Read Online Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) by Paisley Ray - Free Book Online
Authors: Paisley Ray
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missing parts. When the van is in the garage, the scratches will face the wall. No one will notice.”
Katie Lee had mentioned that New Bern is a hell of a place to party, and I found myself wondering if she meant to say, “New Bern is a hell of a place to get arrested.” Her “No one will notice,” proclamation was ostrich-head-in-the-sand bullshit. Someone could go to jail. It had better not be me.
NOTE TO SELF
Katie Lee’s home is over the top southern. If I were from New Bern, I’d brag about it.
BJ. Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s a wine cooler brand.
Hit n’ run fantasy –- Imagine it never happened. My gut tells me that’s highly unlikely.
6
D eer S teaks A nd B athtub D ew, W ho K new?
From under the tiered bleacher seats, a lanky man with short, wavy brown hair strode toward us. His faded jeans were torn on one knee, and his Nascar T-shirt looked vintage. He locked eyes with Katie Lee and she waved.
Patsy leaned into my ear. Under her breath, she informed me, “Finding the right guy in New Bern is about as likely as finding a hen with teeth.”
Luckily I wasn’t looking to hook-up in New Bern. I had my sights set on the guy that sat in my the back of my Psych class.
Katie Lee squealed, “Nash,” and kissed him like he was a sailor who’s home on leave. Before she made introductions, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and the two disappeared into the shadows.
In front of the concession stand, Patsy and I shared a warm pretzel. Patsy had a layered personality. Sweet, yet salty, like a soft pretzel. She didn’t outright say it, but I guessed she wasn’t a member of Nash’s fan club. From outside appearances, she gave a perception of being hardened, but the moment she crunched the fender, I’d peeked at the soft spot and spotted vulnerability.
Patsy and I watched twenty minutes of the game before it ended. New Bern was crushed by two touchdowns and disappointed locals flooded from the metal stands. The girls from the carpool gathered around. One of them suggested, “Let’s get a move on and go on over to Billy Ray’s.”
“Before the kegs run dry,” another blurted.
I giggled behind sealed lips. Up North, parents didn’t name their children Billy Ray, TJ or any of the ringy-rhyming names of real people the girls had talked about tonight.
Shielding her eyes from the stadium lighting, Patsy stood on top of a picnic table and scanned the crowd. “Y’all, Katie Lee’s gone missin’ with Nash.”
Nash, and Katie Lee were knotted in a tight emotional bond that I didn’t get. I could blame my inexperience with men, but from all I knew about Nash, experience wasn’t necessary to categorize him in the do-not-date category. The cosmic vibe I received from him during my short encounter flashed, Proceed with Caution , in blinking red, not yellow.
Anxious to leave, the gaggle of us stood next to an empty stadium while we smoked cigarettes. I worked myself into a slice of irked, iced with panic. One of the carpool girls summed up the million-dollar question. “Damn it, Where’s Katie Lee?”
Asking around, Patsy finally spoke to Lisa, who’d seen Joe B, who said, “Nash and Katie Lee drove off in a white Chevy before the game ended. They were headed to Billy Ray’s.”
When Patsy heard this newsflash, she pulled out a baby blue, Tar Heel keychain from one of her pockets. “Let’s get goin’. I’m thirsty.”
BY DEFAULT, I FOUND myself in the front passenger seat again. I made sure the seatbelt buckle locked securely, double-checking the tightness on my waist. Patsy reassured me that we’d find Katie Lee--eventually. Driving to Billy Ray’s in the Brown’s van without her made me uneasy. But what choice did I have, since she’d disappeared?
Being in a new town and not knowing anyone, I had recently witnessed – and was an accomplice to – a hit and run. Now my host who doubled as my roommate had vanished. The night had turned into a buzz
Katie Lee had mentioned that New Bern is a hell of a place to party, and I found myself wondering if she meant to say, “New Bern is a hell of a place to get arrested.” Her “No one will notice,” proclamation was ostrich-head-in-the-sand bullshit. Someone could go to jail. It had better not be me.
NOTE TO SELF
Katie Lee’s home is over the top southern. If I were from New Bern, I’d brag about it.
BJ. Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s a wine cooler brand.
Hit n’ run fantasy –- Imagine it never happened. My gut tells me that’s highly unlikely.
6
D eer S teaks A nd B athtub D ew, W ho K new?
From under the tiered bleacher seats, a lanky man with short, wavy brown hair strode toward us. His faded jeans were torn on one knee, and his Nascar T-shirt looked vintage. He locked eyes with Katie Lee and she waved.
Patsy leaned into my ear. Under her breath, she informed me, “Finding the right guy in New Bern is about as likely as finding a hen with teeth.”
Luckily I wasn’t looking to hook-up in New Bern. I had my sights set on the guy that sat in my the back of my Psych class.
Katie Lee squealed, “Nash,” and kissed him like he was a sailor who’s home on leave. Before she made introductions, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and the two disappeared into the shadows.
In front of the concession stand, Patsy and I shared a warm pretzel. Patsy had a layered personality. Sweet, yet salty, like a soft pretzel. She didn’t outright say it, but I guessed she wasn’t a member of Nash’s fan club. From outside appearances, she gave a perception of being hardened, but the moment she crunched the fender, I’d peeked at the soft spot and spotted vulnerability.
Patsy and I watched twenty minutes of the game before it ended. New Bern was crushed by two touchdowns and disappointed locals flooded from the metal stands. The girls from the carpool gathered around. One of them suggested, “Let’s get a move on and go on over to Billy Ray’s.”
“Before the kegs run dry,” another blurted.
I giggled behind sealed lips. Up North, parents didn’t name their children Billy Ray, TJ or any of the ringy-rhyming names of real people the girls had talked about tonight.
Shielding her eyes from the stadium lighting, Patsy stood on top of a picnic table and scanned the crowd. “Y’all, Katie Lee’s gone missin’ with Nash.”
Nash, and Katie Lee were knotted in a tight emotional bond that I didn’t get. I could blame my inexperience with men, but from all I knew about Nash, experience wasn’t necessary to categorize him in the do-not-date category. The cosmic vibe I received from him during my short encounter flashed, Proceed with Caution , in blinking red, not yellow.
Anxious to leave, the gaggle of us stood next to an empty stadium while we smoked cigarettes. I worked myself into a slice of irked, iced with panic. One of the carpool girls summed up the million-dollar question. “Damn it, Where’s Katie Lee?”
Asking around, Patsy finally spoke to Lisa, who’d seen Joe B, who said, “Nash and Katie Lee drove off in a white Chevy before the game ended. They were headed to Billy Ray’s.”
When Patsy heard this newsflash, she pulled out a baby blue, Tar Heel keychain from one of her pockets. “Let’s get goin’. I’m thirsty.”
BY DEFAULT, I FOUND myself in the front passenger seat again. I made sure the seatbelt buckle locked securely, double-checking the tightness on my waist. Patsy reassured me that we’d find Katie Lee--eventually. Driving to Billy Ray’s in the Brown’s van without her made me uneasy. But what choice did I have, since she’d disappeared?
Being in a new town and not knowing anyone, I had recently witnessed – and was an accomplice to – a hit and run. Now my host who doubled as my roommate had vanished. The night had turned into a buzz
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