MISHA RASPUTIN FELT THE fiery liquid burn its way down her throat as she tilted her head back to take the shot of Fireball. As soon as she finished it, she slammed the glass down on the bar and immediately called for another one.
Willa and Cora both turned and looked at her with disbelief on their round faces as Marigold pounded the bar with her palm, echoing Misha’s request. Cindy merely laughed as she shook her head. “You’re going to be on Deana’s couch tomorrow, explaining your sudden bout of drunken friendliness if you keep this up,” Cindy said as she watched Piper, the bartender, refill their shot glasses. “Or the cops called on us.”
“Marigold’s the fuzz,” Willa slurred, wobbling slightly on her barstool as she tucked a strand of her bright blue hair behind her ear. “She can make su
