  And there lies the problem. Instead of taking the opportunity to enlighten and inform against a stereotype, I have added to it. I can’t help it. It’s funny. And being I’m single, frustrated, harboring a huge secret, and don’t watch porn—funny is all I have.

  “Okay, I set the timer. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” You freak. I strip off my rubber gloves and head to the back for a cup of coffee I don’t need.

  “Why do you look stressed?” Remi follows me into the small room, searching drawers. “Where’s the developer?”

  “Top right drawer, and I’m not stressed. I’m frustrated.” The coffeepot is half-full but cold. Figures. “Oh, and do you know what a squirter is?”

  “Of course, I do.” Remi grabs the developer and turns toward me. “Why? Are you a squirter?”

  “No. Ew. And just for the record, if you’re one, I don’t want to know about it.” I cover my ears. She’s my best friend, and she dates my brother. I seriously couldn’t think of a more appalling image if I tried.

  “Why are you frustrated? I thought you had a date the other night?”

  “I did.”

  “And...?”

  “I’m still frustrated.” I shrug.

  “No good?” Remi frowns.

  “She was good.” I date lots of good women. But good sucks when you’re looking for great.

  “I never realized how picky you are.” Remi peeks out at her client and holds up a finger, indicating she’ll be another minute. “What kind of girl are you looking for? Do you even know?”

  “Yeah, of course I do,” I say, but don’t elaborate. Maybe I don’t really know. Or maybe I knew, but now I don’t anymore.

  “Are you sure? Because you were practically obsessed with hooking Henry up. You even tried hooking me up with him. Gross.” She shudders at the memory of when I set her up with the wrong brother.

  “What’s wrong with me wanting him to meet someone?” I ask. He was so sad and lonely after the breakup. I felt responsible. I had to help him.

  “It’s like you’re this hopeless romantic, but when it comes to yourself, you just phone it in and never really let your guard down.” Remi walks over and strokes my newly deep purple locks, soothing me in a mock tone. “Who hurt you, Jennifer? Who caused your heart to turn black? You can tell me.” She laughs and turns back to grab the developer.

  I turn my back on her as well, quickly swallowing down any trace of emotion her unknowing taunt conjures up. Remi has no idea how close to the bull’s-eye her words just were. No one does.

  I’m aware that I have guard issues. After a secret incident several years ago, I may have inadvertently put up some walls. Painted them. Hung art. Added some crown molding. But I’m working on it.

  Although, the word hurt is an understatement, or maybe not even the right word at all. Confused. Angry. Resentful. Those might be better.

  But I don’t think about her anymore. The person who hurt me, or I guess I should say hurt others, is gone.

  And what happened between us that night….

  I’ll take that to the grave.

  Curiosity Killed my Mood

  “Do you happen to have a picture of Sasha?” Tina, my brother Henry’s new girlfriend, puts me on the spot, asking about his old girlfriend.

  Girls’ night out. Not always that fun.

  “Um... I don’t think so.” I blow out a stream of air. I pick up my drink and sip, keeping the glass up to my lips way longer than necessary. I might have a picture.

  “I’m sorry. It’s probably weird that I’m asking.” Tina shrinks back on the couch. “He mentioned her when I first met him, when I didn’t want to hear about the ex, but then, I don’t know, we’re together now and I’m just curious. What does she look like?”

  “Well—Jenn used to have a ton of pics on her Instagram but she erased them all,” Remi volunteers. “Adam told me,” she says, turning to me. “I’ve always been a little curious about what she looks like too. But every time I ask about her, it’s like a Voldemort situation.”

  Sasha, she who shall not be named.

  “Was she tall? Short?” Tina asks. “Blonde? Brunette? I seriously know nothing but random weird things like she likes butterflies and what wine she drinks.” Something tells me Tina’s curiosity is not going to go away very easily. And it’s true, we don’t talk about her anymore. It took Henry way too long to get her out of his head, and none of us ever want her getting back in. Especially me.

  “Ew, I know, he told me about the butterfly thing too.” Remi cringes, squishing her face into judgement mode. “That’s like, psychopath shit.”

  “Are you saying Henry dates psychopaths?” Tina asks defensively, and Remi’s judgement face switches to panic-stricken as she begins to backtrack.

  “Noooooo,” she drags out. “Of course not. I just meant it like people obsessed with butterflies are... ya know.” Remi looks to me for help.

  “What she’s trying to say is that Adam is the one who dates psychopaths,” I say with a wink, and Tina joins in my laughter. Remi can be ridiculous at times, and good for Tina for calling her out.

  Besides, the butterfly thing, that was a joke. Sasha and I had been discussing popular tramp stamps. Butterfly was the winner. Something silly between her and me. She made a comment about butterflies at dinner one night. It was our private joke, and Henry just kind of ran with it. He had a two-hundred-dollar paperweight with a butterfly preserved in glass sent to her the very next week. She found it depressing. So did I.

  “So describe what she looks like.” Remi is now the one not dropping it. She turns to Tina and talks out of the side of her mouth. “This oughta be good. Jenn hates Sasha.”

  “I don’t exactly hate her.” I shrug. Hate’s a strong word.

  “Was their breakup really that bad?” Tina frowns. Why does she want to know this shit? Some stuff is just better left unknown. Trust me. I know.

  “Well, I heard that it was a bad breakup, but only because it was so unexpected. They were gonna go on a trip. He had a ring.” With every word Remi spills, Tina gets punched.

  “He didn’t love her.” I have to jump in before Remi kills her. “And he’s aware of that now. He’s a completely different man now because of you.” That’s it, that’s all I’m saying. End of conversation.

  “Oh yeah, totally,” Remi agrees. “Adam says the same thing. They had some weird robot relationship, but you’re the real deal.” Remi lifts her glass and glugs down another large sip of wine. “Oh, and I think she was short. Like super short. Peter Dinklage short.”

  “No, she wasn’t.” I have to jump back in. I wasn’t gonna say anything else in the hopes that we could move on, but... Remi. Motherfucking Remi and her filterless, say-anything mouth. “She’s only slightly shorter than me. Maybe an inch or two,” I supply, and they lean in for more. Kill me. “I don’t know… brown hair, dark skin, dark eyes.”

  “Brown hair?” Remi sni
ffs with an air of disgust. “Since when do you describe hair as just brown?”

  I’m not one to hold back my true feelings from Remi, but in this case, I refrain from scowling and telling her to fuck off.

  “Long, wavy.” I shrug, and Remi glares at me suspiciously as if my weak description is a path to a hidden truth. “Thick, luxurious, silky.” I add. “Sasha had that whole exotic thing going on. Her hair was gorgeous.” This time I get a look from Tina. She’s intimidated. This is a no-win for me. “Here.” I give in, grabbing my phone from the coffee table, scrolling through hundreds of photos before finding the one picture of Sasha still left on my phone. “This is her. Describe her yourselves.”

  “You had a picture this whole time and you never showed me?” Remi snatches the phone from my hands to examine it first. “Wow.” She coils back in awe and then by some freaking miracle catches herself. “She’s just all right.”

  “No, she’s gorgeous.” Tina panics, staring at the picture over Remi’s shoulder. “And thin and has perfect teeth and knows how to pair wine with fish.” She gasps for breath, holding her chest. “I don’t even eat fish.”

  “Really? Not even sushi?” That’s Remi’s response to a girl who is clearly starting to hyperventilate.

  “Breathe, Tina. It’s okay.” I push Remi out of the way, encouraging Tina down to take a seat on the couch. I rub her back while she breathes in and out. This is crazy. “You don’t ever need to worry about Sasha. She was selfish, manipulative, and cold. She was horrible for Henry and thankfully is out of our lives forever.”

  “I’m fine. I just need a glass of water.” Tina bolts up and walks into the kitchen.

  “Nice going,” I whisper-shout at Remi.

  “Me, nice going? You, nice going,” Remi whispers back. “You’re the one who showed her that picture. Even I would have known not to show her the picture if I knew the girl looked like that.”

  Okay. I’m done. This bullshit night and this bullshit Sasha inquisition is not what I signed up for when I said I’d have drinks at Tina’s after work. Like I need to be told that the bitch is beautiful.