by Rissa Brahm
But, shit!—Darren’s bachelor party. He was so not looking forward to the task his brother had just put to him. A cramp sparked up on his right side just thinking about it. Then he heard the minibar calling.
No! He had to get this shit done. The expectations of his kid brother were just that much louder.
He reached for his cell and dialed Armando. His lawyer never stopped bragging about his one client who owned the major strip club in town, a quicker ticket to a party-in-a-box, way less hassle.
Zack needed to speak to the man anyway. He’d lost the doctor’s number Armando had given him and his stomach had been killing him slowly since the night Isabel had left.
And Armando knew a PI. If anyone could take the search for Isabel to the next level, it was Armando’s guy, because, at that point, Zack had exhausted all other obvious avenues. He had already spoken to the local staff at the Five Breezes and at the Airington, three times each, but they’d been no help.
He waited for the call to pick up as it rang for the fifth time. He knew Armando’s secretary juggled a billion things at once, so he just hung on while his mind wandered. By the eighth ring, he literally laughed out loud––never in his life would he have imagined himself desperately seeking a woman, least of all one particular woman, and going to such lengths to do so. Only a couple of weeks ago, one gorgeous female had been the same as another.
And he sure as hell wouldn’t have procrastinated when it came to arranging a bachelor party! Close and personal interviews with exotic dancers and he’d have been all in!
Damn it, Isabel. Where the hell are you?
CHAPTER 10
Sitting at the café table under a ceiling fan, Zack took out his cell to text Armando.
I’m here. Just swing by. At Marcello’s Café.
He’d ordered then downed a quick espresso shot by the time his attorney pulled up.
“Excited, are we? You’re always late for our meetings!” he cracked at his lawyer as he got into the car.
“This is different. Hold on.” Armando drove Zack in the new black treat he’d bought himself after Zack’s condo had closed. The tires screeched onto the main road as they headed to The Inferno for the bachelor party planning session. Armando insisted on taking him personally, “to make introductions.”
They entered the club, and Zack felt an immediate flood of stale sex and spilled beer in the air, and it was only 4:00 PM with no action to speak of yet.
He couldn’t help but want to be done there as quickly as possible. Armando, on the other hand, searched for any tits and any ass anywhere and came up to the empty bar, disappointment in his old-man eyes, like a tired, sad hound dog who’d lost the scent.
Jake Demonte, the owner of the spot, came up behind them and slammed Armando on the back in greeting. Apparently, most of their meetings took place at Armando’s office or by phone. Jake seemed proud of his place, glad to show it off.
After Zack was introduced, planning began.
Armando lit up when the strobes turned on, a pounding bass vibrated the space, and a parade of dancers made their way out onto the stage. Zack turned on his bar stool while Armando had already gone stage-side.
“Nice selection, huh? No one beats my parade of pussy, I will tell you that,” Jake said in a thick New York accent, nudging Zack with his elbow. Zack cringed and cleared his throat of the welling disgust, but he knew full well that it came with the territory.
He took a sip of water to reset, then tried to hurry the process along. “It’s hard to choose man, but hey, let’s make it easier.” And quicker. “First off, let’s steer clear of brunettes, or raven for that matter. My brother’s fiancée is a pretty brunette, and my mom’s dark haired, too. Darren won’t do well with any kind of resemblances.”
“Redheads and blondes only!” Jake called out to the stage.
Redheads and blondes. “J&T” and hanging panties and lipstick on a mirror all slammed to mind. Isabel. God how badly he wanted to get out of this place.
“Any other specs, man? Our hot pussy comes in every shape and size, color and age,” the guy said, grinning from ear to ear. That grin, it reminded Zack of the little prick from his first night in town. It was weird, they even looked a little alike. Probably just their goddamn sleaze factor in common, was all.
Fuck, I so wanna get outta here.
He put his focus back on the stage. “Just, whichever girls are the most assertive, man.” He knew his little brother needed an onslaught of attentive dancers so he could take a more passive role. A more guiltless role. Tits smashed in his face, and not the other way around. Zack had been the playboy, not Darren. Not even close.
Minutes later, the job was done. The bachelor party was arranged and paid for, with all the flair Darren and his friends could want; private room in the back, lap dances galore, the works. And then, to Armando’s disappointment, the meeting was over. The blinding strobes and pounding bass stopped, as did the girls’ parade. Zack thanked Jake and got the hell outside, beating Armando by several long minutes.
When his attorney did finally get out to the parking lot, the man held out a strip of paper to Zack, smiling wide while trying to catch his breath. “You forgot your receipt, and, you lucky bastard, the redhead with freckles, the one with the tiny heart tattoo on her baby-smooth mound, she wants you to call her after she gets off tonight! And, God Almighty, at first I thought she was giving me her number! I swear I almost had a heart attack!”
Ignoring the “luck” reference, Zack glanced at the receipt then flipped it over to a handwritten name and number. Destiny. He scoffed at the name, then stuffed it in his pocket and got into the car. Sinking into Armando’s passenger seat, he could only think of Isabel. He only craved Isabel. “Any news from your guy with that woman I’m looking for?”
“Not yet. ‘Isabel’ is a popular name down here.”
“But she’s uncommonly beautiful. Did you tell him that? And the birthmark?”
“Zack, I told him. Still a tough one, but give it time. Until then, call that damn number on the receipt! Distract yourself, for Christ’s sake! You look like hell.”
Zack shook his head. Armando was a good man, but he wouldn’t understand. He called both of his divorces blessings and proudly announced his commitment to his job, which Zack selfishly appreciated. But at the same time, the man couldn’t know what Zack had found in Isabel. His potentially perfect fit, lost. For now.
CHAPTER 11
Zack craned his neck to spot his brother and entourage wading through the timeshare hawkers at the airport exit. He saw Amy and her sister Stephanie first, both with enough luggage to clothe a small Mexican village.
He waved.
Amy and Stephanie were followed by their mother, Annette, and three other ladies, all with matching personalized wedding-themed beach bags. As they all came through the gateway, a mariachi band began with a boom, and still louder than the blasting accordion, horn, and joyful wailing of the traditional Jalisco-style ensemble, the women chattered to each other.
“He is so beautiful…mesmerizing…delicious!” Stephanie told Amy, again, not quietly.
Zack politely ignored the comment and its maker and went directly to Amy, his future sister-in-law, and hugged her tight, swinging her around and around in welcome.
“Great to see you too, Zack!” Amy said. She was glowing, obviously ecstatic about her big extravaganza.
“And hello, ladies.” Zack, ever the gentleman, greeted Amy’s mother, then each of the bridal party, all of whom he didn’t know, nor care to, and lastly the maid of honor, Stephanie.
Zack had met Stephanie at a few combined-family gatherings for Darren and Amy. The woman was a bit eccentric, to say the least. Her outspoken take on people’s auras, karmic connections and astrological charts were just too much for him to stomach, as was her obvious infatuation with him.
“You look very well, Zachary James. Very healthy, centered,” Stephanie said to him as he backed away after the obligatory kiss on the cheek.
She glanced at the other women, as if to be sure they noticed her confidence—her assertive air—as she offered Zack her analysis.
“You look centered yourself, Stephanie. Like the stars are aligned for you right now,” Zack returned, feigning seriousness and civility with not-so-subtle undertones of sarcasm that only Amy seemed to catch.
Amy glared at him and whispered, “Behave yourself, sir.”
He winked at her and redirected, “Ready to be a James?”
She smirked at him, then cocked her head. “Just be nice to her.”
“I’m always nice.” But Amy’s wedding week or not, he was not about to be pushed together with Stephanie under any circumstance. Even if it was to give the happy couple a break from the high-maintenance maid of honor. “Now answer the question. Ready for the James name or what?”
“Absolutely. Despite…well…that.” She shook her head as her groom sauntered in their direction with a sombrero on his head and a margarita in his hand.
Darren’s eyes widened and lit up when he spotted Zack from under the hat’s rim, dropped his luggage where he stood, and then picked up his pace to a clumsy jog. The hat flew off before he got to Zack, but Darren didn’t stop until he was locked in a bear hug with him, a bit of the margarita pouring down Zack’s back. “So damn great to see you, man! My best man! My brother!” said Darren, his speech only slightly slurred.
“Always.” Zack cleared an emotional knot in his throat, and then pushed his brother off him to check him out. “The groom. Looking good. Definitely marriage material.”
John and Wret had picked up one bag each for Darren and joined the reunion. The three other groomsmen, guys Zack had never met, approached too, one with Darren’s huge sombrero in hand.
“Dude, your brother doesn’t fly well,” Wret said, shaking Zack’s hand and pounding him hard on the back.
Zack had forgotten that fact and laughed while greeting and meeting the other guys. “So the drinks started pouring early, huh? Nice. Very nice. Well let’s get everyone settled back at the resort. I see the limo driver over there,” he said, pointing to a tall clean-cut guy holding a sign. “The Rine/James Wedding.”
Zack got the ragtag group moving toward the limos. “Let the wedding week begin, everyone!”
Darren, beaming, buzzed, and proudly gawking at his bride-to-be as she climbed into the limo in front of him called out, “What my brother said, people! Whatever my brother says.”
CHAPTER 12
Isabel was early to their usual spot. She felt bad about missing the last family dinner for what turned out to be such a worthless cause, so she made sure to get there early to save their table in the “quiet corner,” and pre-order starter apps and a round of drinks.
They’d been gathering at the touristy Las Tequilas for years now, just every month or so. Infrequent equaled safe. And while the vacationers were often obnoxious and rowdy, Isabel and her remaining family could at least relax invisibly with one another, without the fearful looks from her own people in the local hangouts.
As for the rest of Isabel’s eight siblings, they’d all left for other cities in Mexico, the United States, or Canada after the tragedies connected to her began to turn fatal. Her mother’s demise was the last straw for most of them, as Yesinia Ruiz had been the very glue that had held the entire family together. And Isabel needed no ghostly image of her ravishing mother to flash before her eyes for the writhing guilt to surface. She had the scars on her wrist to remind her constantly. Healed now, the raised knife-lines matched her mother’s––same place on the left wrist, four slash lines all of equal length. But different than her mother’s tragic scenario, Isabel was found in her bathtub just before she bled out. Celeste’s intrusiveness, that time, had definitely saved her life—to Isabel’s dismay at the time. Now, though, for the sake of her remaining family at least, Isabel had decided to stay on Earth and suffer and cause no further heartache to them. She sighed and looked down at her drink. Don’t think on it, Isa. Just don’t.
And when she looked up, Antonio was there. He hugged her warmly, and went to sit just as Ray and Eddie appeared. Real love, she thought to herself. This is real love.
The four immediately began eating, drinking and chatting while waiting for Celeste who was always fashionably late—exactly how Isabel preferred it, so her sister couldn’t corner her alone and start in on the usual ‘find a man’ pitch. Anyway, when Celeste finally did show, Antonio pushed a drink her way so she’d catch up and unwind from moment one.
Loud cheers and toasts erupted at the other end of the bar, which they all ignored as commonplace, while they continued to crack up over Ray and Eddie’s antics, Isabel’s bride-and-groom sagas, Celeste’s own manhunt tales, and Antonio’s limousine adventures, most of which got pretty raunchy. After they’d finished the first round of tapas and beer, Isabel headed to the bartender whom she knew from her events and could get a few free drinks out of without a problem.
She got André’s attention right away, and they chatted as he poured her order, which, as she hoped, was on him. She thanked him sweetly and turned to leave with the drinks, always extra careful not to spill or drop or fumble one or all. But she involuntarily paused, as if on autopilot. A tribal tattoo caught her eye, and up from it was a somewhat familiar set of shoulders, wide and strong. The tattoo owner was sitting only five stools down. Her gaze dropped back down to the torqued biceps wrapped in a tight black polo. She refocused her eyes on the tat, now making out its distinct red detail within the intricate black ink. And while the familiar scent of cologne and masculine musk hitting her nostrils could have been from any of the men sitting between her and Black Muscle Shirt, she didn’t need to see the chiseled face and the emerald eyes to know.
She turned in the opposite direction like a shot and without dropping a bottle or sloshing an ounce—amazingly—she fled.
Dear God, thank you for not letting him see me.
Undiscovered and relieved for it, she set the first few drinks down on the table.
“Thanks, Isa,” Ray said reaching for his glass.
“Not a problem,” she sang as she placed the next two down, proud of her surprising grace and ease. She snapped her arm back as if she’d performed magic…
…and knocked her own drink over in doing so. Her glass rolled off the table and onto the floor in front of her stoic, sullen eyes. Lips pursed, nostrils flared, she huffed in frustration.
“That’s what you get, baby sister,” Ray said, snickering. Isabel rolled her eyes at him.
“I’ll go get you a new one, Isa. You just sit and relax,” Antonio said on his way to standing. But she shook her head and stopped him with one hand on his shoulder.
“No, it’s okay. I got it. I get it free, and well, you’re just not as pretty as I am.” She winked at her brother, and then spun in the direction of the bar with a sigh. Zack would for sure be gone by then. Already at a far off table with his drink and whatever woman or women he’d brought with him. Definitely.
But on her walk back to André to get her replacement beverage, she asked God to please make it so, just in case.
*
Zack somehow heard his phone ring over the volume of the pre-party and the surrounding bar-goers. He backed away from the bar and returned to his table to take the call. “This is Zack,” he shouted into his cell.
“It’s Amy! I know I’m not supposed to be calling, but how is he?”
“More like, how are you?” Zack asked, hearing the thumping bass behind Amy’s muffled voice.
“Oh, Zack, there’s just not enough alcohol in the world. This place Stephanie picked…wait a minute, let me find a quieter spot…okay, well she thought it had male dancers—” A thud rocked Zack’s eardrum, Amy must’ve dropped the phone.
“Sorry, a girl, or guy, not sure which, lost his…her…balance and bumped me. Anyway, the Rainbow Club is for gay men, albeit, hot gay men. Bottom line, we’re not the most attended-to people in the place!”
Zack, who had pieced the
choppy details together, hadn’t had that good a laugh in a while.
Actually, not since that night he’d met Isabel, whom he was fully preoccupied with not having found. Still.
He had practically camped out at the Five Breezes in hopes Isabel would have other meetings there. He also began asking around about the tall older woman who had been with Isabel the day they’d met, but he’d still come up with nothing. And the PI was supposed to have something back to him before the weekend.
“Zack? You there?”
“Shit, sorry Amy.”
“So all’s good with my groom?”
“Yes, absolutely—Darren’s fine, being watched over like a hawk. No problems. Just go and get your freak on. We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
*
When the call ended, his lip lifted at the sweet concern behind Amy’s call. She was good for Darren. She was really good for him.
The line for drinks at the bar had gotten long, so he decided to wait a while, and just resumed his watch over his brother and mates. An unclaimed tequila shot conveniently left by one of the guys was right within reach. A nice gift. He grabbed it and slammed it back. Getting wasted was probably not the best move, even Armando’s doctor who had come to Zack’s suite a few nights back had told him that. For his stomach’s sake, he’d be best to take a break from alcohol, all spicy food, and coffee. But he’d straight-out ignored the advice. His stomach wasn’t fucked up from any of those things. He knew damn well what was twisting his insides.
And drinking made the night he’d planned for Darren move along faster. While he kept a plastered smile on his face for show, he watched the scene around him unfold through dour eyes—everything seemed to be moving in super-slow motion. But at least, everyone seemed to be having a blast, which was of course the goal. Darren deserved this.