The Not - Outcast

Yeah, she was serious about whatever was going on with that top on.

Then her jeans.

They weren’t jeans at all.

She had slicked-on leather pants.

Oh yes. Club it was, but I said to Melanie, “We need to go hardcore tonight.”

“Got it.” Succinct and to the point. We were on a mission.

Her coworker walked out from the back at that point.

“Hey, Chey—”

When Melanie decided something, she moved fast. She interrupted, “My girl needs a girls’ night. Can you cover for me the rest of the night?”

Her coworker braked, opened her mouth, stopped and took both of us in. We both had full game-on expressions… we were set and determined to go. Consider these expressions our warpaint. And she closed her mouth. “Okie-dokie.”

Melanie pulled her barista apron off, closed out the till, and grabbed her purse. We were off.

“Have fun tonight.”

Melanie’s response was a grunt, her laser eyes never moving from Sasha.

I gave a smile and wave, but never missed a beat.

Sasha knew something was up when she saw us coming, noting Melanie’s purse, and my empty hand. “No coffee?”

No words were needed.

I grabbed Sasha’s purse and Melanie grabbed Sasha. Or, she took her hand, and pulled her from the booth. “Let’s go.” And Melanie was off, leading this charge.

Sasha looked over her shoulder at me, her eyebrows raised, but I just gave her a stern look. She knew better.

As if reading my mind, she sighed again, the first time in deep thought at the table all alone, but this time in surrender.

She knew what we were doing.

“Thanks, guys.”

Melanie’s hand tightened over Sasha’s and I dipped my head down to hers.

We were always here for the other, no matter what.* * *Melanie was not fucking around, her words when we asked where we were going.

We went to Bresko’s.

No one knew who owned Bresko. Rumors were that the mob owned it. Others said the cartel, but weren’t they really the mob, too? I never understood the difference. Still, other rumors said big time CEOs of Fortune 500 tech companies had their hand in it. A few rumors were that relatives of Marilyn Monroe’s owned it. I was thinking that last one was far-fetched, but whoever owned it was making a killing.

It wasn’t even in Kansas City. It was the outskirts, like, in the middle of nowhere. For real. There was nothing around it for miles, and when you approached you had to get your car approved to go through a gate. A long, winding, gravel driveway was next, and it always felt like a full mile you had to travel before you came to a parking lot. If they were really busy, and you were in your own car, you got a pager from a guy at the front of the lot. Then you were directed to a parking spot, and you waited for an indeterminate amount of time. When your pager lit up, you got the green light to go to the waiting line.

But this place was always busy, so when we stopped at the pager guy, no one was shocked when he gave us one and indicated where to go for our parking spot.

I didn’t go to Bresko’s on a regular basis, like maybe four times in three years.

We never had to wait long once we got to the waiting line outside, thankfully.

And I knew once Melanie parked, she was going to pounce.

She did.

She turned the engine off and twisted in her seat to face Sasha, who was in the front passenger seat. “What gives. We’re here for you. You know we’re your girls, but we gotta know the basic layout of what we’re working with here.”

I loved when Melanie was like this. I had to do nothing except slip into Happy Cheyenne-Land, and right now, I was so down for that.

Melanie’s eyes were hawk-like on Sasha. “Spill it, honey. We need to know.”

Sasha flicked her eyes to the ceiling, but groaned, reaching up and rubbing at her forehead. “I don’t want to.” She slumped down in her chair. “It’s embarrassing and stupid.”

Now my interest was really piqued. I leaned forward, a hand curved around her seat. “Whoa. What’s going on?” Wait. I frowned. “Is this about my brother?”

“Bro—” Melanie did a double-take, her frown landing on both of us if that were even possible. “Brother?! What?”

I answered at the same time as Sasha.

“He’s not really my brother. His mom is my dad’s ex-wife.”

“Fine. I slept with him in college, and again last Friday night.”

Melanie’s eyebrows both skyrocketed. “What?!”

And me again, “But Chad and I have a half-brother in common, so we’re kind of, but not really like, siblings. I don’t think it’s a thing. I’m not tight with anyone in my family, so it doesn’t bother me.”

Sasha groaned again. “That’s why it’s a problem. I feel like a traitor to you.”

Me?

She looked up from her spot to me, tipping her head upward. “Do you hate me? I slept with him again last night. And maybe the night before.”