When the song ends, we head off laughing to the bar, once again, with the excuse to rehydrate. Maybe that’s the case for them, but for me it’s all about replenishing the alcohol I just burned off on the dance floor. I can feel my buzz slipping and we can’t have that.
We’ve been at Carnal for a few hours now. The last time I even attempted to gain the time, the hands on the clock started dancing. I ask Greg, who says it’s a little after 1:30 in the morning; sure, we can go with that.
Dee and I have been taking turns ordering the most outrageous drinks we can think of—with the help of our phones and Google, of course.
“Gimmie two Golden Showers, bartender!” I scream across the bar. When did someone take my last drink? What was that one? A blow job, I think. Yes, that was it. We spent a good fifteen minutes laughing our asses off after making Greg drink one.
He is currently giving us a look of extreme displeasure. He can act as mad as he wants, but yelling for Greg to deep throat his blow job was hilarious. Just ask the customers around us. They certainly laughed loud enough.
Even during times like this, when you know he could be doing something better with his time, he wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else. He’s been a constant presence in my life since that day he showed up with Dee. The big brother I never had, always there when I needed him the most. I can tell by the way he keeps looking around the crowd that he has slipped back into that protector mode; it’s almost like he constantly thinks something is out to get him. Or me. I shiver. Brandon isn’t ever far from my thoughts, especially not after the package. I can tell when Greg looks at me like he is afraid I might break at any moment that his thoughts are the same.
Dee’s slurred voice interrupts my thoughts with a high-pitched screech. “YO, bitch, drink up! I got you one of those Pull-Down Pussy things. No . . . it was the Pussy Panty Pull-Down? Fuck.” She spits the word out with so much frustration she almost falls off her stool. She looks over at me and I can see that she’s trying to decide if she is more confused over the correct drink name or how she got to the club to begin with.
“That’s not right, Dee! Greg! Greg, tell her the right pussy! You know pussy, right, Greg?” I laugh up at him, tilting my head to the side, wondering why his frown is wobbling.
“You two are driving me fucking crazy. Just because I know my pussy doesn’t mean I know this shit. I eat it, and when drinking it down, I damn sure don’t do that out of a fucking glass. For shit’s sake, get some motherfucking water next time. Fuck me, the right pussy.” He shakes his head at us both. “If you touch one more drink with fucking pussy in the title, we are gone, got me?”
Well. He thinks he runs this show, does he?
I look over at Dee, who is trying hard not to bark out a laugh. Holding up my arm, I signal the bartender over. Again.
“What’s next, my beauties?” comes his flirty question.
“Well, since pussy is off the allowed list, how about you surprise us? Either a Slow Comfortable Screw or a Screaming Orgasm. Bartender’s choice.” I hear Greg’s annoyed curse even over the beating bass surrounding us.
I’m still laughing when Dee screams that our song is on. “Come on, Iz, it’s our song! Get up! Let’s go shake it.”
“Every fucking song is your song, Dee,” Greg deadpans.
Laughing, I spin around on my heels and run smack dab into a brick wall. Fuck, that hurt.
I put my hands up and try to orientate myself with my surroundings; I focus, or at least I try to. Wait a minute . . . Since when do brick walls have heartbeats? There is no way that is normal. What the hell kind of club is this?
I squeeze my hands against the wall. Hmm, heated walls. Nice touch, but kind of pointless in a night club, if you ask me. I take a small step back and focus the best I can. I look up and up and up a little more. Finally my eyes land on two laughing brown eyes. Since when do walls have eyes?
“Whoa there, sugar,” the wall says.
“Huh?” I’m confused as hell.
“Beck, what’s going on, brother?” Greg says from behind me. Grabbing my hips and bringing me to his side, he throws that familiar arm over my shoulder. “I see you met my girl, Iz. Izzy, this is Beck, one of the boys I was telling you about.”
I can feel the smile in his words. Greg has talked about his “boys” often; I know he thinks of this group as more than friends. After all, when you fight alongside each other for so many years, trusting them with your lives, they become so much more than just people to you. A brotherhood with a bond so tight it is untouchable. I know he is over the moon to finally introduce these men to Dee and me.