by Kate, Jiffy
My first trip to the bathroom was an eye-opening experience. Let’s just leave it at that.
Jules, it turns out, is a multi-faceted person. Not only does he work at the Blue Bayou, but he also tends bar here and dabbles in drag, all while attending law school. I’m absolutely fascinated by his tenacity and work ethic, plus he’s a fun guy. I can also tell how much he likes and admires Carys, which earns him bonus points in my book.
“Oh, Mav-y, I need you!” Jules claps his hands excitedly as he walks up to where I’m sitting at the table we procured when we arrived.
“What’s up, uh, Jules-y?” Yeah, I’m well on my way to drunk town, also trying to fit in with my new friends.
“It’s my turn for karaoke and I need a partner.” He tugs on my arm, but I’m still not following what he’s implying.
“Well, have you asked, um, Cherry Bomb or Emma Stoned yet?”
“No, I want you. Come sing with me.” Jules pulls my arm hard enough that I stumble off the bar stool. I’m sure the alcohol I’ve been ingesting for the past two hours helped.
“I don’t sing, Jules. You need to find someone else.”
“Listen, it’ll be a piece of cake. I’m Elton and you’re my Kiki Dee, so just follow along.”
He doesn’t give me another chance to protest. He drags me over to a dark corner and places a feather boa around my neck and then covers his eyes with huge sunglasses. Before I can register what I’m about to do, I find myself on stage with a mic in my hand, lights blinding me. A song I haven’t heard since I was a kid starts playing, and when Jules starts to sing, I realize I’m supposed to follow his lead.
It’s a rough start for me, but the crowd is encouraging, and soon, I’m loosened up enough to start having fun. Jules and I make a great team, or should I say me, Jules, and Johnnie—Walker, that is...red, black...hell, I don’t care. I’m friends with all of them. We’re really getting into our performance when Jules moves to smack my ass. I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it’s the booze or maybe it’s the bright lights and energetic crowd? Probably the booze, but regardless, I bend over, offering up my backside on a silver platter, making the people go wild.
By the time our song ends, the audience is on their feet, dancing and cheering, begging us for more. We bow, Jules much more graceful than I, and I’m completely caught off guard when he spins me around and dips me before pulling me up and kissing me on the cheek.
After they realize we’re not giving an encore, they start to boo us and call for the next performance. Jules helps me off the stage, and the fact I now need assistance to walk tells me it’s time to call it a night.
“Jules, I gotta go. It’s been fun and all,” I slur. “But I’d like to make an exit while I’m at my peak. That’s what’s wrong with people...they always want to milk their fifteen minutes for more than it’s worth. Like Kenny Rogers said, you gotta know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em.”
As we approach the table I’ve commandeered all night, I’m leaning heavily on Jules as the room spins around me. He grips my sides, turning me to look him square in the eyes, but when I try, there are two of him. And I tell him so.
“Okay, dreamboat, let’s go,” he concedes, leading me to the door and then outside. Even though it’s late, it’s still humid as fuck, and I’m thankful for the slight breeze. I welcome it, turning my face up and letting it cool my heated skin.
“I’m fine, Jules. You don’t have to end your evening for me.”
“I’ll come back, don’t worry your pretty little head, but there is no way I’m sending your drunk ass back to the Bayou all by yourself. Carys would kill me if anything happened to you.”
The sound of her name sobers me up a little. “Why would she do that?”
“Because she likes you, duh.” He says it like it’s so obvious, but I’m not convinced. “You’re her friend and after that performance back there, you’re officially my friend too, and we take care of our own.” He pauses while we cross the street and then continues. “Now, tell me your intentions with my boss. You’re too drunk to lie, so don’t even try.”
Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, I force my eyes to focus until his face isn’t blurry and I can tell he’s serious. I think on it for a minute, but don’t really know what to say, so I shrug my shoulders instead. At least, I think I do.
Jules loops his arm through mine and continues walking, leaving me no choice but to follow. “You like her, right?” he asks.
“Of course, I do. She’s amazing.” My words feel thick as they leave my mouth.
“So, what’s the problem?” Jules asks, saving me from face planting when my foot hits an uneven part of the sidewalk.
“What makes you think there’s a problem?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re out with me instead of there with her. Now, I know you had fun tonight, but I’m not stupid enough to believe, if given the choice, you’d rather be here than in her pants right now.”
“Why would I want to wear her pants?” I ask, completely confused.
“For the love of Cher!” he exclaims with a laugh. “One night at a gay bar and you think I’m asking if you want to wear Carys’ pants! I said, you want in her pants, Maverick. In. You know what I mean by that, sweetheart?”
“Shut up,” I say, trying to sound annoyed, but my ability to display the correct emotion is eluding me, along with my ability to think straight or talk right. Fuck, I’m drunk. “Yes, I know what you mean. But I’m too drunk to have this conversation, so stop talking to me.”
“Answer my question and I’ll drop it. For now, anyway.”
I stop walking as we approach the Blue Bayou and run my fingers through my hair, taking a sobering breath. I’m sweating my ass off, so I’m sure my hair is a wild mess. I also still have this fucking boa around my neck, its feathers sticking to my skin.
“I’m waiting.” Jules has his hands on his hips and he’s tapping his toes, a clear sign he’s not letting this go until I answer.
“Fine, yes. Yes, I want her, but I also don’t want to hurt her. I’m not here for much longer, so I’m just trying to follow her lead. You know? She seemed like she wanted me, but then today she threw on the brakes, and if I’m being honest, it threw me for a loop. So, I don’t know, Jules. Whatever Carys wants from me, that’s what I’ll give her. Is that a good enough answer for you?”
He watches my face for a few seconds before he’s satisfied with my response. Smiling, he turns me around and pushes me through a door.
Chapter 14
Carys
A noise in the foyer brings me out of the office just in time to see Maverick stumbling through the front door. His hair is disheveled. His clothes are askew. His eyes are bloodshot and lazy.
But the best part? He’s wearing a boa...a big, pink and purple feather boa.
“Do I want to know?” I ask, feeling relieved.
If I’m being honest, I’ve been watching the front door for the last few hours. Every time it opened or made a creak, my heart hoped it would be Maverick and I would get a chance to explain my behavior from earlier. My stupid, childish behavior.
Since then, I decided I can be an adult about this. I can enjoy the time I have with Maverick, no strings attached. Even if we have sex tonight and he leaves tomorrow, I’d be okay with that, because as long as my stupid heart and my stupid brain are in agreement that we’re only in this for some much-needed pleasure, everything will be fine.
But now, a hint of dread is joining my relief, because as I’ve been sitting here waiting for Maverick to come back, I’ve also let my mind wander to where he’s been and who he’s been with. It’s obvious he’s drunk. It’s also obvious he’s had a good time.
How ignorant of me to think he wouldn’t go find pleasure somewhere else, with someone else.
“Short answer or long answer?” he asks, staggering toward the front desk and dropping his elbows down on the hard wood with a thud.
“Uh—” I begin, but I’m quickly
cut off.
“I’ll give you both,” he says, his tone turning serious...like, seriously thoughtful and contemplative. Much too contemplative for someone who’s been drinking. In my experience, booze equals truth serum, so I’m guessing, no matter what, I’m getting ready to hear the truth.
“The short answer is: Jules.” One of his eyebrows goes up, practically to his hairline as he smirks, shaking his head. Damn it all to hell. He’s so sexy, even when he’s wearing a pink and purple boa and drunk off his ass. “The long answer: Revelry. Johnnie Walker. Elton John. In that order,” he says, ticking off the list on his fingers. His long, capable fingers.
And just like that, my mind is lingering in the past, back to the bathroom in room 201 and Maverick getting me off on the counter. I’m honestly embarrassed to say, at twenty-five, it was the best orgasm of my life to date. Maybe that’s why I threw Maverick out today? Because if he was capable of eliciting emotions like that from my body with a flick of his fingers, what is he capable of with his...
“Ahem.” I clear my throat, shaking my head, piecing together his cryptic response and trying to gather my thoughts and turn them back to the present. I’m pretty sure I got the gist of it. “Jules took you to Club Rev and you drank Johnnie Walker and sang Elton John?” I ask, testing out my deciphering abilities.
The smile Maverick gives me is panty dropping and proud. An odd combination, I know, but somehow he’s able to deliver. “Good girl.”
Good girl?
Not usually something that turns me on, but coming from him, dripping in honey and rolled around in gravel, it makes my insides clench.
“Did Jules walk you home?” I ask, changing the subject and trying to judge how pissed I’m supposed to be at him for taking Maverick out and getting him wasted. I mean, I know Maverick is a big boy...man, definitely a man...and he can take care of himself, but still. Jules took him to a gay bar and dressed him up in a boa, for God’s sake.
There’s a level of responsibility here.
“Yes, he did,” Maverick says matter-of-factly. “He was the perfect gentleman.” With his hand over his heart, he sways on his feet.
I chuckle, walking around the counter to steady him. “Let’s get you to bed,” I tell him, putting my hand on his waist as he leans into me. Not too much, but more than I know he normally would, if he were sober.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Leaning his head over, he rests it on top of mine. I bear hug him, just to make sure I don’t lose him. Sure, I could put him to bed on the pull-out cot in the office, but he needs a real bed to sleep this off.
As we’re riding the slow-ass elevator to the third floor, he turns me in his arms, forcing me to look up at him. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbles. “Not like magazine pretty. You’re real pretty. Not just here,” he says, running a hand over my hair. “And not just here,” he adds, softly brushing his thumb over my cheek and down to my lips. “Or here.” His hand drops lower to my neck and then to my chest as he takes a full hand of my boob. “Or here,” he continues, gliding his palm down my torso and around to my butt. “But here.” Bringing his hand back up, he rests it over my heart. “You’re good people. I told CeCe that today. We agreed you’re good people. She’s nice too and pretty.”
My heart, that had stopped beating while he was talking, falls down into the pit of my stomach.
“You met CeCe?” I ask, helping him off the elevator and into the hall as I try to shake this feeling of something resembling jealousy. Why didn’t I know he met CeCe? I was going to take him to meet her. And he thinks she’s nice and pretty?
“Yeah, good coffee too,” he says, his words getting more and more garbled, so I start walking a little faster, hoping we make it to his door before he completely gives out on me.
“Yeah,” I agree, forgetting my words as my mind races with all the what ifs. I hate this. I hate my traitorous heart. We just had a conversation about not having feelings for Maverick beyond thinking he’s sexy and wanting what he has to offer me, and here it goes getting jealous over him meeting CeCe.
A few more paces and we’re at his door, I reach around and feel his pockets, checking for a key. Maverick’s arms go all octopus on me and the next thing I know, he’s pinned me against the wall. “You wanna feel me up?”
“I’m looking for your key,” I say impassively, trying like hell to keep my voice from exposing me.
“Is that what you call it?” His words come out deep and raspy, barely above a whisper. “My key, your lock. I think they’d make a good match.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Drunk, sober...I still know what I want. You. And you want me. I know you do. You’re just trying to convince yourself that you don’t.”
He’s absolutely right, but not like this. And not before I get more information about CeCe and him meeting her. And her being pretty. I need a sober Maverick for that conversation.
I feel the key in his front pocket and dig it out, making fast work of the lock and door.
A few minutes later, he’s horizontal on his bed with his shoes off. It’s the best I can do, because he’s now passed out and his dead weight is a bit too much for me. Rummaging through his toiletry bag in the bathroom, I find some ibuprofen and leave two on his bedside table with a full glass of water.
Chapter 15
Maverick
Holy fucking hangover, Batman.
What the hell happened to me last night? I don’t even remember getting to my room and I sure don’t remember where all these damn feathers came from.
Oh, wait, it’s coming back to me.
Flashes of bright lights, a pink and purple boa, and loud music filter through my mind, helping me remember being at a club with Jules. There were a lot of drag queens...and some mild groping of my ass...and, oh shit, whiskey. Right on time, a burp I swear starts in my toes, makes its way out of my mouth confirming my drink of choice last night.
Fucking Johnnie Walker. You are no friend of mine, sir.
This is why I don’t drink in excess. Sure, I’ll have a drink with clients or go out for a few beers with Shep. I even had my fair share of binge drinking in college, but that was over the day I graduated. Actually, before that. I had my fill after living a couple years at the frat house. Twenty-eight-year-old Maverick knows when to stop. Except for last night.
Fuck.
I slowly roll from my stomach onto my back and peel the feather boa off my sticky skin. Someone definitely helped me to my room because I don’t normally sleep in my clothes. Any clothes, for that matter. The fact that only my shoes are off means another person was with me, and either they couldn’t or wouldn’t undress me. Not that I’m complaining. I think it would’ve felt really strange to wake up like this and butt naked, as well. My first guess is that Jules helped me in here because he’s the one who got me so fucked up. I mean, he didn’t pour the whiskey down my throat, but he certainly didn’t try to stop me.
Something catches my eye and I look toward the nightstand, finding a glass of water and pills.
Carys.
I vaguely remember talking to her last night, but I was hoping it was just a dream. She’s never seen me drunk off my ass and there’s no telling what I said to her. It must not have been too bad, though, if she helped me to my room. Jules might’ve done the same for me, but there’s something about the gesture of leaving me water and medicine that has Carys written all over it. And, if she did that even after I upset her yesterday in her apartment, maybe that means she’s forgiven me.
I’m dying to see her again, but not like this. Not when I feel like shit and have no idea what I said or did when we were together. I gingerly roll out of bed and swallow the pills, finishing off the water in record time, before turning on the shower.
Shower, first. Eat as much greasy food I can find, second. Third, coffee. All the coffee. It’s the only way I can conquer this damn hangover. Then, hopefully, I’ll feel human enough to find Carys and apologize for whatever I did to upset her yesterday after
noon, and for whatever I might have done last night before I passed out.
Feeling a good eighty-five percent better after standing under the hot water spray for a good while, I dry off and get dressed.
As I’m about to leave my room, my cell goes off in my pocket, alerting me to a text.
Dad: The papers are waiting for you at The Mont. Get to work.
I didn’t even know my father knew how to text, but I guess it’s a form of communication that doesn’t slow him down, like a phone call would. My finger hovers over the middle finger emoji for longer than I’d care to admit before I resist temptation and slide the phone back in my pocket. Seeing his message does nothing to improve my hangover.
I need coffee and breakfast. Stat.
George is at the front desk when I get downstairs. I nod my head at him and give a slight wave before making my way out the front doors and onto the too bright sidewalk. If I’d stayed any longer, I would’ve started looking for her and I’m just not ready for that yet.
Even though it’s technically out of the way from the Hotel Monteleone, I go back to Neutral Grounds for a large coffee and breakfast sandwich. CeCe is there, of course, and is much too chipper for me this morning.
“Rough night?” she asks.
I groan and massage my temples. “That obvious?”
“Kinda,” she says with a laugh. “Plus, you’re wearing shades inside and you’re inhaling your breakfast like you haven’t eaten in days. And you’re also scruffier than yesterday, but don’t worry. It looks good on you.” She winks as she walks off, but it’s not super flirty. It’s just friendly and familiar—like CeCe.
“Thanks, I guess,” I half laugh, half moan. “I went out with Jules last night and I can’t even remember getting back to the hotel. I’m sure you hear stories like that all the time around here.”
“Jules?” Her expression is one of surprise but then she fixes it. “I’m sorry, I was under the impression you and Carys were having a...thing. Maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.”
