by Lauren Rowe
At this particular moment, I’m not watching Aloha from afar. I’m standing in a corner with Barry and Brett and another guy, listening to Barry tell a story from “back in the day.” At a natural ebb in the conversation, I glance at the dance floor, curious to see what The Package is doing now. But she’s not out there. Come to think of it, I haven’t noticed Aloha grinding with her friends on the dance floor in quite a while.
“Have you seen our girl lately?” I ask Barry.
“Last I saw her, she was on the patio talking to your buddy and his girlfriend.”
“I think I’ll go check on her.”
“Great idea.”
And off I go.
On my way to the patio, I see Fish splayed out in an armchair, looking like he’s about to pass out. As I walk by, he slowly salutes me and I return the gesture. I turn a corner and discover Colin talking to a woman I recognize as one of Aloha’s backup dancers. As the woman talks, Colin’s dark eyes are glued to hers with unmistakable fire. Go, Colin. I enter the large patio and look around, but I don’t see Aloha, Keane, or Maddy anywhere. I do see Dax, however. He’s chatting with a striking young woman in a corner. Go, Dax.
I make my way back into the party and do a quick tour of the entire downstairs. But, still, no Aloha, Keane, or Maddy anywhere.
Out of nowhere, an idea pings my brain... a highly disturbing idea. Drunk Peenie wouldn’t have coaxed Drunk Maddy and Drunk Aloha upstairs to find a quiet bedroom for a little X-rated fantasy fulfillment, would he? No way. I’m being paranoid to even think it. Keane would never in a million years suggest a threesome to his nerdy, adorable new girlfriend, not even if the third wheel in the arrangement were a world-famous and extremely sexy pop star he’d just watch blow the roof off the Staples Center... right? Because Ball Peen Hammer and his unapologetically manwhoring ways are firmly in Keane Morgan’s rearview mirror these days, now that he’s head over heels in love with Maddy... right?
My heart lurching into my throat, I stride to the staircase. Please, God, don’t let my best friend mess up the best relationship he’s ever had by doing something stupid tonight. And, even more importantly, please don’t let Peenie screw up his relationship with me by fucking Aloha before I’ve had the chance to—
I suddenly hear Keane’s voice. I’m on the second floor now and I can hear my best friend’s muffled voice over the crashing of my pulse in my ears. I turn a corner... and then another... and Keane’s distinctive voice crystallizes. It’s coming from the other end of a long hallway, and based on what he’s saying, I instantly realize my rising panic from a moment ago is completely unfounded. Clearly, Keane isn’t a dude grooming two girls for a ménage a trois. He’s a diehard momma’s boy bragging about his mother’s home cookin’.
“Swear to God, brah,” Keane is saying. “She makes the best lasagna in the world, hands down.”
I turn a corner and there they are: Keane, Maddy, and Aloha, all of them fully dressed and sitting Indian-style on the floor of Reed’s home gym. Other than the large bottle of Jack Daniels they’re passing around and the loopy expressions on their drunken faces, they look like kindergartners at story time, not swingers planning a three-way. How could I have doubted my best friend, even for a second? I lean my shoulder against the doorjamb and covertly watch the threesome as they chat and pass the bottle around.
“You’re lucky you’ve got such a nice mom,” Aloha says to Keane. “I’ve always wanted a nice mom like yours.”
“Aw, poor Aloha,” Maddy says, taking the bottle from Aloha. “My mom’s not going to win any prizes for mother of the year, but at least she’s never made me her meal ticket. Plus, she came to every one of my tap dancing recitals growing up. As mothers do.”
“Right?” Aloha booms, throwing up her hands. “The woman’s only daughter plays a sold-out show at the Staples Center and she couldn’t be bothered to fly in from God knows where to see it?” She looks at Keane. “If your mom were mine, she wouldn’t give a shit about my money, would she?”
“Hell no.” Keane takes a long swig of whiskey and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “My older brother Ryan is rolling in duckets these days—I mean, not ‘rolling’ like you or my sister’s husband—but, still, he’s doing well by normal-people standards. And Momma Lou doesn’t treat Ryan any differently than me or any of us. I mean, my mom fawns all over Ryan, but she fawns all over all of us, whether we’re rich or poor, dumbshits or smartshits.”
“Ryan is your oldest brother, right?” Aloha asks.
“Dude. No. I just told you the whole damned thing.”
Aloha giggles. “Tell it to me again. I’ll listen this time, I swear.”
Keane sighs. “Okay, but this is the last time. My time is valuable.”
Aloha laughs again. “I know. I’m sorry, Peenie.”
His dimples popping, Keane says, “Okay, pop star. Clean out your earholes and listen up: The Morgan family birth order is as follows: Colby Cheese, Captain Ryan, Kitty Kat Morgan Faraday—”
“Kum Shot!”
“Correct. Kum Shot, Jizz, Splooge. Any cum nickname you can possibly think of because...?”
“Because Kat’s initials are KUM!”
“Gold star, Alo-haha. Kat’s also called The Blabbermouth, bee tee dubs, so if you’ve got a secret you don’t want getting out, then, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell my sister.” He rolls his eyes. “Okay, after Kat, there’s the most charming Morgan sibling—Keane the Peenie Peen with the Gigantic Peen—and, after me, there’s our baby brother, Dax, who’s been ready to become a rock star since birth. You got all that, Alo-haha? Colby, Ryan, Kat, Keane, and Dax.”
“Rabbit!” Aloha shrieks happily.
Keane laughs. “Dude, you only say that when someone says roger.”
Aloha scoffs. “So many rules with you motherfucking Morgans.”
“Ugh, they’re the worst,” Maddy deadpans, and Keane laughs.
Keane continues, “Now, if you want some bonus material for your Morgan family DVD, then slip Zander in the lineup alongside me, like we’re fraternal twins. Because, at this point, Zander’s an adopted Morgan brother. He’s right up there with Ryan when it comes to brains and Colby when it comes to kindness.”
My heart skips a beat. Aw, Peenie.
“How do I get in on that action?” Aloha asks.
“Just be your badass self and Z won’t be able to resist you. In fact, by the way Zander was looking at you at the meet and greet, I’d say—”
Aloha snorts. “No, no. I meant how do I get in on the whole ‘getting adopted by your family’ thing, the same way Zander did?”
“Oooh. Ha! That’s funny.” Keane shrugs. “You just gotta show up whenever the Morgans are in one place and make ’em fall in love with you. Hell, you’ve already got a sick nickname, right? That’s half the battle. All that’s left is for you to show up at a family gathering.”
Aloha sighs wistfully. “I wish it were that easy. I’d give anything to be part of a family like yours—to have siblings and friends and a mother who acts like a mom instead of a mom-ager.”
“Dude, it’s not an impossible dream. Just show up for a family dinner one night and everyone will fall in love with you. What’s not to love? You’re awesome.”
Okay, it’s official: I’m the worst friend in the world for doubting Peenie earlier. I should have known my boy would sooner die than give me so much as a paper cut. He’s made it clear he thinks I’m gonna fall for Aloha—which, of course, he’s dead wrong about. But the point is Keane sincerely believes I will, which means he’d never so much as lay a pinky on Aloha, whether he was with Maddy or not, because he’d be thinking Aloha is mine.
Keane says, “Hey, why don’t you come to Thanksgiving at my house, Haha? We can adopt you then.”
Aloha hoots excitedly but then says, “Oh, wait, no. I serve homeless people at a soup kitchen on Thanksgiving every year. Shoot. Goddamned homeless people.”
Everyone laughs, including me.
“But,
hey, my tour will roll through Seattle in a few weeks and I’m free the night after my show. Why don’t I come to dinner and get adopted by your family then?”
“Perfecto!” Keane says, pulling out his phone. “I’ll text the momatron right now and tell her to start stocking up on lasagna noodles and motherly love.”
“I can’t wait!” Aloha says. “Will you be there, too, Mad Dog?”
“Of course!”
The women squeal and hug.
Okay, I’ve let this ridiculous conversation go on long enough. Time for the only sober person at the party to step in and restore sanity. “Hey, kiddies,” I say from the doorway. “What’s going on in here?”
Everyone turns and greets me enthusiastically.
Keane says, “Aloha’s comin’ to a Morgan family dinner!”
“And Peenie gave me a nickname!” Aloha adds. “Alo-haha—shortened to Haha—because, he said I’m ‘fucking hilarious!’”
“She is,” Keane confirms. “Someone cast this girl in a Disney sitcom, stat!”
Everyone laughs, including me.
Aloha says, “And Maddy’s gonna send me a preview copy of her new documentary about strippers, starring Peenie!”
“And believe me, I don’t send preview copies to just anyone,” Maddy says.
Aloha returns to me, beaming. “She’s sending it to me because we’re besties!”
“We are. Forever.”
I chuckle. “Wow. Sounds like the three of you and Jack Daniels have become soulmates in here. But as the only sober person in the room, can I make a suggestion? Perhaps you guys shouldn’t make adoption plans when you’re shitfaced. Just a thought.”
All three drunkards hiss and boo me loudly.
I laugh. “I’m not trying to be a buzzkill. I’m just—”
“No more talking, bodyguard!” Aloha shouts. “Only catching!” Without warning, Aloha springs up from her spot on the floor like a cheetah, leaps, and hurls herself at me—which, of course, prompts me, by default, to catch the woman midair so she doesn’t crash onto the floor. And suddenly, I’m holding Aloha Carmichael in my arms while she hangs onto the front of me like a koala in a eucalyptus tree. Aloha shoves her gorgeous face in mine. Her green eyes are blazing. “Dirty dance with me, bodyguard.”
“Here?”
“No, silly. Downstairs. Where everyone can see us and wish they were me.”
I laugh. “You’re drunk.”
“And you’re sexy as hell. So I am drunkenly commanding my hot bodyguard to dirty dance with me!”
“Okay, let’s get something straight. I don’t care who you are, you don’t get to ‘command’ me to do a goddamned thing—least of all to ‘dance.’ Whatever you desire me to do, you can ask me respectfully and take your chances.”
A wicked smile spreads across Aloha’s face. She presses herself into me, making my dick tingle. “Will you pretty please dirty dance with me... Mr. Bodyguard? I would be oh-so very grateful, if you did, sir.”
I look over Aloha’s shoulder at Peenie to find him shooting me a grin that says, You’re in trouble with this one, Z. Smirking, I look away from my best friend and return to Aloha. If I say yes to her request and she dances with me downstairs in a manner that even remotely resembles the way she’s been grinding with her friends all night, then Peen’s right: I’m in trouble with this one. Big trouble. Because dancing like that with Aloha will almost certainly light a fuse between us I won’t be able to extinguish for the next three months. But on the other hand, Barry did tell me at the beginning of the party to “bond” with Aloha. And dancing is undoubtedly an excellent way to bond with someone...
“Thanks for asking me so respectfully that time,” I say. “Yes, I’ll dance with you. In fact, it would be my pleasure to dance with you, Aloha.” I shoot a snarky look over Aloha’s shoulder at Peenie again, acknowledging the fact that, yes, I’m well aware I just sent an ill-advised subliminal message to the pleasure center in Aloha’s brain by using her name and the word “pleasure” in the same sentence. And the look on Keane’s face tells me he thinks I’m playing with fire here. Yeah, he’s probably right about that. But fuck it. I’m just gonna dance with the girl, not fuck her. There’s nothing wrong with that.
“Let’s go, Mr. Bodyguard!” Aloha shrieks, banging on my chest like a madwoman. “I wanna dance!”
I laugh. “Okay, okay. Patience. Good things come to those who wait, Aloha.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
With that, I wrap my arms tightly around my little koala and bound out of the room toward the stairs.
Chapter 13
Zander
The song blaring is “Dancer” by Flo Rida. To my right on the dance floor is a guy on a popular TV show. To my far left, Colin is dancing with that same hot backup dancer from earlier, and they look like they’re getting ready to devour each other. In front of me. Behind me. Off at a diagonal. Everywhere I look, there are drunk, stoned, ridiculously beautiful people, most of them dancing like they’re fucking with clothes on. But I’ve only got eyes for Aloha. Because the way she moves her body when she’s dancing... Man, this girl puts the baller in ballerina.
Of course, as I’m watching Aloha move like a little vixen, I’m dancing, too. But only to keep from looking like a pervy customer at a strip club. Because, yeah, that’s exactly how I feel right now: like a scumbag with a boner and a pocketful of dollar bills.
Midway through the song, Aloha stops gyrating and strides to me, right on the beat. When she reaches me, she turns around, bends completely over, and shoves her tight little ass straight into my hard-on. And then she grinds, right in time to the music, shoving the crack of her amazing ass right against my hard dick.
Aloha’s maneuver isn’t all that salacious, actually, when compared to the barely disguised make-out sessions happening around us on the dance floor. In fact, I’ve seen Aloha do pretty much this same thing with her friends—gay, straight, and otherwise—all night long. But with all those who came before me, Aloha seemed playful and fun-loving. Like she was nothing but a party girl blowing off steam with good friends. But this thing she’s doing to me? Oh, yeah, she’s most definitely getting her rocks off every bit as much as I am. And I’m not gonna lie: I’m digging it.
Unfortunately, I can’t return Aloha’s enthusiasm the way I’d do it if she were some random girl I was dancing with in a club in Seattle. If that were the case, I’d grab her hips and simulate fucking the living shit out of her in response to her grinding movement. Hey, a woman fucks me on the dance floor, it’s only polite to fuck her right back. But, see, my usual instincts have no place here, not when she’s The Package and I’m the guy hired to do whatever the hell she wants and needs... except fuck her.
Without warning, Aloha strides away from me, leaving my dick screaming at her to pleeease come back. She turns around to face me, an evil gleam in her eye, and then charges at me like a gymnast, the same way she did upstairs in Reed’s home gym.
Yet again, I reflexively catch her. And, just like that, here we are again, with Aloha wrapped around my torso like a koala in a tree.
“So this is our thing now?” I say, shouting over the blaring music. “You’re my little koala and I’m your eucalyptus tree?”
Aloha giggles. “If eucalyptus trees get raging hard-ons, then yes.”
“You think this is me with a raging hard-on? Sweetheart, this is me with a limp dick.”
She bursts out laughing and so do I.
“I don’t think so, Zandy Man,” she says, grinding herself into me. “They say Shakira’s hips don’t lie? Well, Zander Shaw’s boner don’t lie.” To prove her point, apparently, she presses herself pointedly into me again. “Also, I’d prefer to think of myself as a monkey in a tree, please, not a koala. Koala’s aren’t mischievous enough to be my spirit animal.” She grins. “But, either way, this tree is most definitely sporting wood.”
I can’t help smiling. “It’s pure physiology
, baby. Like a dog conditioned to salivate at a dinner bell. Just because the dog drools, doesn’t mean he’s hungry.”
Aloha pointedly rubs her center against my raging boner again, this time with extra sauce. “I dunno, dude. That sure feels like a hungry dog to me. A hungry Great Dane.”
“You rub Mr. Happy, he gets hard. It means nothing. We’re just friends, remember?”
“Do you usually get hard with your friends, Zander?”
“When they look like you and rub their un-fucking-believable ass against my dick? Then, yeah, apparently, I do.”
Aloha drags her teeth over her lower lip. “Admit it: you’re a heartbeat away from making your move. And when you do, just to be clear, my answer will be a resounding yes.”
I suddenly realize we’re standing in the middle of the dance floor having this naughty conversation—and that we’re no longer even pretending to dance. I can’t imagine anybody, including Barry—if, God forbid, he’s somewhere in this room watching us—would mistake our body language for actual dancing at this point.
I glance around, suddenly feeling like a bank robber with a bag of cash, and, thank God, don’t see Barry anywhere. Feeling like I’ve dodged a bullet, I quickly carry Aloha off the dance floor into a secluded corner of the large room.
“Ooh, we’re going somewhere to make out now?” Aloha says gleefully. “Yippee!”
“Cool your jets, horn dog,” I say. “I just want to continue our conversation off the dance floor, away from prying eyes.”
“You mean away from Barry’s prying eyes?”
“Bingo.”
“Aw, don’t stress, Shaggy Swaggy. Barry already left the party.”
Every cell of my body sighs with relief. “Are you sure?”
