Trinity
Trinity
Copyright © M. NEVER 2016
All rights reserved
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from author M. Never.
Cover Design by:
Marisa Shor, Cover Me, Darling
Cover Photo by:
Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs
Cover Model:
Michael Hornat
Editing by:
Holly Malgieri
Candice Royer
Jenny Sims, Editing 4 Indies
Proofreading by:
Nichole Strauss, Perfectly Publishable
Interior Design and Formatting by:
Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
Table of Contents
For Jennifer. You know who you are.
Jenn
“TO THE BEGINNING OF THE END.”
I clink the rim of my plastic champagne glass against Janine’s.
“Jenn,
you are such a drama queen. I’m getting married, not walking the green mile.” My dark-haired, blue-eyed best friend chuckles as she takes an indulgent sip.
“Might as well be. Committing yourself to one man for the rest of your life sounds like a death sentence to me.” I swallow a large gulp of the crisp, dry bubbly.
“Please . . .” She follows suit, draining her glass. “Marriage is a sacrament. The happily ever after everyone is so gung-ho about.”
“Is that how you’re selling it to yourself?” I wipe down the bar top, then straighten the square cork coasters in front of her.
“I don’t have to sell it to myself. I love Jack. He loves me. That’s enough of a reason to
get the needle.”
She taps her arm dramatically before wagging her empty glass at me.
I pull the corked champagne bottle from the ice bin and pour her refill, a little disturbed.
“Don’t give me that look,” she scolds me as she takes another generous sip.
We ordered the expensive champagne months ago, right after she and Jack got engaged, and have been keeping it safe for this very night.
“Why not?” I laugh. “You just alluded to death by lethal injection. And had no issue with it.”
“Because I’m confident in my decision.
In Jack.”
“You have way too much faith.” I’m a total pessimist.
“And you don’t have enough.”
I snort cynically. “Faith has never proved to do much for me.”
“Jenn, I know you’ve kind of had a shit time of it”—she flutters her fake eyelashes—“but you had better be careful. With an attitude like that, the only relationship you’re ever going to have is with this bar.”
“Might not be such a bad thing.” I run my hand over the worn wood. “You know my affection for this place.” I glance around the room. The weathered restaurant isn’t much—a bunch of tables in an open space, scuffed teak floors, and dated seaside décor—but the unobstructed ocean view erases all the imperfections. It brings a youthful life to the aging structure and revitalizes a liveliness in me day after day. My faith lies within these four falls.
Tell you a secret? I’m not really scared of commitment; I just haven’t found a man who can make me feel the way this place does. Safe, home, alive. Janine has been with Jack since high school. She knows his every in and out. Her faith is warranted. He’s proved himself to her over and over again. He’s her stability.
The only stability I’ve ever had is this restaurant.
“That’s completely unacceptable to me, Jenn.” Janine hiccups. “You need cock to survive. It’s as essential as eating.”
I nearly spit my champagne. She always has spoken her mind . . . sans filter.
Janine Sinclair has been my best friend since we nearly burned down the local high school with a chemistry assignment gone awry. She’s responsible for my navel piercing, my tattoo, and my new haircut—a choppy bob with hot pink highlights. I’ve always had long hair, so I’m still adjusting to the chin-length, layered cut. I find myself constantly flipping the pink and platinum bangs out of my eyes.
Annoying.
I questioned if the atypical color was going to look too outrageous in her wedding pictures, but she just waved me off and foiled my hair. Did I forget to mention she’s also my stylist and has bold blue streaks threaded through her own dark locks? Funky is Janine’s theme for this wedding. Hell, funky is Janine’s theme for her life.
“What time is Shayna supposed to get here?” She asks, close to polishing off her third glass of champagne.
“Any minute now,” I inform her.
“Good, because I’m ready for you to be done working. I want to get this party started!” She shoots off the barstool and throws her hands up in the air. Oh boy, the bubbly is kicking in.
“Soon enough,” I promise her. “Don’t go off the deep end too soon. Jack and his posse aren’t even here yet.”
“Who needs them?” She waves. “All I need is you, some awesome music, and lots and lots of this.” She swirls her plastic glass sending splashes of champagne over the brim.
“Is that all?” I toss a bar rag at her so she can clean up the spillage on the floor. “Then why did I go to all the trouble of putting a party together?” Janine and Jack couldn’t really afford separate bachelor and bachelorette parties, so I organized a joint celebration.
“Because you love me, and I’m worth it, and you have the expensive champagne connections.” She leans against the edge of the bar with bright pink cheeks.
“Yes, all of those things are true—” Before I can tack on a snarky remark, the front door of the restaurant swings open, grabbing my attention. I expect Shayna to traipse in, but it’s a pair of strangers instead. A pair of tall, drop-dead gorgeous strangers who stick out like a sore thumb. I peg them as tourists. No local wears
those
clothes or looks
that
put together in this place. The Corkscrew, or the Cork and Screw as it’s affectionately called because of the way the word is separated on the awning—by a squiggly line that looks like the ‘and’ symbol—is three steps above a dive. Most of the high season, or summer clientele, are fishermen, beachgoers in bathing suits, and a casual dinner crowd. Not many designer labels waltz in, especially now that’s it’s after Labor Day.
The two striking men look around the sparse room before their gaze lands on Janine and me. Her face lights up, inviting them to the bar. Janine used to work as a hostess here, so her hospitality instincts kick in.
“Please take a seat.” She ushers them right in front of me. Her big blue eyes glitter behind their backs, communicating
fresh meat.
She’s terrible. Worse than an obsessive Mrs. Bennet trying to marry off all her daughters.
“What can I get you?” I drop a square cork coaster in front of each of them.
“What’s good?” the blond with wild wavy hair asks with genuine interest. His warm tan skin and straight white teeth are totally dreamy. Like a sexy-ass, roll me in the sand, surfer.
“The coconut mojitos are amazing,” Janine chimes in. A jubilant smile marring her round pretty face.
Jesus, down girl
.
“All right, a coconut mojito it is.” Blondie grins, and my girlie bits tingle. Maybe Janine isn’t the only one who needs to calm down.
“Same for you?” I address his friend. He’s a bit broader. His hair is jet black and his brown eyes are sharper. But he’s just as sexy. A dark desire in designer jeans.
Damn.
He scrunches his nose, scanning the bottles on the shelves behind me.
“No Crown?”
“Nope. Seagram’s Seven or Canadian Club.” I offer up two middle-of-the-road whiskey alternatives.
“Neither.” He curls his lip. “Jim Beam and Coke.”
Blondie shoots him a sidelong look.
“I don’t have much of a choice,” the dark-haired man defends his drink decision.
We don’t carry much top shelf liquor. That’s not the kind of clientele we cater to. It’s more a Corona, piña colada, and rum runner kind of place.
“Just promise me you’ll switch to gin and tonic after two,” Blondie pleads.
“Fine,” Mr. Dark and Stormy reluctantly agrees. That’s when I notice their subtle exchange. The way their arms brush against each other and the proximity of their barstools. They’re practically sitting on top of each other. I find myself astoundingly disappointed. They definitely didn’t give off the gay vibe when they walked in, but it’s apparent now. At least to me.
Bummer.
I whip up the Jim Beam and Coke before I muddle the mint leaves, lime, and brown sugar, fill the highball glass with ice, and pour two parts white rum and one part coconut rum before topping the mix off with club soda. The mojito concoction is a signature drink at the Corkscrew. I must make a million over the summer. I drop their drinks in front of them as people start to slowly fill up the restaurant.
“Do you have a late dinner rush or something?” Blondie asks as he takes a sip of his drink. I pick up on his surprise. The mojito always packs a bigger flavor punch than people expect.
