Ebba takes a cautious sip of the beer. “Not bad. I’m not really a beer girl, but this is good.”
I slide my glass closer and take my own sip. “Damn, that’s good.”
To our left, a tall burly guy stalks past our table and stops at the booth beside us.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks one of the girls at the table. “You’re not even legal.”
Ebba gives me a conspiratorial look as we listen in. We’ve both always been nosy when it comes to this sort of thing. There’s always plenty of people-watching around the courts.
“Jesus,” the girl says. “I’m nineteen and I have a fake ID. Why are you acting like my dad?”
“Speaking of your dad, I don’t think he’d like knowing you’re here either.”
“And I don’t think he’d like knowing you’re the one talking to me or do you forget our families hate each other?” She smiles prettily at him. “Go hang out with your brothers.” She waves her fingers for him to disappear. “I’m fine.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Dude,” one of the guys at the table says. “Chill.”
Based on the guy’s reaction I’d say the other guy in the cowboy hat is giving him a death glare.
The girl rolls her eyes. “It’s a virgin pina colada.” She holds up her glass. “Nothing groundbreaking.”
“This bar is for twenty-one and older. It doesn’t make virgins.”
The girl sighs. “All I’m doing is sitting here. I’m not making any trouble. Just leave me alone.”
The guy pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath before he points at her. “The minute I think you’re drunk; I’m hauling your ass outta here.”
She smiles up at him, batting her eyes. “I’d like to see you try.”
His shoulders droop and he mutters, “Fuck,” under his breath. Louder, he reminds her, “I’m keeping an eye on you.”
He stalks away and the girl shakes her head, her cheeks pink.
“She likes him,” Ebba mouths.
“He seems overprotective,” I whisper back.
“What was that about?” Another one of the girls at the table asks.
The girl shakes her head. “No idea. He’s always a moody prick.”
Another guy scoffs. “Trust me, we all know he’s a broody bastard but why does he care that you’re here underage. We’re all underage.”
“Don’t say that so loud,” the first guy says.
“Please, this is as small of a town as you get. You don’t think Marsha doesn’t know we’re underage?” He gestures to the bar.
“I still don’t understand why he cares so much what you’re up to,” the girl says to the one who was being reprimanded.
“Maybe he thinks I’m going to start more drama between our families,” she replies softly, lowering her head.
Ebba grabs my hand, and we turn our attention away from the table before we get caught.
“This smalltown drama is going to feed my imagination for ages,” she laughs softly. “This is amazing.”
The music gets louder, and a large group of people head for the dancefloor.