“That doesn’t mean he’s not my brother anymore.”

“I think it does.”

“Scout, that’s not how it works. Once a brother, always a brother.”

“But you dated Gabe Riggs.”

“So?”

“So, his dad was married to your mom for like two whole years.” Which was pretty much a record for Ashley’s mom, who had married half the men in Lake County. Well, half the men with an annual income well into the upper ranges of six figures.

Ashley sashayed up to the bar, winking at an old man who nearly fell of out his chair checking out the way her micro-mini skirt clung to her butt. “That was different. Gabe and I never bonded. Kit and I did.”

“And Gabe couldn’t get you into clubs and buy you free drinks.”

She gave me a quick scowl before turning to the attractive Latino man who stood behind the bar. “Hey, Bobby. Kit’s buying drinks for me and my friend tonight. Ain’t that nice of him?”

“Precious.” I liked Bobby. It was the combo of exotic beauty and sarcasm delivered with a shocking Southern drawl that did it.

“I want a fuzzy navel. Scout?”

I’ve never drank alcohol before. I know, what normal American high school graduate hasn’t been plastered at least once, right? But drinking never appealed to me, especially witnessing the effect if had on Charlie’s family. But, like the good nerd I am, I did a bit of research online before waltzing into a bar.

“Long Island Iced Tea, please,” I ordered as casually as I could with my hands shaking like they were. I just knew he was going to ask for ID.

Ashley waited until he walked off to turn on me. “LIT? Seriously?”

“Yeah, I like those.” Assuming that LIT stood for Long Island Iced Tea. And basing that assumption on the fact that I like iced tea, as long as it has lots of sugar in it. When I saw it on the list of the ten most popular drinks ordered in a bar, I decided it was the one for me.

“LIT? The drink with like four different kinds of hard liquor in it?”

Four different kinds of hard liquor? Crap. I should have done better research.

“Yep. LITs and Scout. They go together like rum and Coke.” Which was totally what I should have ordered. At least it only had rum.

“Here you ladies go,” Bobby said in his adorable twang. “Enjoy.”

There was little chance of that happening.

I took a tentative first sip and had to fight the urge to spit it out. It tasted like liquid nasty and burned the entire way down.

“How is your LIT?”

“Good.” I cleared my throat, hoping that would make the pain stop. “Bobby mixes a mean drink.” So mean it had teeth and wasn’t afraid to use them.

She clanked her glass of what looked like harmless orange juice against mine. “To a night of fun.”

“To us,” I murmured through gritted teeth. She took a big swig of her drink. I braced myself and did the same. Amazingly, the second swig was easier. And the third even easier. By the time I started my second glass, I could manage it without making a face.

“Maybe you should slow down a little,” Ashley said as I took a big gulp. “Downgrade to a more light-weight drink? You would like Amaretto Sours.”

“I like these,” I said, shouting to be heard over the band that had begun to play some music that sounded like Billy Joe Armstrong and Barbara Streisand got together and had a tone-deaf child. “And I feel fine.”

“Really, Scout. You should drink some water or something.”

Now, that did sound like a good idea. Water would keep a hang-over away. I didn’t want a hang-over.

“Bobby, I need water and another LIT,” I said as I chugged down half my current glass.

“Scout, really—”

“I’m fine. Sheriously.” I giggled. “I said sheriously, didn’t I?”

“Yes, because you’re drunk.”

“It’s just a buzz. I can’t get drunk. Who has ever heard of a drunk werewolf?”

“Is this some Twilight thing? Because you know I skipped that whole craze.”

I laughed again and the motion made me realize my bladder was on the verge of bursting. “I gotta pee! Where’s the bathroom in this place?”

She nodded to a dark corner on the other side of the room. McGuire's was a fairly posh place for such a rural area. The big, open room was divided into three areas - the bar, the dance floor/stage, and a section that reminded me of a coffee house with its plush couches and dark wood tables. I was trying to slide between two of the couches when a coffee table stuck out its leg and tripped me. I managed to not land, as Grandma Donovan would have phrased it, ass over tea kettle on the floor. Instead, I sort of just sat down… in the lap of some guy with a crew cut.

“Sorry. The table was out to sabotage me,” I slurred as I waited for the room to right itself.

“It’s alright.” He looked way too young to be hanging out at a club, but I wasn’t one to talk. He also seemed to be glowing red.

“Hey, you’ve got elf ears.” I touched the tip of an ear that come up into a little point. “How cute. Hey, you’re not really an elf are you? Do you work for Santa Claus?”

“N-n-no, ma’am.”

“Are you sure? You can tell me.” I leaned over and whispered in his pointy ear. “I’m special too.”

One of the elf’s friends, a squatty looking guy whose parents obviously didn’t love him enough to spend money on an orthodontist, was ogling my pasty white legs which were sprawled, rather unladylike, over the elf’s own set of legs. I quickly corrected that problem. “You certainly look special,” he said with a wink.

“I’m not talking to you, ogre. Me and the elf were conversing privately.”

The ogre boy chuckled and punched his friend on the shoulder. “Hear that, Cayton? She wants to converse with you. Privately.”

Just when you thought there was no way a person could turn any redder, the elf proved you wrong.

“Hey, maybe you’re a Shifter and you Change into a pointy-eared animal. Are there fox Shifters? You could be a fox.” Foxes are red.

“I-I-I’m just a soldier, ma’am.”

I knew lots of soldiers, but most of them were pompous asses. Maybe the “not an elf or a fox” boy was different because of his stutter. I wondered if Toby would have been a bit more bearable with a stutter.