June 12, 1999
9:53 p.m.
They decided pretty quickly that Micah, with his eighteen years and stuntman swagger, would be the best bet to win over any liquor store cashier, especially if they could manage to find one who was female. The first three, flashy package stores that catered to the tourists on the outskirts of town, were staffed by men who knew too damn well who Micah was, and what his dad would do to their permits if he found out they’d sold his underage son alcohol. At each one, he came out empty-handed.
In a fit of frustration, they drove all the way to Sylva, to a seedy shack run by locals who knocked back as much as they sold. They watched through the window as Micah flirted with the cashier, a permed blonde in jeans too tight, her smile too big, too desperate. But Micah leaned on her counter and turned up the charm, reemerging moments later with two bottles wrapped in brown paper bags, one clutched in each fist. He held them high above his head, like trophies.
“Way to be cool about it, asshole,” Jax muttered, but he was only half-serious, the other half-impressed Micah actually pulled it off.
He strutted with the bottles across the gravel lot, dodging cars and tromping on trash, and Jax smiled despite himself. A lot of the time Micah was insufferable, but all that screaming earlier had loosened up something in Jax’s chest, made the night a little more bearable. Micah was a blowhard, but only a real friend would know what Jax needed at the exact moment he needed it. Jax couldn’t help but love the guy a little for it.
He reached across the passenger’s seat and popped open the door. “What’d you get?”
Micah grinned, wagging the bottles. “Do you prefer your tequila with a worm or without?”
Paul grimaced. “I prefer beer.”
“Quit your bitching, man. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that. Besides, liquor’s quicker.”
Jax wasn’t going to argue with that. He started the car and Micah dropped in, passing a bottle to the back seat, tugging off the bag on the second, holding it up so Jax could see. Tequila. Fast and cheap and dirty.
Micah twisted off the cap with a click. “Happy Saturday, gentlemen. Let’s get plastered.”