In His Eyes (Into You Book 2)

by Julie Olivia

  Four hours later, I wish I would have listened to Ramona’s plans more intently. Our heels clip-clop loudly as we teeter toward a large, lime green building surrounded by palm trees. It’s the size of a warehouse with the edges adorned by neon purple lights flashing off and on in spurts and never at the same time. It creates a ring around the place that would be inviting if I didn’t know what was inside.

  It’s very obvious that we are a bachelorette party. We’re walking in a line, arm in arm, with pink penises pinned to our outfits. Ramona forced a crown onto Grace, who has already taken it off twice, only to have it shoved back on by her maid of honor.

  We walk forward on the brightly painted sidewalk made to look like a yellow brick road. The double doors ahead of us are blacked out, and I’m struck by the memory of the sex shop. I’ll give this place credit—at least it gives off the vibe of Yay fun! instead of We won’t tell your friends you were here.

  “Do you think they have a short man in green at the door?” Corinne asks.

  “With a sliding speakeasy peephole?” Grace says.

  “If I would have known this was where we were going, I would have worn sparkly red heels,” I say.

  The other ladies are dressed in tight-fitting bodycon dresses that hug their curves as if tailored just for them, while I’m re-wearing the same red dress from the other night. Admittedly, it does look good on me, and I am sporting heels that are much higher than any I would wear on a normal basis. In fact, I was so surprised by how well the outfit came together, I almost snuck to Ian’s room beforehand, but Ramona has been playing the role of helicopter mother hen so well I couldn’t spare time to even use the restroom without a swift knock on the door asking if I was finished already.

  She skids to a halt, causing the rest of us to stop like dominos.

  “Girls, this is our mecca.”

  “Mecca?” Grace says. “Come on, let’s just head back to the hotel. We don’t have anything to prove to the guys, right?”

  “Who doesn’t want to go to a strip club for their pre-wedding celebration?” Ramona gawks.

  “Ramona, if your mecca is a male strip club then we need to discuss your sex life,” Corinne says, looking down the line at her. Corinne and I are on the opposite end with Grace being our connection to the curly-haired wonder leading this raid into sexy-man-land.

  “Mine is very active, thank you. In fact, I think all of us have pretty active sex lives.” Maybe I imagine it, but I swear she throws a wink my way.

  “Speak for yourself,” Corinne mumbles.

  “Okay, then three out of four,” Ramona scoffs.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a discreet glance from Ramona, but I ignore it. This is turning into a mess already.

  With that, we all lift our feet and walk down the yellow brick sidewalk like the motley crew we are: Grace, the girl ready to be home; Ramona, the scarecrow, not in need of a brain but the sense to read her audience; Corinne, the tin woman clearly needing a heart in her sex life; and me, the cowardly lion, not ready to take on the naked men who await me.

  I could probably take on one naked man—but he’s still back at the hotel.

  The inside isn’t that bad. There’s only one massive problem, and it isn’t the giant dicks being shoved in my face—it’s the lack of them.

  Ramona didn’t do enough research. Imagine our shock when we pay our forty-dollar entry fee and skip through the foyer only to see the green-lit stage occupied by a fully nude woman.

  “Oops,” Ramona says slowly, looking at the rest of us. Corinne shrugs, and Grace is already laughing.

  I always imagined strip clubs as they appear in movies, with naked women in G-strings and winning smiles. I was right for the most part, but I didn’t anticipate the fact that, although clubs in movies don’t have pussy on display, real life absolutely might.

  How charming.

  We grab a table away from the stage where men are gathered, some leaning forward on their elbows. I feel like I’ve walked into a different world where I don’t belong, a male fantasy in which I’m intruding. Any minute now, someone will surely ask if we’re in the wrong place, right?

  What would Ian think?

  I pull out my phone, giving in to my temptation.

  Nia: I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore.

  Ian: Where are you?

  Nia: In a state of immediate regret.

  I throw my phone back into my clutch and clear my throat.

  We order waters that are much too expensive, and Ramona circles her finger to signal for shots. She mouths something to the server that I interpret to be “lemon.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I need a drink,” Grace says. Her laughter is stilted, and I think that’s what gives her away.

  “Holy shit,” Ramona says breathlessly.

  It’s weird how women just know. If a woman looks naturally happy, if she cups the ridge of her stomach, and if she refuses a drink at an event like this, there’s only one explanation. Poor Grace checks all three boxes.

  “Grace, are you…?” Corinne starts.

  “Cameron doesn’t know yet,” Grace quickly responds, gulping down a large swallow of her water and slamming it back down on the table. “I mean, I think he’ll react just fine, but…the wedding, you know. I don’t think he needs to worry.”

  Ramona screams, and I cover my ears. I think even the current performer halts on her pole before squeaking down.

  “HOLY SHIT!” Corinne yells. They’re both smothering Grace with their long arms wrapped around her, and I’m grinning back at her.

  “You’re gonna be a killer pregnant woman,” Ramona says, her speech slightly muffled as she speaks into Grace’s shoulder.

  “Are you saying I already have hormones resembling those of an angry pregnant lady?” Grace says, her eyebrow quirked up. A smirk spreads on her face and there’s no denying that she’s far from offended.

  “You craved pickles and peanut butter just last month,” I say, sipping my water through a smile as Grace smiles back.

  “Wait—why aren’t you surprised?” Ramona asks with a suspicious side-eye.

  “I can be the DD,” I offer in an attempt to change the subject.

  “Secrets!” Corinne hisses with a wink.

  I am saved when the shots arrive, tiny tumblers filled to the brim with neon yellow liquid. I pick mine up and sip just to try it. The sugared edge is off-putting, but the drink itself is dangerously delicious. I only taste the hint of alcohol after the lemon-flavored treat has settled on my tongue.

  “Hang on, hang on, we have to toast!” Ramona says, releasing Grace and clutching her drink, raising it in the air. Corinne, Grace, and I follow suit.

  “To Grace, the best mom.”

  “The best mom,” we all chant together, clinking our glasses. Grace blushes and sets her glass down while Ramona and Corinne tip theirs back, inhaling the contents in one go.

  “Nia, are you seriously not going to drink?” Ramona asks. It’s less of a question and more of a demand.

  “We need a driver,” I say.

  “Nah, that’s why we have the boys,” she says, “but if you really want to pretend you’re responsible, we can sit you in the driver’s seat later to make you feel like you’ve contributed to the night. Now drink up.”

  I hesitate, looking down at the drink. I’ve never been one for shots, but this one does taste particularly good.

  Why not?

  I tilt my head back, bring the glass to my lips, and flip the bottom up. It slides down smoother than I expected, but the aftertaste of alcohol is much more prevalent than it was a moment ago. I guess that’s what happens when you take in the entire glass in one fell swoop.

  I shake my head and join in the laughter once I see everyone else looking at me.

  “What about Grace’s?” I ask, pointing at the solo shot waiting to be devoured by some brave soul.

  “It’s yours,” Grace says, sliding it across the table toward me.

  “No thanks,” I
say, waving my hand in protest. My head is already swimming from the last one. I can’t tell if it was how quickly I shook my head or if I’m just a complete lightweight. Either way, drinking for two seems like an awful idea.

  Corinne shrugs, grabs the glass, and tips it back.

  “I’m tall—it takes a lot for me to get drunk. I’ll drink for two.” That is all Grace needs to seem satisfied, and it’s the perfect cue Ramona needs to order four more.

  My phone buzzes and I pull it out with too much excitement.

  Ian: Are you going to be a bad girl tonight?

  Nia: Do you want me to be?

  28

  Ian

  I should have known the bachelorette party would be more of a mess than our bachelor party. Every one of those girls has the ability to strike a match and light a torch for the others to follow. My sister, the wild child; the bride, the feisty redhead; Corinne, the bandwagon partier; and, Nia, the irresistible, stubborn, beautiful woman.

  God save the man who tries to mess with their party tonight.

  “Go fish,” Cameron grunts. We’re sitting in the hotel restaurant at a large round table in the corner. There are couples sitting at the bar ordering drinks and even a gaggle of girls flirting with the bartender and his long hair. I’m dipping chips into our spinach artichoke bowl and trying not to think about the girls and their possible mishaps.

  Nia sent her last text an hour ago. My muscles have been tense ever since then.

  “How do we even play this game?” Grant’s knuckles smash against his cheek. He looks tired, and I wonder if he’s suffering from withdrawal. He’s gotten grumpier in the past day, and I can’t help but notice the copious amount of sweat rolling down his forehead, though maybe that’s just how he normally looks.

  “You’ve played Go Fish before,” Harry says, throwing in a card and taking one out.

  “I don’t think you’re playing it right,” Wes says, scratching his head before running both hands through his floppy hair.

  “You’re not getting it.” Grant’s voice is muffled through his fist.

  “You put in a card then take one back out,” Harry says with a laugh. “What is there to get?”

  “Let’s just play Uno,” I say. “In that game, you don’t even have to mess with the whole picking one back up deal.”

  “Fuck you,” Grant snaps, slamming his hands on the table and throwing his chair back. He’s charging toward the exit, and Harry is already huffing.

  “Sorry guys,” he apologizes, scooting his chair back. “We’ll probably head up for the night. Let me know how things go and if you need any help.”

  He’s referring to the girls, because it’s been an unspoken understanding all night as to why we’re sitting in a bar playing a game meant for children, and it’s not because we’re passionate about Go Fish. Even the grandma on the back of the cards is grinning up at me with her dentures. Lady, I don’t need your looks.

  “You bet,” I say.

  We’re all silent, throwing cards in, picking them out—honestly, I’m not sure any of us do know the rules—then a phone buzzes. The three of us flip our phones over on the table to check whose it is. I desperately want it to be Nia. Maybe she was bold enough to send a nude. Not sure how she would manage, but a man can dream.

  “Hey, Ray,” Wes says. I jerk my head to him. He blinks, nodding, then chuckles after a couple seconds, looking around the table at each of us as if saying, Are you hearing this shit? Except, no, no we cannot, and my anxiety is growing by the second. “A strip club? Really?” His eyes widen but a grin is plastered on his face, stretching from cheek to cheek. “A female strip club? How did you end up there?”

  Ramona took them to a female strip club. I can’t help but bark out laughter at the thought of how uncomfortable Nia probably is at a place like that. That explains her text from earlier.

  “I can’t understand you, dear. It’s a bit loud,” Wes continues, pressing his finger into the opposite ear.

  Then we hear a slurring voice yell through the phone, “I SAID, COME PICK US UP.”

  And with that, we’re all up and out the door.

  I claim the driver’s seat, much to Cameron’s chagrin, stating, “You wanna get there fast? I’m taking the wheel,” before double-checking we’re all buckled, putting that sucker into drive, and skidding out of the parking lot. I’m accustomed to my sports vehicle beast, and this hulking Jeep doesn’t do much for someone in a hurry. Even as I’m barreling down the road following the GPS suspended from the windshield, Wes is in the back seat laughing into the phone. I’m unsure how serious the situation may be, but with Wes still having a good time, I guess I shouldn’t be too concerned.

  “Is that so?” A laugh. A shake of his head is seen in the rearview mirror. I’m swinging the car around every twist and turn.

  What am I doing? I shouldn’t be worrying. Nia is a woman with a good head on her shoulders. I’m sure she’s the sober one and Ramona’s call is just a false alarm because she wants to see her husband. Those two can’t be away from each other more than twelve hours.

  But Wes will still rush to her side. There’s a reason all of us sat in the hotel playing a boring card game. At the end of the day, we just want our women safe.

  Sure, Nia may not be my woman, but I did have my mouth to her pussy less than twenty-four hours ago, so yeah, I’d say even if you disregard the nine years of wanting her, on some level, she might be my woman.

  The GPS says I’ve arrived at the location and it’s on my left. I crank the wheel over and jump the curb into the parking lot.

  “Jesus!” Wes yells from the back seat.

  “If you’re going to drive a Jeep, you’re practically obligated to jump curbs,” I say.

  “Honey, are you meeting us outside?” Wes asks into the phone, clutching the ‘oh shit’ handlebar up top.

  I’m unbuckling, putting the car in park, and stepping out. My eyes scan the parking lot and I see none of the women we’re looking for.

  Until I do.

  There she is with white-blonde hair tied into a top knot, dress riding up her thighs, and one leg out of the driver’s seat in Ramona’s car. She’s laughing, both hands on the wheel at ten and two like the good, responsible girl she is. I’m wondering why we were called if Nia is sober enough to drive, but when I get closer, my stomach sinks.

  With the smell of alcohol drifting off of her, it would be far-fetched to think she’s anywhere near sober.

  She doesn’t notice us yet. She’s play-revving the engine like the wheel is motorcycle handles and her mouth is open, a smile upon her face showing pure elation. Heat rises up from my chest. One of my fists is clenched by my side, and the headlights from the car are less blinding than the headache growing in my temples.

  And then, I don’t see her anymore. I’m blinking my eyes open. I’m in a bed. My legs are covered with a quilt. I see an empty chair in the corner, a purse leaning against its legs, a blanket draped over the back. A door is open. The linoleum is almost as stark white as the lights shining above me. It’s difficult to make out the rest of the room, but there’s ringing in my ears followed by the feeling that something must be very wrong.

  I’m being told my best friend passed. Wreck. Not my fault. Of course not my fault, they say, but I know better, and I don’t want to be told otherwise.

  “Nia! Nia, drive! You said you’d be our DD!” a voice yells from the passenger seat, breaking me from my memories. I walk closer to the car and bend down to see Corinne sitting beside her. Nia is laughing, cranking the wheel in a mocking revving motion again.

  The words bust out of me before I can consider anything else.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I ask. I reach my arm in and turn the headlights off. My headache should lessen, but I’m only getting more heated by the second. “Where are the keys?”

  Nia’s head twists toward the open door, eyes glazed over. Is she even sober enough to recognize it’s me? Then her eyes widen, her eyebrows rise to her hairl
ine, and a wide grin replaces the light-hearted smile from earlier. Her cheeks are full, flushed, and beautiful, but she’s still in the driver’s seat, reeking of alcohol, and my heart is still pounding. I can’t stop it.

  “Ian!” she yells, pulling one hand off the wheel.

  “Ian!” Corinne echoes, opening the passenger door and clomping her heels across the pavement and around the car.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask Nia, and her brows furrow inward.

  “What?” she mumbles. I see the keys resting in her lap, and I take them.

  “Ian!” Corinne’s voice rings again as she draws me into a hug. Her height is comparable to mine, and I’m not used to women hugging around my shoulders rather than my waist. I instinctually pat her back, but my eye contact with Nia does not break, her confusion clear.

  “Ian, Ian, this is a female strip club!” Corinne says, bouncing on the heels of her stilettos.

  “Congratulations,” I deadpan, eliciting a small giggle from her.

  “Ian!” Wes’s voice calls across the parking lot.

  Oh my god, if I hear my name called one more time…

  I jerk around to see Ramona’s arm slung over his shoulders as she stumbles forward, laughing like a hyena. The strap of her dress is hanging off her shoulder and she walks barefoot with both heels in her hands.

  Fantastic.

  “Give me a second!” I yell back.

  The doors to the club are thrown open and Grace walks out, striding forward in a straight line, unmistakably sober as can be. Cameron follows behind her, one hand on the small of her back.

  “What the hell, Grace?” he says.

  “Give me a second to gather my bridesmaids, Cameron,” she shoots to him. Her mouth is in a straight line as she points to Wes and Ramona. “Will you help him, please?”

  “I need to pee,” Nia whines from below me. Her eyebrows pull tighter in the middle.

  “I’ll go with you!” Corinne says, holding out her hand for Nia to take.