“I get that,” Devil agreed readily as both he and Molly watched Samantha cover a slack faced Armando with a cashmere blanket from the back of one of the wingback chairs. “I suppose what I’m asking from all of you is to not purposefully add any fuel to Mannie’s flame right now.”
“So you want us to delay him with a lack of support on our end,” Vivian clarified.
“All I’m saying is maybe don’t be so eager to help him start canceling plans if he asks you. I’ve been texting with Nick and the poor guy is a wreck. He doesn’t want to lose Armando any more than Mannie wants to let Nick go. This can be fixed, ladies,” Devil assured the roomful of doubtful women passionately, looking from one hesitant woman to another.
Glancing in Sami and Vivian’s direction, Molly gave a small shrug. “I guess we could give Nick a shot to make this right, couldn’t we?” she asked her friends in a small voice. The idea certainly didn’t thrill her, but this was Mannie’s future happiness on the line. If there was even the slightest chance that this major fuck-up could be repaired, didn’t they owe it to Armando to do what they could to insure his future with Nicolas? “What do you guys think?” she asked the girls.
Sami ran a frustrated hand through her long blonde hair. “As much as I despise agreeing with Satan’s son,” she began, offering a nod toward Devil, “I gotta say, if I was in Mannie’s position, I’d want some answers. And the only person that’s gonna have those answers to give is the pecker packing son of a bitch that we all wanna skin and skewer over an open flame.”
“Not all of us. I, for one, know this is all a big misunderstanding that can be straightened out if I can convince you people to not shift into the overly-emotional psycho mode you all seem to favor when times get a little rocky,” Devil announced belligerently.
That’s when Molly knew beyond a shadow of a doubt….
She’d married the smartest idiot on the planet.
Scorched: Chapter Six
Devil
“I’m telling you both, I barely escaped that house of horrors with my life, assholes!” Devil yelled at the two men sitting in the darkened corner of the local sports bar they regularly frequented when the need to flee their significant others became too much of a temptation to resist. “Stop laughing at me, you hyenas! I thought those she-beasts were going to maul and devour me before I ever made it to my own front door, dammit! Even the lion gave the gazelle a thirty second head start, but not those women. Hell, no! In fact, not only did they not give me a head start, but I’m pretty sure it was Vivian that tripped me on the way out. And I know it was Samantha’s shoe that caught me on the temple once I was down. And all the while, my so-called loving wife just freaking watched! That was until she decided to participate. Thank God her aim hasn’t improved with time,” he yelped above the chuckles of his contemporaries.
Christ, but he needed to find better friends. The ones he had wouldn’t be entirely happy until one of his stories ended with, ‘and then, the paramedics shocked my heart back to life’. Evil bastards, the lot of ‘em, he thought as he looked between the faces of his oldest friend and his beleaguered vice president.
Hell, last night hadn’t even been a catastrophe of his own making. Which reminded him, blame still had to be rightly and justly placed on somebody else’s head. Narrowing his gaze as he looked at his company’s youngest (and most successful) vice president, Nick Santino, he growled and pointed one long, tapered finger to his left. “Look, I had to sleep in my car in the garage last night because I was too afraid to go back into the lion’s den, guys. I don’t want another night like that. Besides, this isn’t even my fucking war to fight. This is your battle, Kemo Sabe, so I suggest you take your ass home and suit up for the game.” Taking a hard look at his normally pristinely dressed employee, he shook his head at the man sitting next to him now. Nobody would accuse him of being a fussy dresser today. Clad in baggy jeans sans belt and an oversized red flannel long sleeved shirt, Nick Santino had completed the ensemble with a battered baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. “What the hell are you wearing anyway?” Devil asked. “You going for that fresh-from-the-forest lumberjack thug look?”
“Shut up, Devil,” Nick grumbled under his breath, reaching for the glass of Shiraz he’d ordered from the bouncy scantily-dressed waitress that had been by their table earlier. “I’m trying to fly under the radar. That’s kind of hard to do wearing a Gucci suit.”
“Well, trust me, nobody’s gonna recognize you right now,” Molly’s brother, Grant Ramsey, chuckled, eyeing the younger man sitting across from him. “Exactly who are you hiding from, though? Based on what Dev here has told me, I don’t exactly think Armando is combing the streets for you. Besides, I’m fairly certain Mannie might revoke your gay card if he saw you in that get-up. Redneck gangsta thug is not in your color wheel, my friend.”
“Look, I’m not exactly trying to hide from anybody. Not really,” Nick muttered into his glass. “I’m just not necessarily trying to draw attention to myself right now, thank you both very much. I’m just not interested in advertising my presence back in Atlanta. At least not until I figure out how to explain to Armando about my fucked up family. Besides, I was actually really comfortable for a change on the flight into town. I told Mannie that there was something to be said for casual clothing, but he insists that clothes make the man.”
Devil snorted as he tilted his beer in the direction of the other man. “Son, at this moment, you’re damned lucky I like you. Otherwise, I’d have taken out a damn billboard over your head the second you deplaned over at Hartsfield-Jackson and pointed the four Musketeers your way. Despite your well-thought-out disguise as a straight man, I don’t think it’d distract them for long.”
“I might not fool the man I love and his three best friends, but it’s not them I’m trying to avoid. It’s the rest of Atlanta that I’m trying to dodge. Being stopped twelve times a day and congratulated on my upcoming nuptials was fun as hell when I was positive I had a groom waiting in the wings for me. Now, not knowing if I can even begin to gain Armando’s forgiveness….I don’t exactly feel like playing the gushing gay groom of the year, you know?”
“Ohhhh, you’re gonna fix this,” Devil growled back, leaning forward to clutch his highball glass of scotch with one hand. “That’s not negotiable,” he informed the younger man while he waved one hand in the air, signaling the waitress for a refill. “Seriously, I’m going to have to insist that you pull your shit together and commence kissing whatever you need to kiss to get Armando from my house back into YOUR house,” he informed the younger man while he waved one hand in the air.
“You think I don’t want that?” Nick asked, sounding desperate. Running a hand down his unshaven cheek, he shook his head. “I’ve called his cell at least fifty times. I’ve left him over two dozen voice mails. And that’s not even mentioning the texts I’ve sent. Devil, he won’t talk to me. For God’s sake, YOU, my boss, picked me up from the airport while my boyfriend did what? Nursed his grudge toward me?”
“And a killer hangover from what I’ve heard through the grapevine,” Grant whispered conspiratorially, winking at Devil. “But, if it makes you feel any better, your trusty boss , here,” he continued, jerking his head toward Devil, “is nursing a fairly serious case of blue balls so, really, it could be worse, right? Evidently, prior to your fiancé’s appearance last night, it was also going to be the night the Devil got to go back into Georgia for a little horizontal dancing, if you know what I mean. Have some sympathy for the Devil, man; eight weeks feels like a year where sex is involved.”
Gaping at his best friend, Devil shook his head. “What are you? A woman?” he asked Grant, silently debating how a brilliant obstetrician could so quickly devolve into a prepubescent girl when there was gossip involved. “You do realize that my wife is your SISTER, don’t you?”
“Honestly, sometimes I forget,” Grant replied with a slight shrug as he propped his chin in his hand and smiled benignly across the table at Nick. “Honestly
, being Devil’s best friend can be a tough job at times, and he’s been cranky of late. Your Armando’s descent into madness last night prevented your boss from descending into my sister’s charms.”
“I seriously did not need to know that status of my boss’s balls or how often he visits Georgia or how he dances when he arrives there,” Nick yelped, glaring at Grant’s amused face. “I don’t care how gay I am, that is not information I ever want to possess,” he proclaimed with a shudder as he ripped off his baseball cap and shoved a hand through his thick, wavy hair. “Damn it! Aren’t you two paying attention? I’m in crisis here.”
“You’re in crisis?” Devil asked indignantly. “No. Let me tell you about crisis. Crisis occurs when you’ve managed to convince your reluctant wife to allow her parents to babysit your daughter for the night...when you finally get her all to yourself. You’re not sharing her with your child or with your mother-in-law or with her two gal pals from hell or her gay bestie. Nope, you’ve finally got all her attention on you. Imagine it, Nick,” Devil demanded dangerously, “You’ve almost reached the Passionate Promised Land and the long, draining sexual draught is almost over. Hot sex can be seen on the horizon, man! She’s naked….and SO. ARE. YOU. You’re that close! And then your moment gets busted all to hell because that guy – we’ll call him shithead #1 - that you hired neglected to tell that OTHER guy you employee – we’ll call him shithead #2 – that he never shared his sexual orientation with his stick-up-their-collective-asses parents. Now, you might imagine what I imagined at the time….you know, that none of this was my problem. But you’d be WRONG! So very fuckin’ wrong. Wanna know why it became my problem? Because my Molly said it was!” Devil finished on a roar that drew stares from the surrounding tables. “That’s a fuckin’ crisis, Nick!”
Grant smiled benevolently at the surrounding patrons that had fixed their attention on their table. “Don’t mind us. We’ve just had a threesome that went horribly wrong. One of us,” he whisper yelled, pointing at Devil, “got a severe case of performance anxiety. What are ya gonna do, though? The three of us have been together too long to just start over again with someone else. Our little Boy Toy, here,” he said, ruffling Nick’s hair, “he could get any man he wanted, but me and Dev…we’re just too old to begin again, you know?”
“GRANT!” Devil and Nick hissed in unison, both their gazes blazing furiously.
“What?” Grant questioned innocently. “Haven’t you guys heard? Polygamous relationships are all the rage these days. Haven’t you been watching those episodes of My Five Wives I’ve been linking to you lately? It’s one giant step forward for the polygamous kind.”
“I’m gonna kill him,” Devil growled under his breath right before lunging across Nick’s body to nail his best friend of twenty years with a nasty right hook. With any luck, he’d knock the son of a gun out so that none of them would have to listen to him attempt to be funny.
Dodging Devil’s fist, Grant laughed as someone at the table across the restaurant began snapping photos. “Okay, gentleman, I believe we’re beginning to attract a crowd,” he groaned as Nick’s booted foot found his instep. “Son of a bitch, that HURT!” he shouted, lifting his own fist to nail Nick in his stomach. “Ow, shit!” he yelped, shaking out his hand as his curled fingers bounced off Nick’s abs. “Holy hell, how often do you work out, Santino? Devil, feel this kid’s abs, man! Dear Lord, I’ve never felt anything like this, Devil,” he breathed in awe.
“Are we sure that you’re not gay?” Devil asked Grant sharply, rolling his eyes as he straightened his sport coat with jerky movements.
“Now, fellas,” a sultry southern voice drawled, “Gay or not, I’m gonna need you boys to settle down,” their waitress instructed with a wink as she delivered another round of drinks. “Else, I’m gonna have to cut y’all off, and I enjoy the company way too much to have to do that.”
Barely looking at the scantily dressed woman to his left, Devil nodded. “We’re fine here, Delilah. Just a little familial misunderstanding.”
“Mmmhmmm,” Delilah the waitress hummed, her lips tilting up in a smile. “Just keep it down, boys. This is a nice, family-oriented bar.”
“Those words don’t even go together,” Nick noted with a confused look at Grant.
Grant shrugged while Devil simply inclined his head before the waitress turned to sidle away from their table. “Okay, if you’re done feeling Nick up, I think we need to refocus our attention,” Devil said, keeping his voice low as the other tables seemed to resume their own conversations.
“To what?” Grant asked blankly.
“To what?” Devil echoed in disbelief, “Are you kidding me right now? How about we concentrate on how the hell we relocate Armando from my guestroom back to his own bed in his own place. With Nick.” Turning his attention back to Nick, he asked, “How do you propose we go about straightening this mess out, kid?”
“I really wish you wouldn’t call me a kid. I’m only a decade younger than you two,” Nick complained, draining one glass of his Shiraz before reaching for the other that had just been delivered to their table. “It’s demeaning.”
“Okay, I thought ‘kid’ was nice, but I could go with asshole, too,” Devil returned reasonably. “Does asshole work for you, Nick?”
“Point made,” Nick muttered.
“Okay, here’s the bottom line, asshole. I would like to fuck my wife – long and hard - sometime in the next century…”
“Whoa!” Grant barked, quickly clapping his hands over his ears, “Uncool, bro! I cannot hear things like that about you and my baby sister. I’ve still got two kids to push through college and can’t afford the therapy those kind of blunt, in-your-face statements cost me, Dev. Not unless you’re footing the bill for Princeton and Yale.”
“Suck it up, jackass. You’re a freaking doctor. I think you can afford it. If you can’t, I suggest you play catcher for a few more infants,” Devil dismissed Grant easily before refocusing on Nick. “Now, like I said, I’d really like to be with my wife again and that’s not possible while the New Queen of Mean resides in the guest suite. Hell, Molly slept with him last night because she didn’t want him to wake up lonely. What kind of crazy ass shit is that?” He supposed this shouldn’t have angered him as much as it had since it wasn’t as though Molly would have willingly allowed him back into their bed, but it was the whole principal of the matter. If any man was gonna sleep with his wife, it ought to be him, right?
“I’m not surprised. Armando despises sleeping alone. I had a body pillow with my face superimposed on it specially made for when I have out-of-town trips,” Nick explained with a sad sigh. “He never sleeps soundly while I’m gone, but that pillow helps.”
“Wonderful. Suffice it to say that Mannie wasn’t interested in his Nick-shaped pillow last night,” Devil snapped. “He wanted – and got – my wife, the lucky bastard. As I’m sure you can imagine, this is a problem for me. Especially since I had plans for my wife. Hot, nasty, sweaty plans. And unless you fancy the thought of starring in a little movie with me called ‘Fifty Shades of Black and Blue’ in which I beat you senseless, then you’ll tell me what we’re gonna do to get your man out of my bed and back into yours,” Devil threatened.
“Maybe I am gay,” Grant mused thoughtfully as he munched on a French fry, “because I’d totally go see that movie.”
Disturbed, Devil paused mid-rant and cocked his head in Grant’s direction. “Seriously, bud, when was the last time you and Karen had a little ‘alone’ time?” he asked, using air quotes. Honestly, when he and Grant had been in college and shared a dorm room, he’d been forced to listen to his best friend and his girl screw like bunnies. They were always all over each other. He’d just assumed that they were still as…active as they once were.
“I’ll take your eight weeks and raise you a fiscal quarter,” Grant replied miserably. “That’s right, boys…three monkin’ months.”
“Monkin’?” Devil repeated curiously, arching one dark, inky eye
brow as he waited for Grant to elaborate – which he would. He always did.
“Yeah,” Grant retorted stubbornly, draining his whiskey sour in one long gulp, “Monkin’. It’s the opposite of fuckin’,” he explained, belching loudly. “See, monks are chaste. Like me. Get it?” he chuckled, elbowing Devil in the side. “At this rate, we’re both gonna be born-again virgins, man.”
Blinking, Nick stared at Grant in fascination. “You can tell me it’s none of my business, but….why?”
“Why, what?” Grant grunted, frowning into his now empty glass.
“Why haven’t you and your wife been….you know….”
“Bumpin’ uglies? Doin’ the deed? Makin’ sweet, sweet loooooovvvveee to my lady?” Grant drawled as Devil groaned and buried his face in his hands and begged whatever God was listening for a quick death.
“Yeah,” Nick nodded, interested now.
“Dear God, I beg you not to answer that, man. Karen is like a sister to me,” Devil begged, grimacing at the thought of what could be coming next.
“Now you know how I feel with Molly,” Grant replied unapologetically before directing his gaze toward Nick. “Well, it’s like this, Nicky, my boy. I don’t get laid much anymore because of a little thing I like to call the Three Ms. Marriage, Middle age, and Menopause. Now, any one of those can put a damper on the sexual shenanigans, but all three together? Let’s just say that those creamy white thighs of our lovers’ legs will close tighter than the vaults at Fort Knox. It’s a cocktail for catastrophe. It happens to all of us couples, my friend. Even the gay ones,” he assured the younger man with a sympathetic smile. “Yep, my wife has entered into those confusing years where I’m never sure if she wants to kiss me or kill me. Although, lately, I really think she’s leaning toward the ‘kill me’ option. I got a notice in the mail that she upped my life insurance. I’m not exactly feeling safe in my own home these days,” he lamented.
The Sizzle Saga Page 49