The World According to Vince - A romantic comedy (Gym or Chocolate Book 2)

by Stuart Reardon

  After we’d stopped laughing, Cady looked at me seriously. “And how does this make you feel about our favorite knob-head?”

  I looked down at Tap as her eyes closed with pleasure while I continued to stroke her.

  “It made me think that maybe he’s the one who’s gotten it right and I’m the one who’s gotten it wrong all of these years.”

  “Or maybe there’s a place somewhere in the middle?” Cady suggested gently.

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “Probably.”

  “You like him?”

  “I do. That doesn’t mean I could date him, I’m sure he’d drive me crazy…”

  “Yep, I’m sure of that, too. But you’re warming to the idea? Because he’s a nice guy? And kind of hot?”

  “Again, maybe.”

  “And he hasn’t called you ‘Faith’ for ages.”

  “Ha, true!”

  “And you’ve been avoiding him since the fashion show.”

  I sighed. “Also true. It’s just … I can only deal with one unpredictable thing at a time. And I did make a decision about something else, something important…”

  “Well, don’t leave me in suspenders!” Cady quipped.

  I laughed then took a deep breath. “I decided that I’m going to leave Kryll. I don’t care about making partner anymore. If I’m going to work 14-hour days, I want it to be for myself. I want to look into setting up on my own. I could still freelance as a Mergers & Acquisitions consultant, but I could also explore doing more project work…”

  “Like producing a fashion show?”

  I grinned at her. “Exactly!”

  “Because it was fun?”

  “Because I could see the whole thing through from beginning to end. Because I negotiated the hell out of those contracts to make sure that the event made more money for Vince’s charity. Because I wasn’t just making money for the sake of it. And because I had the best time doing it!”

  “Good for you, girl!” Cady smiled. “Those asses at Kryll take advantage. They’ll feel a cold wind when you’re gone.”

  “Well, I’m not making any announcements yet; I need to look into a few more things first; but mostly, I need to get Vince’s trial out of the way.”

  I slapped my hand over my mouth as Cady stared at me wide-eyed.

  “His case is going to trial?” she gasped. “But I thought you’d agreed a plea bargain with the prosecuting attorney?”

  “I had,” I sighed. “I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but with all the publicity Vince has gotten, the DA’s office is making noises, and Randolph Barclay really wants to make his name and get re-elected. I’m guessing that by being the man who took down the Canine Crusader, or something, he’ll prove that no one is above the law. I read an interview that he did just a couple of days ago where he says they can’t have vigilantes getting away with burglary. I guess he’s not a dog-lover.”

  “Holy crap! Have you told Vince this?”

  I winced.

  “I’m still hoping that I can persuade Barclay that it’s not in anyone’s best interests to take this case to trial, but apparently there have already been some copycat vigilantes breaking into animal shelters, and not just here, but in other states, too.”

  “Oh, that’s not good. Do you think you can still get a plea bargain?”

  “Maybe. But it’s looking less likely every day.”

  “And if not?”

  “We’ll have to go to trial.”

  “So, when are you telling Vince?”

  “I’m still hoping I won’t have to…”

  “But?” Cady prompted as my shoulders slumped.

  “I thought I’d wait until after your wedding. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been avoiding his calls. Ugh, I probably shouldn’t have told you either. Are you mad at me?”

  Cady groaned. “No, but is there any chance that Rick and I will need to cancel our honeymoon to pay for our best man’s fine?”

  “Nope, because Vince has a great lawyer,” and I winked at her, raising my glass.

  “Oh, baby, it sounds like Vince might get lucky!”

  “Maybe,” I grinned, clinking my glass against hers.

  Vince

  Gracie, she was one of a kind. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. So how could I prove to her that we’d be fookin’ amazing together? Dinner? Nah, done that, lost me tooth. A picnic in the park? Nah, it was still February and cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Maybe another playdate with the kids, then coffee and cake at my favorite café? Yes, that sounded like something she might agree to. I’d have to work on it. She’d also mentioned wanting to get together to talk about me getting community service or whatever from that old court case. But I didn’t want it to be about work all the time. I wanted to show her that we could be good, too.

  Fook me, women were complicated.

  And so was me best mate. I’d also been thinking a lot about how to get Rick to loosen up for his epic stag night, because I knew that just diving into my plan would have him heading for the hills. He needed the wheels of his sense of fun oiling first, which meant heading to a really sleazy sports bar where we could have triple shots during happy hour and a few beers to get Rick revved up. It wouldn’t take long—he couldn’t handle his drink, the lightweight plonker.

  Rafe and Elias were waiting for us at the bar when I dragged a grumbling Rick through the door.

  Rafe was frowning and Elias was scowling—they looked a lot alike.

  “The barman … who does not deserve that title … doesn’t know how to mix a Cosmopolitan or a Kir Royale or in fact any cocktail because they don’t serve them!” Rafe huffed, his tone full of disgust.

  “Yup, we’re starting with beer and shots,” I said, slapping him on the back. He was another bugger who needed to loosen up. “Don’t worry, lads, the Canine Crusader knows how to get the party started.”

  Rick shook hands with the guys and thanked them for coming, then I ordered triple tequila shots and beer chasers as we stood at the bar.

  Elias necked his three shots and frowned at the food menu. “What’s the GI of this?” he asked, pointing to a picture of a burger wrapped in a bun with cheese and relish dripping out of it.

  “Fifty-five or less, mate,” I lied. “The Canine Crusader says enjoy! But we’ve got dinner plans later.”

  Rafe sniffed and turned to Elias, “If I hear Vincent mention the Canine Crusader once more, I’m going to vomit. I don’t even like dogs. This is a totally lame bachelor party.”

  He was such a kidder, always up for a laugh.

  After another set of shots and beer, Rick seemed a bit unsteady on his feet.

  “I’m just going to the bog,” he announced in a slurred voice, then weaved his way through the crowd.

  “Me, too,” said Rafe, and Elias nodded in agreement.

  Rick reappeared a couple of minutes later.

  We waited, but Rafe and Elias were still missing in action, so we sat there sipping our beers, eating crisps (what the natives called ‘chips’), and watching highlights from last Friday’s Kansas City Chiefs versus the Forty-Niners.

  “Didn’t you see Rafe and Elias in the bog?” I asked after a while.

  “No, I didn’t. What, they both went to the toilet at the same time as me? I think they’ve ditched us.”

  “Nah, they wouldn’t do that, they’re good lads,” I assured Rick.

  “They’ve been gone half an hour.”

  “No one ditches the Canine Crusader!”

  “Mate, stop talking about yourself in the third person. It’s not cool.”

  “My personality is so big, it’s like there’s three of me. Anyway they’re probably going to meet us as the strip club.”

  Rick stood up, leaning slightly to the left as he grabbed the bar top. “Bloody hell! I told you, no strippers—Cady would kill me. And then she’d kill you. Then she’d dig me up and make sure she’d done it properly.”

  I patted him on the shoulder and he lurched forwards. “Yo
u can trust the Vin-meister.”

  “No, I can’t,” he mumbled. “He’s got a death wish.”

  “Of course you trust me!” I said, throwing an arm around my lightweight mate. “This way to our limo.”

  Outside, a Pedicab was waiting.

  “You wanna pedal first or me?”

  Rick scowled. “I’m not getting in that.”

  “But it’s environmentally friendly! I’m the Canine Crusader—I have to think about my Instagram feed. Here, get a shot of me on the bike!”

  Rick gave in with good grace, and since he was only the groom and I was the best man, I made him do the pedaling for the five blocks to the strip club.

  Rick’s first clue that this was no ordinary strip club were the crowds of screaming women lining up outside.

  “Don’t worry, I know the doorman,” I yelled over the noise as we parked in a side alley. “I’ve pulled a few strings to get us in.”

  “What is he talking about? What are you talking about?”

  “Trust me! Have I ever led you astray?”

  “Yes, every time you open your mouth.”

  I pushed a reluctant Rick inside, wondering if all stag nights were such hard work. I couldn’t remember much about the ones I’d been to before because after the first hour, everything was a bit hazy, so I was working from ideas I’d found on the internet.

  “Your costumes are over there, guys,” said one of the theater staff. “Enjoy your bachelor party. Don’t forget to sign your personal injury waiver before you go on.”

  “What costumes?” Rick asked warily. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, man, this is going to be epic! You’ll love it!” I said gleefully, proud of my plan.

  I’d brought the costumes to the theater yesterday, having thought really hard about our party personas. I shoved a bag toward Rick as I shed my keks and slid into my neon green mankini, tucking in my knob which kept trying to escape out of the thong part of my outfit as if it was some sort of executive toy. I’d originally planned for us to wear matching mankinis but somehow I didn’t think Rick would go for it.

  Rick looked horrified. “What the bloody hell are you wearing, Vin?”

  “Cool, innit?” I grinned at him, tugging at the skimpy material. “Borat has nothing on me. Those women are going to love it. I didn’t get you one because you’re a bit of a stiff, but your costume is cool, too. It’s got a 90s Mr. Motivator theme.”

  Rick frowned as he pulled out a rainbow-colored, knee-length Lycra workout suit, circa 1993, with matching neon fanny pack and a British policeman’s helmet.

  Rick shook his head. “No. No way.”

  “Just go with the flow, it’ll be fun!” I wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Come on! Let’s get out there! They’re waiting for you!”

  “Who’s waiting for me and why do I need a helmet?”

  “Uh, health and safety. Do it for me, Rick?” I begged, eyeing the enormous MC who was looking pissed that we weren’t ready yet. “Do it for the Canine Crusader!”

  “Alright! Alright! I’ll do it if you stop talking about yourself in the third person like that.”

  Oozing reluctance, my fun-sucking friend changed into his epic costume and I pushed him on stage.

  Bright white spotlights hit Rick between the eyes and he stood there like a rabbit about to be hit by a Mack truck, completely frozen except for a twitch in his left eye.

  “Dance, you muppet!” I yelled, and women started screaming as Tom Jones’ voice bellowed out You Can Leave Your Hat On. “Follow my lead!”

  And I started grinding my hips and doing that thing ladies love where my pecs dance, hoping against hope that Rick had unfrozen. Those women out there looked vicious—maybe this hadn’t been my best idea—but at least Rick had a helmet if things went south.

  “Get your kit off!” I yelled as he stood there like a lemon, then ducked as a water bottle flew out of the audience at him.

  “Dance! Dance! Dance!” they chanted.

  An enthusiastic woman climbed onto the stage and ripped Rick’s Lycra to his navel. This seemed to wake him up and he legged it for the exit with her tugging on his shorts.

  “Come back!” she yelled. “We ain’t seen the full monty yet and I want to know if there’s meat with them potatoes!”

  At this point I decided that a strategic retreat might be a good idea, and ran after Rick and his new fan.

  The MC grabbed my arm. “You said he was a professional!” the seven-foot man-mountain yelled in my ear.

  “He is! But not at stripping—he’s just a bit shy.”

  We were thrown out of there so fast, the door literally hit us on the arse on the way out.

  “What the hell was that, Vin?” Rick growled, sounding a bit stressed.

  “I don’t know, mate, you really let me down,” I said looking at him seriously. “What about my street cred?”

  Rick’s face turned an angry purple as if he was about to hit me—maybe he was just sobering up.

  Then Alf the doorman tossed our clothes out, unfortunately my trousers were missing and I didn’t think asking for them would be a good idea, but at least Rick seemed happier and at least I had a coat to wear over my mankini since it was a bit nippy around the nethers in February. Thankfully my socks matched.

  “I can’t believe they did that to the Canine Crusader! Oi, Rick! Where are you going?”

  “Home!”

  “Nah, you can’t do that, we’re the star guests at a Broadway show—totally legit, trust me.”

  He stood with his hands on his hips. “You’ve got us tickets for a show? As in singing?”

  “Yeah, but they’re not expecting you to sing—no one needs that kind of ear-pain. And we’re VIP guests—we can’t disappoint them. I’ve got it all organized.”

  Rick pointed his finger at me. “Okay, but only if you promise me on Tap’s remaining three legs that I won’t have to a) sing, or b) take my clothes off on stage.”

  “Sure, sure! Of course! Although I can’t believe you made me swear on Tap’s legs! That’s not cool, buddy.”

  “And you have to wear some trousers.”

  Before he changed his mind, I shot into the nearest consignment store, scored a pair of worn Levis and tugged them on over the mankini. I’d thought about ditching it but I should at least wear it to the beach once, although I wasn’t sure about the tan lines.

  I took my turn pedaling to Broadway, hoping that it would give Rick a chance to calm down.

  The Lion King was one of my favorite shows. Who doesn’t love it when they sing Hakuna Matata? That song could have been written for me.

  “What’s it about?” Rick asked suspiciously as I flashed our VIP tickets.

  I gaped at him. “That’s fookin’ crazy, man! You’ve never seen The Lion King? Did your parents hate you?”

  Rick ignored me and stared at the posters. “Is it about a lion?”

  I shook my head in despair as I lead him to our seats. “It’s a good thing you’ve got me as your cultural ambassador,” I said. “When you finally hit puberty, you’ll need to know the facts of life.”

  I couldn’t hear what he replied because the house lights dipped and the music started. I was completely swept away, sometimes feeling like Pumbaa the slow-witted warthog, and sometimes feeling like Simba who made one bad choice and fooked up everything.

  I didn’t look at Rick until the interval, then confiscated his phone and shoved a pre-mixed vodka and tonic at him, handily disguised in a water bottle.

  “Mate, this is a quality show—it’s won awards and shit.”

  “I know. I googled it to see how it ends.”

  I clapped my hand to my forehead. Rick really was a lost cause.

  The second half was even better and I had to wipe a couple of tears from my eyes.

  “Thank God that’s over,” Rick muttered, yawning.

  I ignored him but sat up straighter when then lights came on and a man in a tuxedo appeared on the stage.

 
“We have a real treat for you tonight, folks!” he said. “To celebrate 10,000 shows here on Broadway, we thought you’d like to meet Simba for real, although his name is Jabari and he’s really from Central Park Zoo.”

  “Bloody hell! That’s real!” Rick gasped as an elderly-looking lion prowled onto the stage with a keeper next to him.

  “I told you tonight would be special!”

  The audience oohed and aahed, and the lion yawned, showing a set of long, yellow teeth.

  “And now, ladies and gentleman, we have another treat for you: a very special animal-lover is in the audience tonight. Let’s give a big round of applause for Vince Azzo, better known as the Canine Crusader!”

  Rick turned pale and slid lower in his seat as the spotlight swung towards us.

  “I’m not getting on stage with a lion.”

  “I thought you liked cats, or are you just a pussy?”

  “Vince, it’s a freakin’ lion!”

  “But … this is the best part!” I protested, trying to drag him with me.

  Rick was gripping the arms of his chair as if it was a lifeboat, so I had to leave him there and headed to the stage by myself.

  The lion didn’t seem very interested in me, but then the keeper handed me a large Hula hoop.

  “Eh?”

  “Hold it up, he’ll jump through it. For some reason, he likes doing it. We put a hoop in his compound at the zoo and he’s been doing this trick for years.”

  Feeling a bit nervous, I held up the hoop and the lion swung his slanting golden eyes towards me and then started to run. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting to feel his jaws around my favorite head, but instead of taking me down and turning me into kibble, he jumped through the hoop and the audience cheered.

  “Mate,” I whispered to the lion when the keeper told me I could stroke the rough hair of his mane, “you took years off me life, but it was fookin’ well worth it.”

  It took ages to get back to Rick because of all the people who wanted to get a selfie with me and even autographs, which was really old-school. I grinned at him when he held up his phone and showed that he’d filmed the whole thing. That was going to get at least 20,000 likes on my IG page, probably more.