"Not really, but I'll go with it for now if you agree to hire a nanny."
"I don't need help raising my children," Mom said, pointedly. We all looked in other directions because as usual, our family issues had a way of never keeping quiet.
"You're exhausted. I should know because I'm not even home all day and I'm exhausted."
"This isn't the time."
George tugged on Mom's shirt. She signed something to him. I didn't mean to intrude by looking, but I could figure it out. "Not fighting. Talking."
"Are you girls going to go already?" Adam asked.
"Okay, we're leaving," Stevie said, kissing Bobby and yelling some last-minute instructions for him.
I didn't give much thought to Damien's statement about the quality of his club, but once we got there it became obvious what he meant. Security hovered around us as if we were celebrities. They even joined us on the dance floor, looking odd as they swayed side to side. Finally, we retreated to a table in the corner and people-watched.
"We figured you might get to dance with a cute guy, but unless that cute guy is Moose, the bear hunter over there, it doesn't look like that's going to happen," Stevie finally said.
She had a point. Every time a guy even got close to us, security swooped down like a SWAT team, shooing any potentials away. I cracked up every time because no doubt this was what Damien had been trying to tell Rick.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I took it out, surprised to see a message from Evan. I'd added him to my WhatsApp after he'd insisted I text him to let him know I got home safely the other night. He'd uploaded a pic of the suit guy from the other night with the side-boob, spandex girl. She was sitting on his lap. Evan had captioned it Check it out. Guess our types were right for each other.
Billie: Too funny
Evan: Want to come by?
Billie: Wish I could. What are you doing?
Evan: Slinging drinks and singing songs-what I do best.
Billie: Is that what you do best?
Evan: Second best
Billie: What's first?
Evan: What do you think?
Billie: Naughty boy
Evan: You love it.
He was right. The flirty way he said things made my mouth go dry and other parts of me moisten up.
Evan: What are you doing?
Billie: At the club-girl's night.
Evan: Great-first, you reject me then you make me insanely jealous imagining you grinding next to another dude.
That was an unexpected reaction.
Billie: I didn't think you were the jealous type.
I didn't get a message back for a long time and I thought he'd regretted what he'd said. My mind played out all the angles, as usual. Diving for a deeper meaning in shallow waters could really fuck a girl up. He was just flirting and he was probably busy doing what he did second best. God, I hoped he wasn't doing what he did first best. Eventually, my phone buzzed again.
Evan: I didn't think I was either.
There was no time to dwell on it though because Stevie almost dislocated my arm pulling me out of the chair.
"Who could you be texting? Let's dance."
Reluctantly, I succumbed to the lure of the dance floor, trying to make sense of Evan's statement. Not that he had anything to worry about. The circle of security surrounding us made it impossible for any guy to get within speaking distance.
"My husband put you up to this, didn't he?" Mom yelled over the music to the bouncer aptly named Moose.
"Mrs. Wolfe, the only instructions he gave me were that four of the most beautiful women were going to come here tonight and I better do my level best to make sure no unsavory characters go near them. When I saw you ladies, I figured it had to be you he was talking about."
Stevie, Marley and I all aww-ed and sighed at Damien's description of us, but Mom crossed her arms. "He told you to say that too, didn't he?"
A look of panic took over the big guy's face, making him appear like a larger than life baby. "I really need this job, Mrs. Wolfe."
My mom patted his arm. "Don't worry about it. It's not your fault."
"Let's go home, guys," I said, pulling Mom's arm. "I think I'm danced out for the night."
The kids were sound asleep in the living room at Marley's. A baby monitor was set up next to them.
"Isn't that adorable? They made tents," Marley said.
"With Billie's afghans. Guess they came in handy," Stevie said, her voice low.
We all slid off our shoes and tiptoed to the basement, also known as Rick's man cave, where they usually played poker or watched sports.
"Okay, last call for bets," we heard Dillon say.
The door creaked slightly and we heard a few swear words and running around followed by a screeching sound. So of course, we rushed down there just in time to see Adam jump on the couch, knocking over a bowl of popcorn. The screeching sound had to be the whiteboard being shoved into the corner.
"You guys are home early." Adam's voice was oddly anxious.
"What's going on?" Mom asked.
"The game was a blowout so we decided to watch something else," Damien explained.
We all looked at the television and back at them.
"You're watching this?" Marley asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. I had to admit it didn't make sense. This was a show about a high school glee club. The only club these guys watched shows about were motorcycle and fight clubs.
"Sure, it's a good show," Rick said.
Mom walked around them, her arms crossed, her gaze sharp and demanding. "I don't watch a great deal of television, but this happens to be one of my favorite shows."
"It is?" Dillon asked.
"I can't believe you guys are interested in this."
"We're modern men," Adam said as if he was insulted.
"That's lovely, because Damien never watches this with me." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now that I know you like it, we can catch up on all the back episodes too. I believe there are like sixty episodes."
"Um … ah … sure," he said, shooting a helpless look toward the other guys.
"And I'm glad you guys watched tonight, since I missed this episode. Tell me what happened."
"Well-" Dillon said.
"Not you, Dillon. Why don't you tell me, Damien?"
They all stammered for a few moments. I'd never seen Damien at a loss for words. What had they been doing-watching a skin flick? If it wasn't so amusing, I might have felt sorry for them.
"They just broke out into song," he finally said. "For no reason."
Stevie laughed. "That happens on every episode. What was the plot? Why don't you tell us, Adam?"
"I was busy making the snacks. I missed a lot of it." Then to cement the point, he began picking up the popcorn on the floor.
"It's almost over. I'm sure you watched most of it. Popcorn doesn't take that long." Stevie's statement held a small accusation.
"Rick, why don't you tell us?" Marley asked.
"Sweetheart, I was so worried about you, I couldn't concentrate."
Stevie strode over to the coffee table and picked up the remote. Adam jumped to grab it from her, but she held up her hand just before he got to it.
"Hit last channel, Stevie," Marley said.
"I can't find it," she replied, just as Adam tried taking the remote again. Stevie ducked underneath him and threw the remote to Mom, who caught it mid-air. Who said women can't jump in stilettos?
"Just calm down … everyone. Put down the remote, Jessie," Damien pleaded, holding his arms up as if she held a gun.
"Not until we find out what you are up to." She looked down at the buttons while trying to hold Damien off, no easy task since he towered over her. "Why is this so complicated?"
"Last button on the right," Marley said.
Mom sidestepped Damien like a professional basketball player. "Got it," she said.
"Welcome back to Marriage Material," the television voice boomed.
Blood rushed through my ears as the image of Preston in a dark suit escorting a tall red-headed girl with a sparkly dress to a candlelit dinner on an overly decorated veranda filled the screen.
"Why are you guys watching this?" I asked. They all looked very different, but right then each of them had the same expression-guilt.
"This is why," Marley said, flipping the whiteboard over.
I stomped over to it. It was a list with each of their names on the side along with categories like date, kiss and second base written out in red and blue marker.
"I don't understand." The realization stabbed me like a sharp knife. My tone was thick with accusation. "You're betting on the show?"
"Billie, it's not like that," Rick said.
"Then what's it like?" Mom demanded.