“Don’t be such a killjoy,” Georgie says while waving at the stage. “I’ll take your man-candy and mine!”
“Look at those decorations,” Buffy marvels, clearly trying to distract herself from Charlotte’s enthusiastic match-making announcements while pointing to what appears to be a collection of saddles mounted on the walls alongside neon horseshoes and rope lighting. “They really went all-in around here.”
“All-in is one way to put it,” I say, dodging a waitress dressed as a saloon girl carrying a tray of drinks that are literally smoking. “I feel like we’ve stepped into a Wild West fever dream where Charlotte is the appointed town madame.”
And there, at the prime table directly in front of the main stage, sits the wedding party in all their pre-matrimonial glory.
“Oh my word,” I mutter, spotting our crew.
Macy and Camila are already three sheets to the wind, waving glow sticks and cheering at the stage with the enthusiasm of sports fans whose team just won the Super Bowl. Charlotte has her phone out, naturally, documenting every moment for her HotMess Heiress brand with nothing less than professional dedication.
Kiki sits ramrod straight while nursing what appears to be a drink that keeps changing colors. The other women in the wedding party are swaying and screaming, and begging to be handcuffed to the anatomical parts of the male anatomy that I’m not repeating.
And there, at the far end of the table, sits Bea Van Buren looking like she’d rather be getting a root canal performed by actual cowboys.
“There’s our girl,” I say to Emmie, nodding toward Bea.
“The one who looks like she’s attending her own execution?” Emmie asks.
“That’s the one.”
“What do you think, ladies?” Charlotte shrieks, jumping up and nearly knocking over her glowing cocktail. “Isn’t this place amazing? Look at these decorations! And the drinks! And the nachos!”
She’s wearing a sash that saysBRIDE’S SQUADin glittery letters and a cowboy hat with a veil attached, apparently having fully embraced The Saucy Stallion’s Western theme. And from the looks of it, she appears to have consumed at least half of the club’s fruity cocktail inventory.
This is a social media jackpot,she thinks with tipsy satisfaction.Wedding week drama featuring actual abs and chaps? I have a feeling tonight’s entertainment is going to break the internet. I should probably get “rescued” by someone with biceps for the full damsel-in-distress aesthetic.
Charlotte might break the internet, but if Georgie tries climbing on that stage, she might break a hip.
“It’s certainly immersive,” I reply, settling into an empty chair that puts me within striking distance of my target.
“Immersive is one way to put it,” Kiki says dryly, though I notice she’s not exactly suffering. Her emerald eyes are bright with amusement despite her attempts at maintaining professionalcomposure. She’s even wearing a small sheriff’s badge that someone clearly pinned on her at some point during the evening.
Not to mention, she has an inch’s worth of one-dollar bills that she’s using as a coaster. I have a feeling when this legal eagle lets loose, the bills are going to fly—and her professional reputation is going to gallop off into the sunset with them.
“I see you’ve been deputized,” I say, nodding at her badge.
“Camila’s doing,” Kiki replies with what might actually be a smile. “Apparently, I’m the law and order of the bachelorette party.”
“Well, someone has to maintain civilization,” I agree.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” a voice booms over the sound system, causing half the crowd to shriek with excitement. “Welcome to The Saucy Stallion! Are you ready for some red-hot Western entertainment? Who’s up for riding a stallion?”
“And here we go,” Mom mutters, sinking lower in her chair.
“I think I need to start drinking,” Buffy announces, flagging down a waitress with impressive speed.
“Make that two,” I add, because if I’m going to interrogate a murder suspect in a Western-themed strip club, I’m definitely going to need liquid courage. But then, I am still nursing Ella at night. “And make mine a virgin.”
The music shifts to something with heavy bass and a twangy guitar that vibrates through the red velvet walls, and the lights dim even more to create the ultimate mood lighting—that is, if you’re in the mood to ogle half-dressed men.
“This is better than pay-per-view TV!” Georgie shouts over the music while doing her best to climb onto the table, and my mother quickly jerks her back down into her seat.
“Nice save,” I mouth to my mother. Heaven knows she wouldn’t hear me over the music.
“Note to self: find out if Conrad owns chaps,”Georgie shouts while eyeing the stage with far too much interest. “And if not, I’ll make him wear a pair for the wedding!”
“Georgie, focus,” Mom hisses. “We’re in public.”
