Zander caught Scarlett's hands unbuttoning her last button. "Seems like someone is having fun," he said, laughing. "Button your shirt back up before Mr. Fuckboy over there sees those. It won't be pretty if I catch him doing it."

"...Gotta catch em' all. Am I right?" Scarlett said.

Zander gave a subtle nod, trying to hold back his laugh. "Anyways, want another pomegrani martini?" he asked.

Scarlett nodded. She was ready for the fourth martini. Third? She couldn't remember after the first and second, you lose track of how many you had. That when you get tippy and forget to call an uber and then end up in a stranger's bed, naked. Why not? It's enabled her to speak to strangers and talk about her little bit of this and little bit of that with a wink and smile that matched the hazel gleams in her eyes.
       He wanted to leave at midnight. She made him wait till 3 a.m. The band was surprisingly good. She liked how the music made her feel, as if her blood was still alive, her heart dancing in her chest. Mr. Hey Let Me Buy You A Drink was uncomfortable on the dance floor, Scarlett knew he was bad at dancing, but it didn't really matter; she had moves amazing enough for both of them.

Her fitted blouse was now tied beneath her breasts. Her low-riding ebony skirt clung to every curve, her tall boots stomping out each beat. All she could hear is the beat to the music. Zander didn't even bother with dancing but simply watching her arms flung overhead, lifting her breasts, living as if she was single, hips swinging round and round. Her bare abdomen glistering with sweat.

The well-chiseled grey haired bartender was staring at her now too. She did a backflip for both of them. Having accepted that this was her fourth martini, her mouth felt sweet and bitter while her limbs were icy.

"Scarlett, how about we sit down before Mr. Fuckboy spots you," Zander said, pulling Scarlett aside. "No more dancing for you."

She could dance all night. Take over the nightclub, take over the floor, take over the world. The  band wrapped up, started putting away their instruments. She missed most of the music, got lost in the fourth drink and in the beat of the music. Felt like it was apart of her soul. Now it was just her, Zander, and the promise of a killer hangover.

                  Zander suggested they head outside for some fresh airs. She wanted to stay a little longer, she knew that would be a bad idea.

Instead they gestured by a narrow side street covered in littered cigar butts and empty whiskey bottles. He took her hand. Then, pinned her to the side of a green-painted dumpster, right hand squeezing her breast, palming her nipples.

                       Friend having secured prey. She couldn't help herself. Her lips crashed against his lips.

Scarlett pulled away. "That was sweet and all," she said. "But, we can't do this again. This kiss and small touching. I'm dating your brother."

Miles frowned. "I had a feeling you were going to say that," he said. "Your place or mine?" he informed her soberly.

Scarlett couldn't  go home, she was drunk. "Yours," she said. This close, she smelled the red wine on his breath, noted the distinct of red veins around his nose. Closet drinker. "How many drinks?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. He offered his arm, she took it.

"How many drinks, Zander?" she asked. "Don't lie."

"Three," he attempted. "While you was dancing."

"Are you drunk?" she asked. "If so, we will need to call an uber."

"Not drunk."

Skittering between tall brick buildings, out of public view. She had no idea where they were going. She heaved abruptly, purple liquid spewing from her mouth, down her blouse, spraying her feet, the side of Zander's pants. She knew the hangover was starting and her head pounded hard.

"How far is your car?" she asked. "I think I'm gonna be sick again," she moaned, trying not to let her feet drag.

"Drank too much," he said. "my car is just a few blocks away, don't worry."

He paused long enough to adjust her grip on his arm.
___________

He moved her. By guide, by car, by foot, she didn't know. She was no longer on the street of Michigan, but in the passenger seat in his car. Streetlights dimmed a yellow haze and her hangover got worse, more purple liquid spewed down her mouth and legs.

Her heart rate accelerated quickly, her head hurt, felt disgusting with the purple liquid down her blouse, legs, and feet.

"We almost there," Zander said. "You will be staying in the guest room."

Scarlett nodded. She took out her phones and had missed calls and text messages, all from Jodie, of course. She hovered her finger across the screen and the message app popped up.

12:05 a.m., from Jodie:
They found America's body in our basement. Get home fast.

12:30 a.m., from Jodie:
HELLO? ANSWER YOUR PHONE!

1:12 a.m., from Jodie:
Come home whenever you get this message.

3:50 a.m., from Scarlett:
WHAT?! I chatted with her earlier yesterday.Be home tomorrow. Got drunk at Kyle's Moonshine Bar, staying at Zander.

"America is dead. They found her body in the basement," she said, started to get an emotion. "She texted me she had to go job hunting she applied to. How did this happen?"

Zander stopped his car and glimpsed at Scarlett. "Who killed her? I'm going to kill that son of bastard whenever I find out who did it," he said in a sorrow scorn. "I don't care who it is. I loved America, been there for me every steps with me. When I was sad, she cheered me up, and when I was angry, she made me happy."

"She was a great friend, Zander," Scarlett said, putting her cell phone away and her eyes welled with tears. "She was our first musketeer, the kind and loyal one, you was the second one, caring and sweet, and I was the third, always somewhere else but always there with you guys."

"I don't know how she died," she said, wiping her tears away. "But I do know this, I think Jodie killed America."

"Why you think that?" Zander asked.

"America was supposed to be Jodie's bridesmaid and she ended up dead in my house? That doesn't seem right."

Jodie was on Scarlett's suspect list. She had a dreading feeling that her soon to be stepmother killed her best friend. The questions that kept replaying in Scarlett's mind was; Why did Jodie killed America? Why was America at her house?

Those questions were pounding, burning inside Scarlett's head.