How To Tango With Tom Collins

Chapter Four

"When am I going to be able to take her home?" she questioned, ignoring his suggestion. Right now she just wanted to follow through with the plan and get Morgan out of there. She had been given the direction to pick up their favorite little convict from the station at exactly 6pm. From there he would take her home to let her shower and change and by the time she was out, Kat and Soph will be waiting to break the news to her.

"If you can get past the crowd without too much of a hassle you can take her now," he said. "She's just in a holding cell. The "angry neighbours" dropped all the charges...conveniently."

Ces had to laugh a little at the absurdity of it all. Of course the "angry neighbours" dropped all the charges, there was never any "angry neighbours" to begin with.

"I can't leave my desk for the moment, but I'll meet you down there in 15 minutes or so with her release papers," he paused. "Do you want me to send Brandon out to make sure you get inside safely?"

Ces snorted, disgustingly.

"I'd rather not be touched by that awful excuse of a man," she said and then quickly covered her mouth with her free hand, mentally kicking herself for speaking before thinking...again. She was sure Hunter had never heard her talk like, especially not about his best friend.

Hunter let out a deep, throaty belly laugh…and she let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you for that Ces, I needed that after this day," he said, the remnants of the laugh still holding in his voice. "Come on in, I'll let the front desk people know to except you."

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Forty minutes, two decoys, and one uncomfortably silent ride in the back seat of a cop car later, she and Hunter ushered a very hungover Morgan through the front door of the stunning Upper East Side brownstone she had planned on sharing with her future husband. Once she had her up in the master bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet and pulled two Advil's from the massive Costco-sized bottle sitting on the shelf. Clearly her life with Brock really had been that painful.

She handed them to her friend, who sat slumped on the toilet seat, eyes closed.

Thankfully for them, her intense gin-induced hangover had resulted in Morgan being, literally, unable to open her eyes since they had awoken her from an intense drunk tank slumber in her holding cell. This meant no talking, no questions, no asking to see her cell phone, nothing. Nothing that could incriminate them. Yet.

As Morgan popped the pills easily and without water, Cecilee turned the tap on and started to run her poor friend a bath.

"Morg," she whispered. "Get undressed and climb in. Relax for a bit and I will come up and get you in thirty minutes or so. The girls are both on their way over."

Her friend nodded and opened her eyes briefly.

"Thanks Ces," she quietly muttered. "Sorry for being such a disaster today."

Ces smiled her most genuine fake smile she could muster.

Oh sweetheart, she thought, the disaster is only just beginning.

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Less than an hour later all four woman sat at the high bar-style island in Morgan’s kitchen. Sophie's laptop sitting closed in front of her, taunting them all. Cecilee was starting to feel more and more nauseous by the moment. She still didn't know what the site said but a quick peek at Morgan's cellphone, which she was presently holding captive, revealed more than 100 missed calls and messages from family, friends, press and, of course, the ever-sleazy Brock Andrews. She'd deleted those ones for her best friends benefit, but a quick glance at his venomous texts gave her some insight to what had been written on TwoOneTwo. And it wasn't going to go over well.

Hunter stood on the other side of the island, still in uniform, pulling out glasses and ingredients and searching, it seemed, for something else. The women all watched him silently. No one had spoken since Morgan sat down just minutes before.

"Honestly though, don't you girls drink anything other than gin?" he asked, raising a bottle of Hendrick's in each hand as if to make his point. Blank, slightly appalled stares were all he received in response. Gin had been the drink of choice for the four of them for, well, forever. It was the first drink that Sophie, Kat, and Morgan had gotten drunk off of in their sophomore year of high school and it was the first alcohol that ever graced a 22-year-old Cecilee's lips when she landed in NYC and on Sophie's doorstep.

"Hair of the dog for you, madam," Hunter said, placing a tall glass in front of Morgan. "And liquid courage for the rest of you."

He placed three more glasses in front of each of them. They all quickly took a deep slug of the beverage. Surprise and appreciation registering on each of their faces as they studied the glasses, which were filled with what they had all assumed was just their usual G&T. An explosion of lemony-sweet bubbles danced over Cecilee's tongue. Oh my, she thought, staring into her glass at the swirly lemon curls floating on the top of her drink. These could be fun.

"Wait, why do you guys need--" Morgan asked after swallowing, shattering through her happy boozy thoughts.

"Uhh, I have to get back to the station," Hunter cut her off, quickly wiping his hands on a dishtowel and heading towards the front door.

Coward. He was just as guilty as the rest of them and he knew it, Cecilee thought.

"Whoa, hold up bro! I didn't know you were all, like, a mixologist," Sophie said, ignoring his mad beeline out of the room and taking another deep sip. "These are pretty damn good. And potentially very dangerous."

Hunter leaned his head back into the kitchen, his handsome face now half shadowed by his NYPD-issue hat.

"It doesn't take a mixologist to make one of the world's most classic drinks, Soph," he said, leaning on the doorframe and crossing his arms across his broad chest. "Besides, it's about time you four learn to broaden your horizons from your standard G&T."

His eyes went serious.

"There is nothing wrong with bringing a little change into your life...and a little danger," he smiled a devastating grin at them all. "Who knows? Maybe you'll all learn something from it."

And with those smart-but-too-close-to-home words, he tapped the edge of his hat, turned and was out the door.

"Wait! Hunter! You still didn't tell us what the drink is!" Cecilee shouted from her seat. The front door opened again, briefly.

"It's called a Tom Collins, ladies. Enjoy!"