“Tristan’s got you booked in before the wedding. He’s hired another stylist and a makeup artist to help him get you all ready,” Callum informed us.
“Will he have time?” Mam asked. “He is the man of honor.”
“He’s only gotta put a suit on, Ma, and whatever ridiculous pair of high heels he wears that day,” Callum reminded her.
Mam sniffed. “I happen to like Tristan’s shoes. I think he looks very stylish. All the ladies at Church are jealous because he gives me style advice. Well, except for Susan Matlock, but that auld hag wouldn’t know style if it smacked her in one of her chins. Jesus, forgive me, but that woman would make the Archangel Michael himself blaspheme to the heavens. She’s got a face only her mother could love.” She did the sign of the cross over her chest. “Lord, deliver me.”
I laughed softly.
Callum glanced back at me, and his lips twitched. “You ready for Maeve’s bachelorette party?”
My heart swooped because no, I damned well wasn’t.
We were all going to the King’s of Anarchy strip club this weekend. The boys would be at a table on one side of the club, and the girls would have a table on the other, with a view to coming together by the end of the night. It had been arranged before Pagan and I ended things. I knew they’d change the venue if I asked. Still, the only other place we could go was the Lucky Shamrock, which would have been fine. The thing was, I knew Callum, Maeve, or Donovan would probably end up working ifthe place got busy—which it always did on a Saturday—and I didn’t want that for them.
I’d go to Vortex, but I didn’t know how this was going to work out.
Callum’s friends mostly comprised of the Speed Demons, Mac Meadows, and our two brothers. Maeve’s friends were the Speed Demons’ ol’ ladies, her BFF from New York, Tristan, and me. Maeve also loved Atlas, who was the Speed Demons’ SAA and one of Callum’s crew; however, it was clear he liked Maeve more than he liked Cal. Atlas also had no fucks to give, and if he wanted to sit at the girls’ table with Maeve and his wife Sophie, nobody would stop him.
Normally, that would be fine, but when you threw in strippers and horny men who were out watching strippers, things could turn weird pretty quickly. Plus, my ex non-boyfriend, who I’d been head over heels in love with, but unfortunately, hadn’t felt the same way, may or may not be there, and although Pagan didn’t go to the strip club every night—and would no doubt make a point of avoiding me—one of his close brothers would no doubt be there.
The mere thought of what lay ahead filled me with a feeling of dread, but my big brother only got married once (or twice in this case, though it was to the same woman), so I’d just have to suck it up. I could get through one night, and I’d have all my girls and Tristan with me, as well as my brothers. I just needed to look my best, feel my best, and forget Pagan Sinclair ever existed.
I wondered if I’d have time to order a new outfit before the weekend. Just as I grabbed my phone to look online, I got a message. I opened the app and clicked to read.
Tristan: Don’t make any plans for tomorrow. You’re spending the day in my chair. Be at the salon at 11. Oh, and I got you a new outfit.
My phone buzzed again,but this time with an image of a burgundy bandeau top and a matching, fitted, calf-length skirt. It was classy, sexy, and would show off my boobs and my midriff without being too slutty.
It was gorgeous. Exactly what I would’ve picked. I messaged back,
I love you, T. See you at 11
Tristan: ILY2
I sat backin the seat, my eyes going back to the outfit Tristan had bought for me. I checked the website to find the price and transferred the money to his bank. Within a minute, he texted the Judge Judy wagging finger GIF, and I messaged back the GIF of Rihanna putting her crown on.
For the first time in weeks, I didn’t have to force my smile, and I loved that for me. I wasn’t over what had happened—maybe I never would be—but I had accepted it was done, and that was the first step in healing.
—————
The soundof doors slamming filled the parking lot of Vortex as the girls disembarked from the cars that the Speed Demons had arranged for us.
My heart raced with nerves, and my palms were clammy as I smoothed my skirt over my hips and licked my dry lips.
“You look fire, babe,” my friend Kennedy said from beside me. “That prick’s going to swallow his own tongue if he sees you.”
“Hope so,” I murmured. “With any luck, he’ll choke on it.”
Kennedy cackled as our other friend, Cara, linked her arm through mine. “Come on. Let’s go dance with some strippers.”
“Erm, what am I?” Kennedy asked. “Chopped liver?”
I laughed.
When she was young, Kennedy was a top-billed Vegas dancer. It was when she met her now husband, Kit Stone, road name, Breaker, the VP of the Speed Demons. He was a young soldier who went to Vegas the weekend before he was deployed to Afghanistan, and they fell in love. After losing touch, they met up again by chance years later, along with the twins that Breaker had no idea existed.
“You ready, girlies?” Tristan asked as he approached with Maeve, Sophie, and Emily.
