Harmony and High Heels (Fort Worth Wranglers 2)

“I have my moments.” Lyric grabbed another bottle and the corkscrew. Harmony didn’t have the heart to watch her murder another cork, so she opened the wine herself.

She poured her sister another glass and one for herself. Her head was spinning, but at least she had an idea of how to get her mother in line.

Lyric saluted her twin. “Let’s figure out how to lose your reputation in ten days or less.”

Harmony pulled out her phone to take notes. “Momma won’t even know what hit her.”

Three hours later, the two of them were dressed to kill as Harmony pushed open the door to Dead Shot, the worst biker bar she could find on the Internet. As she did, the scents of stale beer and unwashed humans wafted out.

Lyric stopped dead in the doorway. “Are you sure about this?”

“Shut up and come on.” She pulled Lyric inside the dark room. “We are so doing this.”

They stood in the bar’s entryway for long seconds, waiting for their eyes to adjust.

“I don’t know why we couldn’t have just gotten a drink at one of the hotel bars downtown,” Lyric muttered under her breath. “There’s a nice new Chili’s right around the corner from my house. You could get into trouble there too you know. Maybe dance on the bar or something.”

“It wouldn’t be the same.” Harmony needed a badass place to be a badass in. Bar dancing at Chili’s would have gotten some laughs, but that was it.

“No kidding.” Lyric looked around like she was trying to recall the date of her last tetanus shot. “Your chances of catching hepatitis would be so much lower at Chili’s. But really, who wants that?”

“Exactly,” Harmony said with satisfaction.

“Seriously, though …” Lyric scooted a little closer to her sister as she looked around. “This place is really dirty, Harm. And dark. Did I mention dirty?”

“You did,” Harmony growled. “Keep your voice down.”

It was too late. Lyric’s voice tended to carry, and her last comment was perfectly timed with the ending of whatever biker bar song had just been playing. Everyone stopped and stared at them.

Pissing off the entire clientele wasn’t the best idea in the world, but Harmony wasn’t into backing down. Not anymore. What better way to make the news than to cause a riot in a place like this?

She rolled her shoulders back and tried to take up as much room as possible. She glanced over at Lyric, who was smiling manically at the largest man in the room.

“Stop smiling,” Harmony said without moving her lips. “And don’t make eye contact.”

Lyric kept on smiling.

“Statistics show it’s harder to kill someone who’s smiling at you,” Lyric said behind her creepy smile. “You should probably smile too.”

“I don’t smile.” Sometimes a person had to draw a line in the sand, and this was one of those times.

The mountain of a man—who was about seven feet tall and four feet wide—stepped directly in front of Lyric. “You ladies lost?”

He was wearing a battered, black motorcycle jacket with a large patch pronouncing him vice president of the Bastards of Hell.

Shouldn’t it be the Bastards from Hell? God, she hoped Lyric wouldn’t point that out.

This was exactly what she needed to give Momma an aneurism. “Not lost at all. We’re looking for a good time.”

Screw not smiling. She plastered on her biggest, brightest smile. But it was a little bit hard

to maintain, considering her new thigh-high black leather boots were rubbing a patch of skin raw on her right inner thigh and their pointy toes were crushing her pinky-toes—but her mother needed to suffer, so she was willing to put up with a lot.

“In that case …” He offered Harmony his left arm and Lyric his right. “Fun is my middle name. Let me buy you beautiful ladies a drink.”

“Southern hospitality … I like that in a man,” Harmony cooed as she batted her eyelashes.

She glanced over at Lyric, who was looking about as out of place as a Democrat at a Tea Party rally. Her big sister had on a “Nerds Do It in Space” T-shirt, baggy jeans, and sparkly pink Birks. Harmony had been hoping for something a little less virgin-geek, but in the end, she took what she could get. At least she’d managed to pry Lyric out of the house, even if it had taken half an hour of fast-talking to convince her that she should be mad at Heath for forbidding her to go to Chile.