CHAPTERONE
BELLE
Maisie flips her hair over her shoulder. If I had hair like that I’d be flipping it at every opportunity, but she does it with such grace and class that no one in the world would doubt that the flipping is a necessity.
The strip club is loud and hot and she’s the bride. I, as maid of honor, lean in and fan myself as the crotch of a very well endowed or sock-stuffing stripper gyrates near our faces. “Do you need another drink?”
She stuffs a dollar bill into the side of this guy’s G-string and waits a quick second then slides another into the fabric. And the crotch lingers, waiting. Apparently for me because as soon as I slip what I think is a one into his britches, he moves on. When I look down, I see I have a dollar bill left, and the twenty I was holding is gyrating its way across the stage and out the back curtain as the song ends.
I wonder for just a second if I should go after it, but I have a debit card and a bride to keep happy so I stay with Maisie instead of running, shrieking after my money.
I’m the only one not drinking and the girls are in party hardy mode. My MOH–AKA Maid of Honor–function for the evening is to make sure we all get home safe and sound after Maisie has a celebration second only to her wedding reception.
A new song has started and a need crotch walks onto the stage. Maisie raises her hands in the air like she’s riding a roller coaster and does the excited scream/shoulder wiggle-lean back/boob shimmy for effect combo she uses when someone she hasn’t seen in years has somehow managed to find her in a crowd. She doesn’t know this stripper, but despite herI’m the Bridesash and her fistful of dollars, he goes to other side of the stage first.
She sits back and fans herself, gives another hair flip and sips an empty appletini. Maisie is in her twenties, the mid ones, a year or so less than my late twenties, and she has hair that is the envy of every person she’s ever met. Or maybe it’s just me, but it’s golden and long and does whatever she wants it to do with nothing more than a whispered command from her straightener or curling iron or whatever implement that makes the beachy waves she’s wearing tonight. My red hair is wiry and out of control with more curl than it can handle. It’s long and shiny, but that’s about all it has going for it.
She has eyes the color of a brilliant midday sky while mine aren’t the good green color of shamrocks and grass. Mine are the color of pea soup on the second or third day. She’s social and fun. I’m reserved and trying. For her, I’d do anything. And she would return the favor. It’s how our friendship has lasted.
She huffs out a breath and turns to look for a waiter. When she spots one, she waves her glass. He walks over, tray in one hand, package at Maisie’s eye level. “Holy shit! Is that thing real?” She reaches out like she’s going in for a grab, but I pull her arm back. Partly because I don’t want to have to bail the bride out of jail on her bachelorette party night, and partly because I don’t want her to be disappointed when she gets only a handful of knee-high Hanes.
“What’s your name?” Her drunken slur is accompanied by a drunken smile and a bit of a leer.
“My name is Dirk.” And he has a voice that would melt steel, abs that are slick and shiny–probably drowning in baby oil–and the package.
Maisie looks over her shoulder at me. “His name is Dirk.” Her mouth falls open then she falls back so her head is on my shoulder. “Dirk has a big…”
“She’ll have an appletini and a glass of water.”
He gives me a look up that could burn the paint off a wall and smiles. “And for you?”
“I’m driving. I’ll just have a coke.”
He winks. “You got it.”
Maisie turns her body to face mine now. “He wasto…tallyflirting with you.” She reaches to grab Jen who is sitting on the other side of her. “Dirk with the big dick was flirting with”--she jerks a thumb over her shoulder– “Belle.”
Jen kneels on her seat and looks at me. “You should totally shove your tip down his leather pants.” She giggles. “Maybe you’ll get to touch his tip.”
“Thanks, but I’m good. You go ahead.” I hand her the money for the drinks and tip. She giggles again and sticks it between her boobs with the edges poking out just enough he can grab it.
We’re going to have to come back tomorrow and apologize to old Dirk. I shake my head.
Maisie yanks the money from Jen’s cleavage and hands it back to me. “Dirk with the big dick, Big Dick Dirk belongs to Belle.” She hands the cash back to me just as Dirk brings the drinks back.
He hands Maisie hers while Jen ogles him, and when he smiles at her, she slides her tongue around her mouth. It’s slow and sloppy, leaves the skin around her mouth shiny with saliva, and Dirk smiles. Winks. I can’t imagine the things he puts up with in a night. Probably, if I was as drunk as my friends, I wouldn’t care enough to be embarrassed but their behavior is a little over the top, even for them.
When he reaches out, my coke in hand, he holds onto it and my hand is now laying on his. He smiles. “You must be Belle.”
“Mm.” I nod and forcibly take the drink for a sip because my mouth is dry.
“You heard your friend. Dirk with the big dick belongs to Belle.” His grin is adorable, but practiced, and I’m not falling for that again. I’ve had enough of players–well, one–and guys who treat women as if they’re disposable–again, the same one. But he was a lesson learned.
As resolute as I am to stay away from Dirk, Maisie has so many other ideas.“Is it really big?” Maisie grins up at him, her hand once again poised, and I slap it away.
And Dirk is as practiced as I thought. “You can ask your friend in the morning.”
I chuckle, and he chuckles and Maisie drops her mouth open again. “I’m the DD. I have to make sure these ladies get home safe. I can’t abandon my duties.”
