“Jesus,” Wasp swore.
My gaze followed his until it landed on the crowd surrounding the old fire pole in the center of the room. Jayson, Emily’s flamboyant assistant, was dressed in a flowing button-down teal shirt and black leather pants so tight I could see his religion, gyrating his hips against the pole as his hands stroked it reverently, like it was a giant cock. A circle consisting of old ladies and club whores surrounded him, watching with wide-eyed fascination and what looked a hell of a lot like curiosity. One woman even had a note pad and pen, and appeared to be taking notes.
The club whores wore close to nothing while the old ladies dressed a little more conservatively. Emily and her grandmother, Annabell, were part of the circle, but they stood out like a couple of Ducatis in a room full of Harleys. Even dressed down, they looked classier and more refined.
“Never a dull moment around that one,” Wasp said with a chuckle, nodding in Jayson’s direction.
Emily saw us and excused herself to wander over and give us each a hug. “How’s the gardening coming along?” she asked, releasing me to accept another of Wasp’s hugs, which the bastard held onto a little too long to be brotherly.
“Dead,” Stocks piped in, joining us. “It’s like a tomb where perfectly good flowers go to die.”
“Really?” Emily asked. “What happened?”
I shrugged. “Watered them. They get sunlight. Even got them some of those plant food sticks. Seems like the more I do for them, the faster they die. Any suggestions?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Plants never live long around me. I usually forget about them until they’re almost dead, then water them enough to temporarily bring them back to life. Yours at least get a tomb. My plants live in eternal purgatory. Maybe you should buy a gardening book or something? There’s a little bookstore a couple blocks down on Eighth Avenue. I bet they have something that could help you.”
“Or you could just give up,” Wasp suggested. “You’re more fun when you’re beatin’ the shit out of people. I don’t think I like this anger-controlled pussy version of Havoc.”
I gave him a little love tap, shoving him into the side of a pool table, reminding him that this ‘anger-controlled pussy version’ could still rearrange his face.
“Rude motherfucker,” he said, laughing as he righted himself and rejoined us. “Here comes Link.” Wasp snakes his arm across Emily’s shoulders. “We gotta show him our love and make him jealous so he steps up his game. Can’t have the prez goin’ limp on you.”
Emily elbowed Wasp in the side. “Trust me, that isnota problem Link has to worry about. Quit messing with my man, Wasp, or I’ll pull out my taser and see how many volts you can take before you apologize.”
Rubbing his jaw, he looked her over before asking, “Can I cop a feel while I’m flailing? Because that would be worth it.”
“You’re impossible,” she said, giving him one more elbow before joining Link.
“She wants me,” Wasp said, watching her walk away.
If I thought for a moment he was serious, I’d kick his ass good for him, but I knew better. Despite his clowning, Wasp would do anything for Link. We all would. Tank’s old lady offered me a beer, and I accepted, leaning against a pillar to watch Link wrap an arm around Emily. Jayson held up a glass of something pink and bubbly, making a toast that ended in, “Let’s party, bitches,” which made everyone cheer.
This was our little slice of heaven, and I felt content to bask in my friend’s happiness, while wondering what it would be like to have someone look at me the way Emily looked at Link. I’d never had that in my life, never even wanted it. Before I could give much thought to my sudden curiosity, Eagle held up a dart and asked if I was up for a game.
Julia
SUNDAY MORNING, THE incessant buzzing of my alarm shot bolts of pain through my pounding head and reminded me that I needed to get up and get my ass to work. Groaning and cursing last night’s bad decisions, I turned off my alarm and cradled my head in my hand as I took in my surroundings. My apartment. I was alone, still in my clothes, and sprawled across my bed with my phone in hand.
Crap.
Praying I hadn’t done anything stupid like drunk texting, I bolted to a seated position—wincing against the sharp pain brought on by the change of elevation—and checked my outgoing texts. Nothing. Sighing in relief, I opened my phone’s windows to see exactly what I had been up to. Wesley’s Instagram page popped up.
Like a loser, I’d been stalking my ex-husband’s pictures. Awesome. And now I was curious, so I glanced through them. Lots of pictures with different women hanging all over him like he was some sort of rock star. Stupid poser. Not even worth stalking. At least I hadn’t texted him.
Bullet dodged, I massaged my temples and tried to remember what else I’d done last night. Fragmented scenes from a club on Pike Street flashed through my memory. Loud music, packed dance floor, fru-fru drink in hand. Determined to let loose and enjoy Laura's bachelorette party, I’d invented my own personal drinking game. Every time one of Laura’s friends asked about Wesley, why they hadn't seen me at the country club, or who my date for the wedding would be, I excused myself to order another drink. I don't know how many times I visited the bar before the bar tender cut me off, but judging by my headache… too many. Enough to have no memory of getting home. Needing to make sure I hadn’t made a complete ass of myself, I called Laura.
She answered with a sleepy, “Hello,” followed by, “You're alive?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am,” she admitted. “After the Jell-O shots, I fully expected you to be sleeping off one hell of a hangover. How do you feel?”
Like someone with no memory of Jell-O shots. Hopefully I hadn’t taken them off someone. “Like death, but I must endure. I have a store to run, after all. Never underestimate the fortitude of the small business owner.”
“Of course not, sis. Just be sure our fortuitous business owner is at the bridal shower by three.”
Laura had a habit of using words incorrectly. It was one of her more endearing qualities. “You know fortitude and fortuitous don’t mean the same thing, right?”
