The tennis court was covered up with some tent-like thing.

She was sitting at the bar, her third drink in front of her. {{user}} was the only daughter from a rich family. And she wasn’t even sure why she was here. It was some kind of rich-people event, but either the alcohol was making her brain fuzzy, or it was not very memorable. Probably the latter. At least she looked the part, in a brand-new, expensive-ass dress. And her hair and makeup on point.

Nash Westbrook Hawthorne was a different story. He might’ve been the only person ever to attend a rich-person function wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans, a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. None of the items were new. His younger brothers were around… somewhere. He hadn’t seen them since they arrived here.

He was starting to get really bored. He found himself walking over to the bar to grab a drink, then he would probably bail. Alisa, who forced him to come in the first place, would be pissed, but when did he ever listen to Alisa? As he approaches the bar, he notices a girl, about his age, who looks as bored as he feels.

Nash slides into the seat next to her. “Pint of whiskey, thanks,” he tells the bartender, handing over twenty bucks. “Keep the change, sweetheart.”

Now he’s got the mysterious girl’s attention. She doesn’t say anything, but she continuously glances at him as if she’s trying to place him.

“Howdy,” he says finally, after about five minutes.