by Kacey Shea
Chapter Five
Mia
“Holy shit! He’s the same hottie from this morning. Please tell me you dragged him into the bathroom to have your wicked way with him.” Jared’s voice lifts above the crowd and into my ear. I’m tempted to look back at said hottie. He’s most likely following our retreat with that ungodly stare. Those eyes contain such depth they almost make up for what his character lacks.
I hold my best friend’s stare with a lift of one eyebrow because, really? He knows damn well I don’t fuck strangers in the bathroom. Hell, I don’t really fuck anyone these days.
Jared rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. I know you didn’t. Did you at least get a number?”
“I didn’t even give him my name.” I smile sweetly and hook my arm in the crook of his elbow to pull him along. We squeeze into an opening at the bar and I lean over the counter, flashing a significant amount of cleavage to attract the attention of the busy bartender and order two whiskey sours.
“God, Mia! Let loose! Live life! YOLO and all that shit.” Jared jabbers on but he won’t guilt me into it. Not after the day I’ve had.
“I tried! You were there! You witnessed my epic failure. I was brought back to horrifying high school flashbacks of being picked last for dodgeball. But instead of being last, this time I wasn’t picked at all.”
Jared’s frown spoils his normally attractive features and he drops a kiss on my cheek. “Have you been here all day, Kitten?”
“You mean have I been drowning my troubles in a bottle of Jack while you, Rae, and that wench Violet live out my lifelong dream? Why, yes. Yes, I have.” The bartender sets our glasses on the counter and I nod when he asks if I want to add it to my tab. I hand one to Jared. “Come sit. I made friends.”
“Are they straight?” he shouts.
“Faggot.” I swear I hear someone spit the word and I whip my head around to locate the source. No one meets my glare, so I shake it off and lead Jared back to the corner booth I commandeered hours ago before this place started to fill up.
“Yep, straight as fuck. But funny, too. You’ll like them.” I point at the twins who aren’t really twins at all, just two bearded eggheads who get all my eighties references and speak gamer. They lift their gazes and wave when I smile.
“Cute. They’ve got the whole lumbersexual thing going. You did good, Mia.”
“Right? One of my hidden talents, I guess.” My grin widens because they really are cute. Even if they’ve only been out of college two years. Babies, really. But then, that makes me think of how I met them in the first place. “I don’t understand why Violet got to be a zombie over me.”
“I’m sorry, Mia. I tried.”
“I know you did. It’s not your fault. But you realize I can never be around her without reliving my life’s worst embarrassment ever.”
“Being called pretty?”
“That and not being zombie enough. It’s insulting to the hours I’ve dedicated to the show. And stalking the actors. Chats in the fan group.” My whining is interrupted by Dax stepping out of the booth so I can slide in.
“Dash, Dax, this is my best friend, Jared.” I introduce the bearded duo. They met me at a weak moment when I stumbled into this godforsaken bar almost four hours ago and have been dutifully keeping watch since. Probably hoping for a threesome, but since they’re both too well-mannered or shy, they won’t ask. Thank God for that.
The twins offer a polite hello, but Dax quickly slides into the seat after I do so Jared is left taking the end spot. See? Threesome dreamers. In any case, they’ll realize there’s no hope now that Jared is here.
“Double Ds. You two brothers?” Jared winks in my direction and I let loose a giggle.
“No relation at all. Work together.” Dash shouts as the band strikes up a song on stage.
“Building log cabins?” Jared asks with all the sincerity in the world and I have to cloak my laughter with a pretend cough when they both look confused by the question.
“Software engineers.”
“Geeks. Nice. Did Kitten tell you we design video games at EverSoft?”
Their jaws drop, eyes widen, and gazes bounce between Jared and me.
I glance up at the ceiling and shake my head. “Jesus, Jared. You can’t spring that shit on someone without a warm up. Foreplay isn’t just for the bedroom.”
“Did you two work on Lost Worlds? Lost Worlds is my favorite game of all time,” Dax sputters.
Dash’s words leave his lips in a rush. “Please tell me Project X is ahead of schedule. I’m taking a week of vacation between Thanksgiving and Christmas just for gaming. I will be crushed—crushed—if it doesn’t come out that week.”
“See?” I roll my eyes.
Jared leans across Dax’s lap and I do the same to catch his whisper in my ear. “Should I go grab napkins? They’re about to ejaculate.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you worked for EverSoft!” Dash shouts, his enthusiasm not at all dimmed by the passing minutes.
Dax nods. “Seriously. You’ve been talking about that fucking lanyard all night, but this! This is exciting!”
Jared’s smile lifts up at one side and he cocks his head. “I’m lost. What lanyard?”
Dax and Dash groan.
My mouth feels too dry and I throw back the rest of my drink in dramatic fashion before fishing the offending loop of woven fabric from my purse. “This.” I slam it onto the table, rattling our collection of empty glasses. “This fucking lanyard.”
Jared’s frown is riddled with confusion and the twins who aren’t twins shake their heads. I understand their pain all too well, but it doesn’t stop me from reciting the horrid details.
“After you went inside, I stayed in line,” I begin.
“For two fucking hours,” Dax adds helpfully.
“Yeah, for two fucking hours. Because I’m not a quitter, you know? I don’t give up. So, I stood in that line. And for what? For what, you might ask?” It’s all coming back to me. The embarrassment. The shame. The pitiful truth that I’m not zombie enough.
Jared shrugs, chancing one hesitant glance at the table before us. “A fucking lanyard?”
“Not again.” Dash closes his eyes.
“Shit.” Dax allows his head to fall back against the wall.
“A FUCKING LANYARD!” I shout, shaking it high above my head.
“So, then you came here?” Jared guesses, his question full of trepidation.
Laughter, a manic combo of giggle versus despair leaves my mouth at his innocence. I shake my head and grab for my drink, except it’s empty. I snag Jared’s before he can argue and take a gulp. “No, Jared. No. I didn’t come here. Not at first. And I couldn’t go to work, not after asking Stanton for the day off. I couldn’t face the shame of it. So, you know what I did?”
He looks too alarmed to ask but I continue anyway.
“I took my fucking lanyard, and I walked all the way down to Michigan Avenue. Past Lincoln Park and the Hancock building. I walked to the fucking bean. You know how much I dislike the bean?”
He nods. “It widens your hips to unattractive proportions.”
“It does, Jared. It fucking does. But I needed to get a good look at myself. At what I’d become. And that was the biggest fucking mirror I could think of. I wanted to quit. When my feet began to ache, and I started to sweat . . . my flesh wounds melting off . . .”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t take the bus?”
“Because losers don’t get to ride buses, Jared. That’s why.” I lift his drink back to my lips and take a deep sip, tasting the bitter sweetness as it rolls over my tongue and down my throat.
“Fucking lanyard.” Dax shakes his head. I clink my glass against his beer. Dax gets it. He understands.
“Don’t leave a man hanging. What’s the end of your story?” Jared removes the glass from my hands.
I release a deep sigh. “I dragged myself there. I could hardly walk anymore. I looked like a real zombie, Jared,
I swear I did. And you know what happened?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“I sat my ass on the ground. Right there in front of the bean. Tears—real ones—came out of my eyeballs. What the fuck?” Remembering stings and I have to rub my chest. I don’t cry. I don’t do that. More shame washes around my memories. “People started dropping money.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Dollar bills and coins. They thought I was homeless!”
“Fucking lanyard.” Jared finally swears. He gets it. He gets me. His arm reaches around Dax’s shoulder to touch my cheek. “I’m sorry, Kitten.”
“It’s fine,” I grumble even though it’s not. “At least I have the Double-axe twins, and you and Rae. Wait! Where’s Rae?”
Jared winces. “She’s out. With Violet.”
“Wench. She should’ve gotten a fucking lanyard.”
Jared’s brow rises.
“Violet. Not Rae, of course,” I amend.
“So, your hot friends aren’t coming?” Dash asks with disappointment. Shit. I forgot I promised them hot friends. Not that Jared isn’t hot. It’s just they’re two D’s not looking for the D.
“That’s it. I’m calling them!” I announce and scrounge around my bag until I find my phone. “This day’s already gone to hell. I promised you twins my hot friends and I’m no cock block.”
“Mia, don’t.” Jared covers the screen so I can’t select Rae’s name from my list.
“What?” My gaze snaps to Jared and I shake my chin. I’m so confused.
“Come on. We need more drinks. You guys need another? Round on me.” Jared slides out, tugging me so Dax has to slide too or I’ll end up on his lap.
“Thanks, man,” Dax says before reclaiming his spot in the booth.
“Yeah, thanks.” Dash nods.
With the D twins’ agreement, Jared leads me back through the crowd.
“Jared! Where’s Rae? And don’t tell me with Violet. Where did they go?” I grip his arm so he has to stop and turn.
“Let’s get drinks first.”
“Jared, please. I think I’ve had quite enough!”
He gives me a good once over before agreeing. “Probably. Look. Remember that guy eye fucking me at the front of the line?”
“Hello. Yes. I thought he was my ticket to zombie fame.”
“Yeah, well. He’s a jerk. I almost missed my scene because of him.”
“You whore!” I gasp.
“Calm your tits. We were only making out. Anyway, his boyfriend—yes, you heard that right—is one of the supporting characters next season. But he found us. It was a whole thing. Security got involved, and when all was said and done Rae sweet talked one of the bodyguards into dinner.”
“So, Rae’s having dinner with a bodyguard? Why would I care about that?”
“The bodyguard who got her into the dinner, he works for the actor who plays Daryl Di–”
I hold up my hand before he can mutter another word. “Don’t say it! Don’t you dare mutter that man’s name to me.”
“See. Drinks. Pronto.”
I should’ve listened to Jared in the first place. He was trying to protect my feelings but I stupidly pushed him anyway. Tonight is not my night.
The patrons around the bar create an almost impenetrable wall, but Jared links his hand in mine and drags me through the crowd. I notice a small opening at the bar and try to reach it before someone else snags the coveted spot, but instead a guapo in a shirt that’s much too tight blocks my way.
“This place isn’t fer fags or freaks. Fuckin’ freaks.” He spits the words with so much hate they sting almost as much as a physical slap.
Jared and I have been friends for years, back even before he came out. We’ve been through ignorant insults, rude comments, and so much hate. Some things you let go. Some you have to face, but it’s been a long time since some stranger flung verbal shit while we were minding our own business.
“Come on.” Jared tugs me to his other side so I’m no longer between him and the heavily intoxicated man.
The band on stage ends their song and this time the man’s words ring louder above the conversations around us. “I said you’re a fuckin’ fag. Get the fuck outta here.” He staggers closer.
“Stay back,” Jared says and pushes me behind another group of men. “Not lookin’ for trouble, man.”
“You don’t belong here. Faggot. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air.”
Gasps from the crowd spread a quietness in an otherwise deafening setting. People look on, waiting for what’s to happen next, but no one butts in or pulls the asshole away. Jared holds the man’s gaze, not backing down, but I know my friend. He’s not a fighter.
“Let’s go,” I say, losing my thirst for a drink. Inserting myself between Jared and the man, I turn to face my friend. “Jared. He’s not worth it.”
“Fine.” Jared takes a step back, but when I go to follow I’m stopped in my tracks.
My skin prickles with alarm and I’m temporarily held immobile with a mixture of shock and fear. I’m familiar with the leers and come-ons from strangers who feel it’s acceptable to objectify a woman they don’t know simply because she’s sexy. As if that characteristic is an open invitation for forwardness and inappropriate words. But I’ve never been touched before. Not in a sexual manner in a crowded bar. This alone causes my brain to glitch before I can process how to react.
The rough grip of a hand as it shoves further under the back of my skirt and painfully squeezes my ass cheek fills my gut with panic. “That’s right. Walk away,” the jackass says but it’s his fingers grazing the center of my panties that jolts me out of my haze.
I whirl around to tell the man off but Jared must read the anger in my gaze because he steps forward too, shoving the man’s hand out from the back of my skirt.
“Keep your fucking hands off her!”
“I thought you were a gay fuck. But you don’t like it when I do this?” the man shouts and reaches for my body again, but Jared charges forward and shoves him in the chest.
“You wanna fucking go?” the man shouts.
“Jared!” I shout out a warning, but it doesn’t take long for all hell to break loose.
Chapter Six
Matt
“Now I know why Zig hired you.” Tana laughs and shakes her head. She’s a cool chick and tonight’s been surprisingly enjoyable, chatting it up between checking IDs and keeping an eye on the customers. Uneventful too, other than keeping the room tally current. The band’s been playing for a good hour and must be a local favorite as fewer people leave compared to those who stick around. Tana promises the night is still young and there’re at least a half dozen fights every weekend, but so far I’m feeling overpaid to shoot the shit with a pretty young thing while she takes tens and twenties.
“Why’s that?” I smile and nod at the group of girls we just let in. “Have a good time tonight,” I say and they pass in a fit of nervous giggles. Damn. I feel old, because if I saw them on the street I wouldn’t guess they were old enough to be in here.
“You know how they put sparkly lights in window shops?” Tana’s grin pulls up and her eyes brighten with mischief. “You’re like that, but for this bar to attract women. Oh, and gay men.”
A chuckle escapes my lips. “You’re calling me eye candy? I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“Oh, it’s definitely . . . Shit!” Her gaze darts over my shoulder and she points at the bar. “It’s go time, pretty boy.”
I turn to follow Tana’s wide-eyed stare and feel her give a little shove at my back, but I’m already winding my way through the crowd and toward the fight brewing at the bar.
“You wanna fucking go?”
“Not really! I’d like to order a drink without you assaulting me or my friend.” The man with the blue hair—the one who walked in earlier to hug zombie girl—shoves at the chest of the man getting up in his face.
The bulked out dude with the buzzed hair only
pushes closer. His gold chain rests along the collar of his one size too small black T-shirt as he gets right in faux hawk’s face, spitting out a hate filled threat. “Take your fag ass outta this bar. We don’t want your fuckin’ homo ugly ass face here.”
Before I can step in, zombie girl wedges herself between the two men and pushes buzz boy square in the chest. “Fuck you. We don’t want your intolerant dipshit brain in our bar either, but it’s a free country. Don’t fucking touch me again and move the fuck over so we can get our drinks.”
The bartender behind the counter shoots me a worried look as I reach the altercation. “Why don’t we take a walk?” I shout and reach for buzz cut’s arm. He shoves back against my hold and zombie girl’s eyes widen as the man charges her. Her blue haired friend isn’t fast enough. He reaches to drag her out of the way, but my guy knocks into her with his shoulder. She falls back into her friend’s arms as my guy thrashes to escape my hold.
“Lemme go! Imma beat the shit outta that fag!” he shouts and if it were anyone else restraining him, I’m sure he’d get free. The fucker is strong. Axe body spray permeates my nostrils, but still I don’t let go. Shouts and screams from around us only add to the chaos. Tightening my grip, I drag the still struggling and very mouthy drunk toward the exit.
“Call the cops,” I tell Tana.
“Already did. They should be here,” she says, and runs ahead of us to hold the door open.
“Careful,” I warn. This dumbass is still throwing out kicks every few seconds and I don’t want her catching a cheap shot. God, I hope zombie girl is okay. She took a good hit, and right in the head. The fact she was still conscious and shooting glares like a loaded pistol gives me hope for no major injuries.
Manhandling my detainee outside, I drag him over to the flashing blue and red lights that greet us at the curb.
One of the officers steps from the vehicle and approaches with his hand at his weapon as his partner joins him at his side. “What seems to be the problem?”
