by Gemma Weir
“She know that?” he asks.
“I spelled it out to her before I got my dick out of my jeans.”
Smoke laughs. “You’re a cold, fucking leprechaun bastard.”
“Fuck off.”
“See you later, Lucky Charms,” he teases, ending the call before I get a chance to respond to his stupid fucking nicknames.
I walk into Beavers a little after 10pm. The music’s booming and the sultry bass permeates through me the moment I walk through the doors. Leave it to Beavers is a titty bar, based a few miles out of Archer’s Creek. Considering there are mostly naked women everywhere, the place manages to feel classy, and not seedy like most other strip clubs I’ve been to before.
The club owns the place and Anders’ old lady Grits runs it. I spot Smoke almost immediately. He’s a fucking man mountain; at least six foot six, maybe more. If he wasn’t so fucking pretty, he’d be a scary bastard.
“Brother,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder and sinking down onto the stool next to his.
“Do you see this shit?” He says, pointing to a rowdy table of women hooting and hollering at the girl on stage.
“Lesbians like strippers too, don’t discriminate,” I say smirking.
“Oh they aren’t lesbians; they’re a goddamn bachelorette party. So far the bride and all her bridesmaids have had lap dances and they are fucking loving it.”
Throwing my head back, I laugh loud enough to catch the attention of the table full of women, who all turn and look at us. I glance from Smoke to myself and scoff; we must look a little fucking intimidating sat side by side. Both of us are tall, but where Smoke is ripped and bulky, I’m leaner. Smoke is a fucking good-looking bastard, too pretty for his own good, where I’m a fucking canvas of tattoos and piercings and a mess of multicolored hair.
The ladies giggle, looking at us then back to the stage. Finally, the bravest or boldest of the table pushes free of the group and crosses the room toward us. “Hey,” she says, her voice sexy and a little raspy. I can’t place her accent, but it’s definitely not the cheery Texan drawl I’m used to hearing these days.
“Hey,” Smoke says, his eyes raking her body, taking in the tight black dress and the wide pink sash that proudly announces that this girl is our bride-to-be.
“You guys want to join us?” she asks, her eyelids fluttering as she looks at us from beneath her lashes.
Smoke leans forward and runs the pink sash between his finger and thumb. “Looks like your busy celebrating your last night of freedom, sweetheart.”
The girl has the good graces to at least blush at being called out by Smoke, then she rallies and straightens, pushing out her chest and placing one hand on her hip, popping her ass. “I’m not married yet. So technically, I’m still single.”
Smoke chuckles and pulls on her sash, drawing her closer to him. “Well, now see that’s true. And it would be truly remiss of me not to show you what a real man is on your last day as a single lady.”
The woman smiles and nods. “Nice southern boy like yourself. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to deprive a little old Californian of the full Texan experience.”
“No, ma’am, I would not,” Smoke says, before he scoops her into his arms and strides toward the exit.
The table of her friends explodes into loud enthusiastic whoops and cheers and I chuckle to myself. A petite blonde separates herself from the table next and walks toward me. I allow my eyes to run up and down her body. She’s slim and toned, small tits, long blonde hair. She’s hot, but nothing about her calls to me. I watch as she takes in my visible tattoos and a salacious smile spreads across her lips.
“Hey,” she coos when she reaches me.
“Hey,” I reply, trying hard not to sound as disinterested as I feel.
“Wow, is that an Irish accent? I was going to suggest that maybe you could show me a little Texan hospitality, like your friend is to Christy, but instead, how about some Irish charm?”
I smile and it’s genuine. This woman has a confidence that I appreciate, and maybe on another night I might have taken her up on her offer, but tonight, with thoughts of Taylor consuming my mind, she holds zero appeal to me. “I’m not feeling particularly charming tonight,” I say dismissively.
Unperturbed by my words, she steps closer until she’s almost touching me. “Then how about I show you why us Californian girls are unforgettable?”
I can’t help it. I laugh. This girl just used a Katy Perry song as a come-on. “Sweetheart, that’s a very nice offer and I’m sure you would be unforgettable, even without the Daisy Dukes and the bikini, but I’m not in the mood for a dalliance with anyone tonight. You’re more than welcome to slide your skinny ass up onto that stool and join me for a drink though.”
The blonde eyes me speculatively for a moment, and then lowers herself onto the stool. Turning, I signal to Lana who’s working the bar tonight, and raise four fingers into the air. She nods and moments later sets four shot glasses on the bar in front of us. In a quick practiced action, she fills the four glasses in one long pour, sliding the bottle from one glass to the next without stopping.
“Tequila.” Blondie says.
With a smirk, I nod, taking two glasses and passing one to her. She takes it from my outstretched fingers and eyes it cautiously. “Not your drink?” I ask.
“Not since college. But this is a lost weekend, bachelorette rules, so bottoms up.”
Then she raises the glass and downs the shot, wincing as the liquor hits her throat. I quickly follow suit, downing my shot, then tapping my glass against the wood of the bar.
“Smooth,” she rasps, her eyes watering.
I laugh, “First shot is always the worst.”
“Yep,” she agrees, moving on the stool and lifting one leg to cross it over the other. “I’m Lacey, by the way,” she says, holding out her hand for me to shake.
“Park,” I say, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.
“Park? Is that your real name?”
“Not quite,” I say, grabbing two more shots. Passing one to her, I throw back the one in my hand, enjoying the burn as the Patron coats my mouth. Lacey throws hers back too, grimacing slightly, but not wincing like she had with the first.
“So are you a bridesmaid, or just here for the party?”
“Christy is actually my sister-in-law, or she was my sister-in-law. Now I suppose she’s my ex-sister-in-law. Her brother and I are divorced now.”
I nod.
“We’re still close, obviously,” she says, rolling the empty glass between her finger and thumb.
I nod again.
“She’s like an actual sister to me, so Lloyd can just fuck off if he thinks I’m going to miss out on her wedding, just because he wants to bring his stupid nineteen-year-old girlfriend to it.”
Turning to Lana, I signal for more shots. Looks like I’m going to need them, at least until Smoke gets done fucking her friend.
“Are you married?” She asks.
“Nope.”
“We were high school sweethearts. He was my first everything and he threw it all away for a nineteen-year-old slut who let him bend her over his desk and fuck her in the ass.”
Wow, I think to myself. Tequila makes this girl a regular old chatty Cathy. Lana places four more shots in front of us and before I get a chance to offer one to her, Lacey grabs one and slams the liquor back, barely even twitching this time. When she turns to face me, her eyes are starting to look a little glassy and a frown is marring her lips.
“Tell me, is anal worth ruining a twelve year relationship for?” She asks, her eyes wide and expectant.
I shrug. “You want me to be real here?”
She nods.
“Anal’s pretty fucking great.”
Her mouth falls open, as if she can’t believe I just said that. Then one by one she lifts the three remaining shot glasses full of tequila to her lips and downs them. She slams the last shot glass down onto the bar and slides off the stool, stumbling slightl
y, before holding her arms wide out to her sides to steady herself. When her eyes move to mine again, they flash with anger. “You’re a fucking asshole,” she hisses, then spins around and slowly totters back to the table full of her friends.
“She’s right, you are an asshole,” Lana says from behind me.
Turning to look at the bartender over my shoulder, I shrug and offer her an I-don’t-give-a-fuck smile.
The large black town car slows to a stop at the curb outside my building and I roll my eyes when the window lowers and Taylor shrieks, “Get in here. It’s time to party, bitch.”
A suited driver emerges from the front and lifts my bag from where it’s sat beside me on the sidewalk. “Oh, no, I can get that,” I say.
“It’s fine, Miss Dalby,” he says, opening the trunk and placing my bag next to Taylor’s mountain of luggage.
I watch as he closes the trunk and quickly opens the back door for me. “Thank you,” I say quietly as I lower myself into the rear seat. He closes the door with a barely audible click, then climbs back into the driver’s seat.
Taylor flings herself into my arms excitedly. “It’s my bachelorette. Can you believe it?” she squeals.
“I know,” I say brightly, trying to match her enthusiasm. The car smoothly pulls away from the curb, turning toward the highway. Taylor sits back against the leather seat, her cellphone in her hands as she poses for a selfie, swishing her hair over her shoulder and pouting at the screen.
“Taytay, where are Courtney and Sara and everyone else? Are they meeting us at the airport?”
Taylor’s smile dims for a split-second and a look of guilt flashes across her face.
“Taylor.”
“Take a selfie with me,” she says, holding her cell out in front of us, as she tips her head to the side and smiles a megawatt smile to the camera.
“Taylor, what aren’t you telling me?”
She laughs, lowering her cell, but still scrolls through Facebook refusing to look at me.
“Taylor, what did you do?”
With a huff, she drops her cell into the purse at her side and turns to face me. “God, Ro-Ro, you are so suspicious.”
“That’s because I’ve known you long enough to know that you’ve done something. Something you know I’m not going to be very happy about.”
She shakes her head at me, lifting her hands up in front of her to inspect her perfectly manicured nails. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Taylor, what did you do?”
Her hands fall to her lap with an exaggerated thump, then she turns to look at me, a sullen, teenage pout on her lips. “It’s nothing, just a tiny change of plans.”
“Oh god, what did you do? I only have five days off work, Taylor. I have to be back at my desk on Monday morning, else I’ll lose my job.”
Throwing her hands in the air, she huffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, for god’s sake, stop being such a drama queen. Don’t worry, you’ll be back at your desk, at your precious little job on Monday morning.”
“So what did you do? And where are the others?” I ask.
Taylor pulls her cell from her purse and taps at the screen.
“Taylor,” I push.
Without taking her eyes from the screen she blurts on a rush. “No-one else is coming and we’re not going to New York. We’re going to Texas.”
“What?” I cry. “What the…? Why?”
Taylor looks at me and rolls her eyes. “I knew you’d be like this. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“What the hell is going on, Taylor? Why would you want to go to Texas, and does Derek know?”
“I found him,” Taylor says, turning her whole body toward me, a devious smile spread across her face.
“Who? Derek? Why would you need to find him? You only went out to dinner with him last night,” I say, thoroughly confused.
She frowns at me. “No, not Derek. I found Park.”
“Park?”
“Yes, Park. Park, the guy I grew up with; the one who disappeared just after high school. Park. I’ve told you about him like a thousand times.” She says emphatically.
His name swirls about in my mind as I try to remember who he is. Park. “The Irish boy?” I ask as it all comes to me in a rush. Park was Taylor’s best friend when she was a kid. He moved here from Ireland or something.
“Yes! Park,” she shouts. “Why don’t you ever listen to me? I told you all about him.”
The urge to roll my eyes is strong but I fight it, just like I fight the need to tell my best friend that sometimes she talks so much I just nod and pretend like I’m listening.
“What do you mean you found him?”
“God, Rosie, don’t you remember? Park and I went to school together. He was my absolute best friend; we told each other everything. His mom and dad still live near us; they’re friends with my parents. Park and I had planned to go to the same college and then one day he was gone. He just left and he never even said goodbye. It’s been years and he’s never come home to see his parents. His mom says they have no idea where he is, just that he calls once every few months to tell them that he’s still alive.”
“And you found him?” I say.
She nods, smiling brightly. “Yep. I found him.”
“And he’s in Texas?”
She nods.
“And instead of going to New York for your bachelorette party, we’re going to Texas to find Park?”
“No, silly. We were never going to New York. I just told you that so you’d agree to come.”
“How? I mean, how did you find him after all this time, if even his family don’t know where he is?” I ask, baffled as to why she would go to all this effort to track this guy down when she hasn’t seen him in years.
“I hired a private investigator,” she says simply.
“You hired a private investigator,” I parrot back.
“Yep, and it took him months, but he finally found him, and he’s in Texas, so we’re going to Texas.”
Needing a moment to absorb everything, I turn my head and watch the world slip by as we zoom down the freeway. “But why?” I ask, turning my head back to Taylor. “Why go to all this effort to find him now?”
“Because I want him at my wedding. He was my best friend from the age of five to eighteen. We were supposed to go to the same college. We were supposed to be friends forever. Then he just left. He didn’t even leave me a note. The last time I spoke to him, he said he was going home to get changed before we went to a party, and then he never turned up.”
“Taytay,” I say, reaching out to squeeze her leg comfortingly. “You haven’t spoken to him at all since then?”
Shaking her head, she turns away from me to look out the window. “One day he was my best friend and the next he was gone. Just ripped from my life and I don’t understand why.” When she looks at me again, her eyes are watery and imploring me to understand. “I need to do this, Ro-Ro. To find him and ask him why he left. I need to tell him I’m getting married and that I want him at my wedding. I’m sorry that I lied to you, but I thought that if I told you the truth, you might not come with me and I need you.”
Reaching out, I take her hand in mine. “Of course, I’ll come. We’re going to find him and then he’s going to be there for your big day, I promise.”
She nods, a single tear falling from her eye and rolling down her cheek.
“Tell me about him,” I say, not releasing my hold on her hand.
She smiles. “We used to do everything together. I remember the very first time I met him. It was the first day of kindergarten and my mom had dressed me in this really pretty pink dress. I was so excited to be a big girl and go to school for the first time. There were so many little kids and I didn’t know anyone, so at recess I was playing on the jungle gym and I saw a little boy with red hair, pointing at another little boy with blond hair. The blond-haired boy looked really sad, so I went over to see if he was okay. The red-haired boy was calling him names, so I called him a doo-do
o head or something.” She laughs quietly to herself, as she recalls the memory. “Then Park spoke to me and his voice was just so beautiful. I think I told him then and there that we were going to be best friends, and we were. We grew up together our whole lives, right up to the point he left. There’s been a hole in my heart since that day.”
“Oh, sweetie, I had no idea. I’m so sorry, but there was no need to lie to me. If you’d have just told me all that I would have come with you willingly.”
“It’s stupid, tracking down someone you haven’t seen for ten years. But there’s just this ache inside of me and I don’t think it’s going to go away until I have him in my life again, or at least until I find out what happened to make him leave,” she says, wiping another tear from her face.
My heart hurts for my friend. I had no idea she felt this way. I remember her telling me years ago that her childhood friend had left and that she had no idea where he was, but I didn’t know that it had affected her to this extent. Taylor at first glance can seem shallow and vapid. She lives with her parents, who indulge her every whim; she’s never worked a day in her life, and is about to marry a man just like her father, who will keep her in the lifestyle to which she’s become accustomed. But she’s much more than first impressions suggest she is.
Over the years, many people have said that ours is a strange friendship and I suppose they might be right. But while Taylor can be a little selfish, she’s also incredibly generous. My best friend can be self-centered, but if I needed her, I have no doubt that she’d be there for whatever I needed.
“So where in Texas are we going?” I ask.
A huge smile spreads across Taylor’s face. “Ro-Ro, we are going to a tiny little Podunk town in the middle of nowhere called Archer’s Creek.”
Blondes, blondes, and more blondes. They’re everywhere, torturing me with glimpses of Taylor in every single one of their faces. None of them are her of course, but my mind finds similarities to her in them all.
The clubhouse is filled to the rafters with members, old ladies, the club girls, and an array of hangers-on and partygoers, all reveling in the debauchery of the Sinners clubhouse on a party night. Scanning the crowd, I try to force my brain to only see the brunettes and redheads and the women, who like myself experiment with bright rainbow hues in their hair. But just like so many nights in the last few years, all I can see is blonde.