Rain dabbed her nose on the shop’s bathrobe and nodded. “Oh, right. That. Dora’s in the wedding.”
Who? It doesn’t really matter, but it’d be nice to know who that is.
“Who’s Dora?”
Rain gestured at her halo of gold hair. “The blonde at the front desk? With the really big hair?”
“Oh, the mean one?” It was out before Theresa could think better of it and she scrambled for recovery. “Well, maybe she’s not mean. It’s just—”
“Oh, she’s mean. Just not to me. She’s very loyal. She threatened to put a maintenance man’s head in the garbage disposal for me a few weeks ago, so I invited her to be in the wedding party.”
“Oh. That’s . . . nice.”
Or terrifying.
“Well, then.” Theresa sank onto the couch at Rain’s side and squeezed her shoulder. “How are you holding up otherwise? Excited, I hope? We’ve got Maddy’s party tonight.”
Rain smiled and nodded, toying with the heart on her jeweled collar. “I am, but . . . okay, I’m going to tell you a thing and I don’t want you to judge me or whatever. Please?”
“Of course I wouldn’t. You’re my best friend.”
“Oh, good. It’s just, you know . . . one of those things.”
Theresa nodded and smiled. Rain sucked in a breath.
“I’m pregnant.”
Holy shit.
“Oh,” she said, wishing she had something more poignant to offer. “Wow! Okay!”
I did not expect that, but maybe I should have. The tiredness. The boobs in the dress thing. Heck, a fitting now is cutting it super close as it is, but if she knew she was putting on weight . . .
Okay, okay. Play it cool.
Theresa did her best to recover, forcing a smile though she wasn’t sure if this was good news or not. Rain’s expression was hard to read. “Are you okay?”
Rain looked down at her lap, swinging her feet back and forth, her heels striking the couch front and bouncing off. It cast an illusion of youth on her that was very much at odds with the whole impending wedding day and baby thing. “I am, especially since I’ve known for six weeks already. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything but . . . I didn’t know how to, especially not at first. I was on the pill! But apparently I missed a few or Sol’s got super sperm or something. I can’t drink tonight, and I don’t really want to tell anyone why. It’s right before the wedding and the press is already going nuts. Imagine how it’d be if someone slipped that there’s a Barrington oops-a-baby.” Rain paused to glance out at the scramble on the sidewalk. “That’s why we were so adamant we got married this week. It would have made more sense just to move the wedding date out and rebook, but we knew I’d be showing sooner rather than later, so we wanted to get it done. So, surprise! You’re going to be an auntie!”
Theresa’s smile went more genuine as she pulled Rain into a hug, settling her chin on her friend’s shoulder. “You’re going to be just fine. We’ll figure tonight out—we’ll tell Maddy you’re on medication and can’t drink, and if she doesn’t like it, we’ll feed her to Dora. You’re happy, I hope?”
“Yes! Oh yes. I am. And Sol’s beside himself. He’s so excited. I just . . . I really want to get through the wedding day. It’ll be good to have it over with so when the news of the baby breaks, there’s one less thing for them to criticize. My mother will probably have a field day.”
Theresa pulled back, holding each of Rain’s hands in her own.
“As I draw breath, no one will shit on your wedding cake. Not today, not tomorrow. Not the press seagulls outside. Not your mother. This is your happiness. This is your new husband and your new baby. You will be happy, Rain. I’ll make sure of it.”
“You’re the best,” Rain said, pulling Theresa into a perfumed embrace.
“No, you,” Theresa replied, only somewhat suffocating in baby-swollen Barrington boobs.
“The first order of business, ladies—” Maddy started to say.
“Beer.” Dora reached into the Styrofoam cooler she’d brought with her to offer everyone in the limousine a sample from her vast and varied collection of spirits. In attendance was Maddy, Maddy’s personal assistant, Patrice, Rain, Theresa, Dora, and Lorelai, the green-haired, tattoo-covered driver of The Seaside who was not behind the wheel this time but behind the privacy divide. Their driver was some guy named Tom who’d leered a little too long at Maddy and Theresa both for Theresa to like him much.
“Ha! No, thank you, dove,” Maddy said when Dora tried to hand her a can. “I’m a champagne kind of girl.”
Dora tried to give one to Rain, but remembering Theresa’s quiet aside—the one she’d given all of the girls before the party that Rain was on medication and couldn’t drink—she bypassed her and handed it to Theresa. Theresa eyed the can, saw that it wasn’t an IPA, and cracked it open.
“Now then, as I was saying.” Maddy winked at Dora. “I have gift bags for you all so that we can properly commemorate kitten’s pre-Sol life.” Maddy gestured at Patrice. The dark-skinned, shock-blond woman in the loud flower print shirt and black leggings opened up an enormous canvas bag by her side, distributing hot pink paper bags with black tissue paper and glittery name tags. Everyone started pawing through.
And then everyone started pulling out dicks. Personalized ones. Theresa’s was a decent-sized red vibrator with her name scrawled across the side in fancy script. Dora got royal blue, Lorelai got a green that matched her hair, Patrice got baby pink, and the bride herself got a silver chrome one with Mrs. DuMont written in black.
“Yours is white gold, Rain. I figured you could start your own dick gallery.”
“It’s beautiful, Maddy. Thank you! I’ve never had a golden dick before!” Rain was apparently overcome by Maddy’s kindness as she reached over to bear hug the brunette beside her, the shiny penis toy jabbing at their chins. Maddy swatted it away, laughing. Rain was oblivious.
“No, most people haven’t, dove, but we’ve fixed that now.”
Theresa stared at the toy in her hand, a bit shocked by the turn of events. She was even more shocked when everyone began pulling out coordinating handcuffs, three different types of lube—a regular one, a fruity one, and a tingly one—and a rubbery-looking door-stop thing. She was rolling the doorstop around in her hand, trying to figure out what it was, when Lorelai said, “Cool. Free butt plug with every bachelorette party.”
Butt plug?
Oh my God.
Theresa stuffed her prizes back into her bag, her face on fire.
“It’s reasonably sized!” Maddy reached for Patrice’s pink one, flourishing it against her palm, Maddy suddenly the Vanna White of ass play. “And pure silicon. You can boil them. I give my friends only the best anal toys.”
The rest of the party seemed to agree, as they were examining each and every deviance they pulled from their bags. Beneath the smutty stuff were other goodies, too—gift certificates for a New Orleans boutique, new iPhones, platinum charms with Rain and Sol’s wedding date on it—but Theresa was so scandalized by the naughtiness on top that she didn’t delve further into her party favors. She let the others do that, using her fellow partiers as a safety against perversions unknown.
A butt plug. I can’t even . . .
Well. I mean, there was that one time with Scott, but that didn’t involve a butt plug.
Her face went hotter. A glance at the window proved her skin matched her hair.
Maddy continued. “All right, so, our first order of business is massages and pedicures at a spa overlooking the Mississippi. Then we get a fresh clambake riverside, and we end our decadent, sinful night with Pierre, Jason, and Raymond in a private loft called The Kitten’s Den, which seemed apropos, all things considered. I asked Darren if he’d unretire his Velcro pants for us, but he says his unmentionables are mine and mine alone now. Sorry, my darlings. I did try, though.�
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“It’s probably for the best,” Rain admitted. “Remember that time he climbed out of the pool and I walked into the refreshment stand? I nearly needed stitches.”
“Poor kitten.” Maddy leaned over to place a kiss on top of her head. “You’re too pretty to ruin your face.”
“Frankly, I’d rather stare at people I don’t have to check into the hotel tomorrow or ever. Eye contact is awkward when you’ve seen their franks and beans,” Dora said.
Lorelai tapped her can against Dora’s. “Amen.”
Franks and beans?
Theresa looked confused. “Wait, what franks and beans are we staring at?”
“Stripper giblets,” Dora said, glugging her beer. “And if Maddy picked them, I’m sure they’re top grade.”
“As opposed to what, discount strippers?” Theresa asked. “There are grades of strippers?”
Dora smirked. Lorelai smirked. Rain and Patrice smirked. Maddy burst into annoying peals of laughter.
Oh God. What have I gotten myself into?
She reached into her purse, pulled out her phone, and texted Alex.
Thinking of you. Hope your night is less weird than mine.
NINETEEN
SOL STARTED SHRIEKING. Again. The artist was filling in Sol’s new tattoo, and according to Sol, he was “surely being stung by a thousand condor-sized bees.” Alex wasn’t buying it and neither was anyone else in the shop, but it was Sol’s bachelor party so telling him to stop being a wimp wasn’t very nice.
At least he’d picked a good design. It was an elegant fleur-de-lis, appropriate for Sol’s zip code of choice, with the impending wedding date centered beneath it in script, “just in case Darren’s right.” He didn’t want to curse his union by putting Arianna or Kitten on his body. He’d done all right through the outlining of the piece, but the moment Milly had begun scouring the same patch of flesh to shade it, he writhed like a worm on hot pavement.
Vaughan smirked at him from an adjacent chair. He was getting the purple on one of his bicep roses touched up. “Graceful, Sol. Really graceful. You’re taking to this like a fish takes to water.”
Sol flinched as Milly wiped down his skin. “That’s me. A man of grace. Milly, you beast. Your tender mercies would put Genghis Khan to shame.”
Milly, who was as tall as Alex and nearly as wide, with biceps to rival his, grinned. Her various facial piercings glimmered in the harsh overhead lighting. Her fluorescent-yellow hair was spiked high, the tips brushed purple, and her tattoos flashed rainbow. They were everywhere, too: on her cheeks, her neck, her fingers. Even on her palms.
A beast, maybe, but a friendly, colorful beast.
She does great work and makes great coffee.
Alex sipped from his paper cup, doing his best to ignore his brother’s pained moans.
“Weren’t you under Maddy’s paddle for years?” Darren asked, his cowboy boots kicked up on a footrest, a bag of Cheetos balanced on his stomach. He sucked orange cheese from his fingertips. “I’ve seen her special closets. Some of that shit had to hurt more than the needle.”
“Aha-ha-hah! Yes, but keep in mind, everything’s more bearable with a boner, Darren.” Sol winced. “And I am about at flaccid as you can get right now.”
“How about we don’t talk about that, ever again?” Alex asked. “That’d be great.” He glanced outside at the benches across the street, where four men sat talking. Cylan, Richard, and Spencer were keeping Michael far away from the tattoo shop. Come to find out, being drunk as a skunk around expensive, pointy equipment was frowned upon, so half of their crew had accepted baby-sitting duty while Sol got his forever souvenir.
“It’ll be quick and simple,” he’d announced after consulting with Milly. “An hour, tops, she says.”
You’d never know how quick and simple it was by the sounds he was making.
It’s like a dog caught in a blender.
“Oh, hey, that reminds me. I got a joke.” Darren sat up in his seat, offering his bag of Cheetos to Nash, who promptly sniffed the snacks, made an “ick” face, and rolled the top of the bag down to keep them fresh. “What do you call an endowed puppet?”
Alex gave him the side-eye. “Really? We’re doing this?”
“Well strung! Get it? Eh?” Darren beamed.
Alex rolled his eyes. Sol giggled, then yelped. Vaughan snickered and fixed his sleeve after his artist finished with him. Nash went back to examining the tattoo magazines laid out on the end tables next to the black leather couch.
“The word ‘tattoo’ is from the Polynesian word tatau. I’ve read up on it quite a lot recently,” Nash announced as Alex paced by. Nash’s fingers were sliding over some tribal tattoos on a model’s back appreciatively. “It’s a fascinating study.”
“Thinking of getting some ink, Nash?” Vaughan asked.
“Hmm? Oh no. I saw Moana and I really liked it. I’ve been reading up on Polynesian culture since.”
Vaughan looked confused. Alex just smirked.
Of course you have, big brother. You dear, sweet nerd.
A few minutes later, though it felt like an eternity thanks to Sol’s whining, Milly pulled back from Sol’s back to assess her work. Alex went to her side to look. Tattoos weren’t his thing, but in the vast scheme of the universe, this tattoo had a certain style he could appreciate, and Sol was clearly happy with the result.
Either that or he was really happy it was over.
Milly held up a mirror so he could examine it.
“Oh, that looks marvelous,” Sol said, preening at the design. “Elegant, understated. Like me.”
Yes, you’re understated, Sol. That’s the first word that comes to mind when I think of you.
“It’s classy, DuMont. I like it.” Milly gave the tattoo a thick smear of ointment and covered it with a bandage before giving Sol a list of instructions Alex wasn’t completely sure Sol was listening to. They were out of the shop a few minutes later, Alex checking to make sure no man was left behind.
“Checking on your ducklings?” Darren asked before hauling himself into the limo.
“Something like that,” Alex said, sliding in beside him on the seat. As soon as the limo rolled down the street, he checked his phone and saw Theresa’s text. He immediately asked if she was having a good time.
Come to my room when you get back. You need to meet Murphy, she messaged.
He had no idea who Murphy was, but Theresa’s lovely face was far preferable to any other he’d spent time with that night, so he gladly agreed, smiling all the way to The Seaside.
It was almost one by the time Alex led a staggering, grinning Michael Kell through the front doors of the hotel. Michael slurred in his ear that he was parked out back and absolutely fine to drive himself home, but there was no way in hell Alex was letting him get behind the wheel of a car. Whether or not the surly bastard wanted to, he was getting a room and sobering up and hopefully not drunkenly urinating on their walls in the interim. Dora eyed them from the check-in desk, a bottle of water in her hand. She wasn’t working, that much was obvious, dressed in jeans and a tight red shirt as she was, but she was hanging out with the on-the-clock girl, Lexi, whom Alex had not officially met but already liked quite a bit by her warm, greeting smile.
Better than Dora’s Medusa stare.
“You look like shit,” Dora said.
Alex looked down at himself, frowning at the wrinkles riddling his shirt and slacks.
“I suppose I do,” he admitted. “It was a chaotic night.”
Dora motioned to the drunk at his side.
“Him, not you. God, you DuMonts can be thick. Let’s go, Kell. You need to sleep it off before you get any uglier.”
Michael grinned as Dora slid her arm around his waist and guided him toward the glass elevator. She glanced back at Alex, blowing a sheaf of yellow hair out of her face.
“Thanks for your help, DuMont. I worry about him when he’s out of eye shot. He can be an ass.”
“I can?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, baby, but it’s okay. I like you anyway.” She softened the remark with a kiss to Michael’s forehead.
Alex found a smile watching them climb into the elevator. They were together, apparently, and happy. Hell, Sol was happy despite whining about how badly his shoulder hurt the whole ride back, so maybe it hadn’t been a bust after all.
And now I get to see Theresa.
Things could be a lot worse.
He climbed the stairs two at a time to get to her floor, winded by the time he approached her room. He paused to right himself before knocking—smoothing his shirt and pants. Running his palm over his head to flatten his hair. He rapped his knuckles on her door . . .
. . . And was promptly met by a thud, a torrent of giggles, and a warbled, “Second!”
Is she drunk?
Another thud. A buzzing sound. A muttered curse. There was fumbling with the lock, some snickering, and then a pale face peeked out at him, brown eyes blinking slowly.
“’Lo,” she said.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Are you going to pick a fight about it if I have?” Theresa pulled the door wide. She stood before him in all her pantsless glory, her T-shirt barely long enough to brush her thighs. Her hair was tangled, and her lipstick—a red with a hint of brown—had just begun to bleed outside the lines of her lips.
She was adorable. An utter catastrophe, but adorable.
He smiled at her. “So you had a good time.”
“Course I did. C’mon in. You gotta meet Murphy.” She reached for his hand and yanked him over the threshold, surprisingly strong considering how much she wavered on her feet. The door slammed closed behind him. He followed her through a hotel suite with clothes strewn everywhere—on the floor, on a lamp, rolled into a ball on the corner chair. She shoved him to the foot of her bed, badgering him until he sat down.
The Lady of Royale Street Page 15