Tied (13 page)

Waitress girl starts to head back over, balancing a bottle and shot glasses on a tray one-handedly. Before she reaches us, I hiss a warning at Warren—just to be safe. “And don’t even
think
about telling tales to Kate that I’m screwing around. This is for purely educational purposes only. It means nothing to me.”

That’s the absolute truth. It’s like . . . acting. I would have made a great actor. The Broadway kind. Because no matter what an actor feels for his leading lady in real life—when that curtain rises, he performs. Convincingly.

She arrives at our table. “Here we go, guys.”

As she sets out the glasses, I ask, “Is it always this crazy around here?”

“Not always. There’s a podiatrist convention in town this weekend, so we’re swamped.” She brushes a hair from her face. “The tips are good though, so I can’t complain.”

“Sure you can. Everyone deserves to bitch once in a while. I’m all ears.”

She smiles and pours our drinks.

“Better yet—how about you sit down for a few minutes? Take a load off. Have a drink with us? You look like you could use one.”

She’s tempted. But then she glances over her shoulder at the balding, heavyset guy behind the bar. “It’s sweet of you to ask—but I can’t. My boss wouldn’t like it.”

“Sweet is my middle name.” I jerk my thumb toward the bar, “He your boss?”

She frowns. “That’s him. Harry’s a total slave driver.”

I stand and hold up a finger. “Don’t go anywhere.”

I jog over to Harry. “Hey, man, my friends and I are looking to have a quick drink with our waitress.”

He looks over at our table. “With Felicia?”

“Yeah, Felicia”—or, whatever—“and we’re willing to pay for her time. What’s a ten-minute break gonna cost me?”

“Fifty bucks.”

“Done.” I slap the money on the bar and beat it back to the table quickly—before the price goes up. Then I put my sexy face back on.

I pull out a chair and motion for the waitress to sit. “You’re all set.”

She looks surprised. “No kidding?” She looks at Harry, who gives her a nod, then she sits down gratefully. “Wow, you convinced Harry to give me a break? You must be very good.”

I chuckle wickedly. “Baby, you have no idea.”

I sit in my chair and raise my shot glass. Everyone follows suit and we down them together. Then I pour another for the waitress. We chat casually for a few minutes. She tells me about her dreams of becoming a showgirl, which were put on hold because of her mother’s emphysema. I listen oh so attentively and nod at all the right times.

Then I dig a little deeper. “That’s a lot for a lady to have on her shoulders. Does your husband help out?”

She drinks her second shot and shakes her head. “No husband.”

“A boyfriend, then?”

“Not one of them, either. Who has the time?”

Then I go in for the kill. “A great girl like you doesn’t have a boyfriend? That’s a damn shame. Still, you should make time to blow off a little steam. Let loose. Have a good time with a good guy.”

She licks the alcohol off her lips. “I squeeze in a good time here and there. When it’s worth it.”

See her suggestive smirk? The invitation in her big, hazel eyes? That’s her signal—telling me she thinks
I’m
worth it. That if I offer to help her blow off some steam in any fashion I can think of, she’s up for it.

That also concludes our presentation for the day.

I glance at my watch. “Ten minutes are up. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble with your boss.”

She blinks. “Oh—right.”

Then she stands up—but doesn’t leave right away. “I’m done here in a few hours. Are you guys going to stick around?” She asks all of us, but she’s looking at me.

I let her down easy. Because that’s the kind of gentleman I am. “Unfortunately, no. We’ll be heading out soon and we’re busy all night. But it was a pleasure talking to you.”

Back in the day, I would have kissed her hand for good measure. But these days my lips are for Kate alone.

Her shoulders sag. “Okay . . . well . . . thanks for the drink.”

“Anytime, honey. Don’t work too hard.”

She walks away, sneaking a peek back over at our table as she goes.

I turn my attention to Warren and spread my arms wide. “And
that
is how it’s done.”

I toss back a shot. My voice is strained after it burns down my throat. “If I was interested, I’d hang around awhile. And if no other opportunities presented themselves, I’d take her home, bang her for a few hours, and leave her smiling.”

Warren suggests, with a hint of awe, “Yeah. Or you could bring her up to your room for a quickie.”

Jack, Matthew, and I simultaneously exclaim, “Nooooo.”

I correct him, “With the high-end women you’re going to be scoring? You’re gonna want to take your time. And—rule number
two—always have an escape route. Never take a girl back to your home turf. It could take a forklift to get her the fuck out.”

Jack shudders. “One time I had to call the cops. And when they dragged her out, the broad was still clinging to my bed-sheets. That’s a mistake you only make once.”

Warren nods. “You make it seem so easy.”

“Getting laid is supposed to be easy,” I tell him. “None of us would be here if it wasn’t. God gave men instincts—even you. Just relax and let them lead you.”

I slap him on the back. Harder than I have to. “Now, young Skywalker, your training is complete. Tonight—you become a Jedi.”

He grins. “Cool. Thanks, man.” Then he cocks his thumb toward the restroom. “I gotta hit the john.”

Jack stands. “And I see a new lucky lady. I’ll be back.”

After they leave, Matthew’s eyes burn a hole in my face.

I return his stare. “What?”

“A few hours ago you could barely stand to be in the same room with the guy, and now you’re giving him pussy pointers. Why are you really helping him, Drew?”

“I’m a helpful guy.”

He continues to stare, waiting for me to elaborate.

“And . . . if Warren’s occupied with his own snatch . . . he’ll stay away from Kate.”

Matthew’s head rolls back with a groan. “Dude—you’re still hung up on that? Let it go, man.”

“Did you not hear the same song I did?”

His voice rises with exasperation. “So fucking what? It was a song. Kate is marrying
you
—you have a
son
together.” He cups his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “Get over it.”

I rub the back of my neck. “I am. I am over it. But . . . when I see him . . . when I see
them
together—it drives me nuts.”

“Why?”

“Because I still think he has feelings for Kate.”

“Again—why?”

I grind my teeth. And clench my hands. When I open my mouth, the God’s honest truth comes tumbling out. “Because I would never let her go, Matthew. Ever. No matter what happened—no matter what I did, I’d keep hoping, trying, until she came back to me.”

Matthew nods compassionately. “And
that
is why
you
are marrying Kate, and Warren is not. Because he
was
able to let her go. It wasn’t the forever kind of relationship, it was the for-right-now kind. And he did get over her. It’s the same way for Kate. So stop torturing yourself—and the rest of us—and just fucking enjoy it. You won. She’s yours.”

I think about his words for a moment. And then I shrug. “Either way, no harm, no foul. I get peace of mind, Warren gets his pickup skills upgraded, and Kate will be pleasantly surprised that I’m not jumping at the chance to put him in a shallow grave. Everybody wins, right?”

Matthew nods thoughtfully and finishes his drink.

Over the speaker system, the lifeguard calls our team number, and we get ready to nail the game.

B
y the time we head back to the villa—as the returning water-volleyball champions we are—afternoon has slipped into dusk. It’s my favorite time of day. The sun is setting and the air smells like summer—a mix of earth and chlorine and freshly cut grass. I swipe my card through the security gate surrounding the house and walk toward the front door.

Something in the window catches Jack’s eye, and he freezes. “What the hell . . .”

I follow his gaze through the window. I see the girls in the library, sitting in a circular formation on chairs dragged in from the dining room. They’re wearing long, pink, satiny robes and open-back, fuzzy, black heels. In the center of the circle stands a tall, fiftyish blonde in full black-leather dominatrix attire. She’s sort of hot—in an aging-hooker, been-around-the-block, her-pussy-is-probably-as-wide-as-the-Lincoln-Tunnel kind of way.

I whisper excitedly, “Goddess party.”

See? Dreams really do come true.

Matthew fist-pumps. “Yes!”

Like SEAL Team Six, we stealthily invade the villa single-file. Once inside, we line up—totem-pole style—in front of the library’s mahogany double doors. Without making a sound, I crack the door—just a little. Just enough to watch and listen. In one hand, dominatrix lady holds a mini, purple vibrator—in the other, a matching remote control.

“We call this the Master. You insert the vibrator into your panties, and your gentleman takes possession of the controller. It’s noiseless and discreet, but powerful. With the remote, he can alternate speed and pressure at his discretion. . . .”

Matthew whispers, “I have
got
to get me one of those.”

I murmur, “I’m gonna get five.” I envision our weekly staff meetings in the conference room taking on a whole new meaning.

Dominatrix lady goes on, “And now, ladies, let’s continue our oral instruction. Your bananas, please.”

Instantly and without shame, each of the girls picks up the large banana that has been resting on her lap. And puts it in her mouth.

Holy Mary, mother of God.

“Remember to relax your jaw . . . breathe on the outtake. Watch your teeth . . .”

My eyes are glued to Kate as the banana slides smoothly in and out from between her perfect pink lips. I’m so turned on, I could hammer nails into a two-by-four with my cock. I mean, I’ve been where that banana is going many times before, but something about watching Kate give head from this point of view is crazy erotic. It’s like . . . live-porn dinner theater.

“Use your other hand, ladies. The testes are the neglected
stepchild of the male genitalia. Knead them, massage them, caress them—they need your love too.”

Yes. Yes, they do.

In a hushed voice, Jack puts into words what all of us are thinking. “Anyone else about to jizz in their swim trunks? This is . . . this is like every fantasy I’ve ever had all rolled into one.”

I can’t help but agree. “Me too—except the part about my sister being there. And Delores.”

Matthew is insulted. “Hey, my wife is magnificent.”

You wanna know what else is magnificent? A black panther, streaking across a valley, going in for the kill. Doesn’t mean I want to mount one.

I tear my eyes away from the fruit-blowing fest and look down at Matthew. “Your wife’s a psychopath. I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick. She’d probably pull some kind of booby-trap shit and shove razor blades up her twat to try and slice my cock off.”

Was that too crude?

“That’s a fucked-up thing to say.”

Pick a conspiracy, any conspiracy—the JFK assassination, Area 51 . . .

“The truth usually is.”

The guy code restricts how much you can mock a friend’s significant other. There’s an imaginary line. And if Matthew’s reaction is any indication? I just crossed it.

He lands an angry punch to my right leg. In the spot above my knee—the charley-horse region—that makes pain echo up and down my femur.

“Ow! God damn it!”

I shift my weight to my other leg to keep from falling over, but I step on Warren’s hand and set off a not-so-quiet domino effect.

“Hey! Those are my fingers, asshole!”

“Dude, stop pushing!”

“Shut the hell up, I can’t hear!”

“You’re ruining it!”

“Stop fucking punching me!”

You know what’s going to happen next, don’t you? Yep—the doors open. And the five of us tumble into the room in a heap—like a pileup after a fumble.

Of course.

There’s a collective gasp at our intrusion—the kind of sound a sunbather would make after getting doused with a bucket of ice water. Meanwhile, the man-pile does its best to untangle.

“Ompf . . .”

“Ow . . .”

“Get your knee off my balls!”

“Get your balls off my knee!”

I’m the first to recover. I hop to my feet and flash the girls a dashing smile. “Hello, ladies.” I hold up my hands, palms out. “Sorry for the interruption. Carry on, pretend like we’re not even here.”

But the lust spell has been broken. With a meaningful look, Delores peels her banana, then takes a big, chomping bite out of it.

I flinch.

My sister huffs, “You’re back early.”

Erin continues analyzing the remote control of the must-have vibrator. Kate is the only one who doesn’t seem upset by our arrival. She leans back in her chair and stares at me dreamily, her dark eyes big and shiny. Then she sighs. “Hi, baby.”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The rest of the guys are now standing, and Jack approaches dominatrix chick, who’s busy packing up her naughty paraphernalia.

His come-on is a cross between James Bond and Rico Suave. “O’Shay. Jack O’Shay. If you’re in need of an assistant or a model to demonstrate correct technique . . . I would be honored to fill that role. I’m available until tomorrow evening.” He holds out his card and whispers, “Call me . . . cell phone’s on the back.”

She looks him up and down appreciatively, fingering the card with one red nail. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

But Matthew, like me, isn’t ready for the party to end just yet. “Wait, you don’t have to leave now.”

Dee-Dee stands and holds up a magazine. “I have a catalog, Matthew. Let’s look it over together in our room—you can make a Christmas list.”

His eyes follow her as she walks out, then he scampers after her like a puppy chasing a bone.

Erin announces that she’s taking a nap, and my sister and Steven disappear without a word to each other, or anyone else. My eyes never leave Kate. It’s only been a few hours . . . but still . . . I missed her.