Free Breaking Even by C.M. Owens

house during the off season. Even though it never really gets cold here, the wind at night this time of year is pretty chilly. All of these girls will be regretting their clothing soon.
    Ingrid frowns as Wren offers Brin his arm. What is he? Eighty?
    “Need a drink?” he asks her.
    “A beer would be nice.”
    She grins up at him, fooling him with that sweet smile that masks the devil’s wicked grin underneath. She could fool the CIA, but she can’t fool me.
    “You know her?” Ingrid asks as she returns with a glass of some fruity concoction.
    “Yeah,” I mutter vaguely, not enjoying the way Wren is resting his arm around her waist. He doesn’t know her well enough for that. He might pull back a nub if he accidentally crosses some arbitrary line the way I did.
    I’m not sure he can handle her.
    “You going to stare at the girl wearing shorts all night?” Ingrid asks, sounding a little annoyed.
    I suppose I’d be offended if she was staring at a guy while on a date with me, but she’s taking this out of context.
    “Would you rather I gave you all my attention?” I ask, giving her my most charming smile, which she quickly dissolves under.
    Predictable.
    Her grin splits her face as she takes a sexy-strutted step toward me and puts her hands on my chest, running her fingers down to the tops of my abs.
    “Yes. I would,” she says, trying to sound as provocative as one can.
    “Rye,” Tag calls, looking over his shoulder as he mans the bar in the absence of his bartender.
    “Yeah,” I say, walking away from my ready-to-please date.
    “Grab the salt, and come do shots with us. It’s in the kitchen. Top right cabinet.”
    What am I? The fetch-it bitch?
    “Sure,” I mumble, feeling a little distracted when a small, reserved giggle comes out of Brin.
    That’s not her laugh. Her laugh is either maniacal or carefree. That’s the most forced laugh I’ve ever heard.
    Why the fuck do I care?
    Wren’s a good guy. She’ll be fine. It’s not my damn place to worry about whether or not she’s fine.
    I make my way inside the house and roll my eyes. Tag’s directions suck. There are at least ten top right cabinets. Dick. It’s not like I’ve never been in his kitchen before, but I’ve never had any reason to dig through his damn cabinets.
    After opening and closing several, I finally find the one that hosts the salt, but something else catches my eye. Red food coloring.
    Reflexively, my eyes dart to the French doors and land on Brin. I could so get her with that dark beer and this red food coloring.
    Ah, hell. I can’t. We called a truce for the day.
    Sulking, I start to close the cabinet, but then I swipe both bottles of red food coloring instead. I’ll just play with Ingrid. One person is just as good as another and this opportunity is too good to pass up.
    As soon as I make it outside, Ingrid is waiting and I’m handing Tag the salt.
    “Can I do shots with you?” she purrs, back to being all over me.
    I grin as I take her red, fruity drink. Perfect. “Sure. You do the first one.”
    She giggles like a fool hands me her drink. When she looks away, I pour a whole tube of the stuff in what little bit of drink she has left. The red blends in with the differently shaded red drink—enough to pass a drunk girl’s inspection.
    She chugs the shot, and I happily hand her back her drink to chase the tequila with. She takes large sips, finishing it off, and I grin in anticipation.
    “Was the shot good?” I ask, reaching for one of my own.
    When she smiles, I can’t help but burst out laughing. Her teeth, tongue, lips... her whole damn mouth is blood red. Girl could pass for a freshly fed vampire right now.
    “What?” she asks, but I can’t speak because I’m laughing too hard.
    I look around for Brin, hoping she sees it too, but she’s down on the beach with Wren. Really? She’s missing the fun stuff.
    When my laughter continues to be belted out, Ingrid turns and looks at Tag who leans back,