As we walk away from two of Mr. Darling’s longtime clients, I scrub a hand down my face and remind myself not to be an asshole. This is the kind of thing I’ll have to learn to deal with if I want to be with John. No matter how much it sucks, it’s a small price to pay. Though I’ll probably exploit my ability to demand special compensation for the sacrifice.
“How many parties like this do you attend every year?”
“It depends on how many charity dinners my family is a part of and who’s getting married or having milestone birthdays or—”
“Holy shit,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
John laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll only make you come to the super important ones with me. Hell, maybe I’ll start staying home with you instead.”
“Now that I can get down with.”
Finally, we reach the part of the room where our friends—yeah, I said it, don’t make a big deal out of it—are hanging out. It’s not hard to guess whether they’re with the bride or groom. Even dressed in formal attire, they’re still the same rowdy hooligans who party at the Lair on Fridays and hang out at the Jolly Roger on Saturdays, which is a newly added tradition now that Smee and I reopened it as a fully functioning bar.
Since waking up in that hospital room six months ago, my life has done a complete one-eighty. Smee and I both recovered, obviously, but his process took a lot longer and involved a temporary colostomy bag that he had way too much fun grossing people out with for the three months he had it. In other words, he’s the same playful bastard he’s always been with a few new battle scars to show off, which he does all the time, because it’s a shameless excuse to bare his abs.
Thanks to all the major players of Croc’s operation being six feet under, and because we helped with the investigation that allowed the feds to seize millions in Fairy Dust and end a human trafficking ring, we were both shown leniency for our crimes. It also probably helped that a certain task force officer—who is still kicking bad-guy-ass and taking names on the Task Force—went to bat for us, even though I told him not to.
But even though the judge didn’t sentence us with any prison time, he didn’t pull any punches with the probation and community service. We each got three years and a thousand hours, respectively. The community service was divided between local charitable programs, everything from soup kitchens to highway cleanup to running bingo night at the senior citizens center. Some of it was tedious, but a lot of it was kind of rewarding. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone. Well, I told John. And Bob. And maybe a few others when I was drunk one night. Shit, therapy’s making me soft. Damn it, Bob.
“Hey, there they are. How’s it going, guys?”
Thomas, the youngest Lost Boy until my brother arrived and beat him by one year, gives John a big hug then gives me an awkward clap on the shoulder. He’s probably the most tenderhearted of the group; smart, affectionate, and always a nice word to say about everybody—even me when I was a closed-off asshole. I’ve been fully integrated into the Lost Boys group for a while now, but some of them still aren’t sure how to take me, which I get. Sometimes I’m not sure how to take myself either.
“Do you want a hug, Thomas?” I ask in a grudging tone.
“Only if you want one. I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfor—”
I sigh like I’m giving in to a toddler’s request. “Make it quick.”
He lights up and gives me a two-second hug that doesn’t even give me the chance to lift my arms, then steps back to reveal a black-haired beauty wearing a navy blue dress and a soft smile.
“Hi, James.”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
This time, I open my arms wide, and Brandy eagerly steps into them, accepting my tight embrace. After she went through an extensive drug rehab program, she showed up at my door to return my ring. Turns out her family is one of those extreme religious types who practice the opposite of what they preach. When they heard what happened to her, they wrote her off as a casualty of Satan or some shit. She had nowhere to go, so I told her to keep the ring—I didn’t need it anymore, my mission was complete—and gave her one of the rentals behind the Jolly Roger to live in.
Now she works for me as a bartender, along with Starkey, and she manages the other rentals. The whole group loves her. Smee hits on her every chance he gets, the girls do whatever it is girls do together a few times a month, and she and Thomas became best friends. To me, she’s like a sister. She still has a lot of trauma to deal with, but she’s going to counseling, too, so she’ll get there. Either way, I told her she’ll always have a place here with us. We’ve always been a family of orphans thrown together by circumstance, so she fits right in.
When I release her, John instantly pulls her in for his own hug. “Hey there, Beauty. Keeping Thomas on his toes?”
She smiles, popping a dimple into the center of her chin. “Always. I’m making him dance with me later.”
Thomas groans playfully as John winks. “Atta girl.”
I scan our crowd but don’t see the ones I’m looking for. “Brandy, have you seen Starkey and Smee?”
“They left after dinner,” she says, worrying her bottom lip. “Starkey was getting agitated. Smee took him home, so he could smoke and go to bed.”
She means smoke weed, which Starkey does when he needs to calm down. And that better be all he’s doing. Smee and I are keeping a close eye on him. We’re worried his self-medicating with pot could expand to something worse. He refuses to go to counseling or even entertain the idea of temporary meds, because that requires a psych appointment.
Our relationship is tenuous at best and total shit at worst. Some days, he talks to me; others, he doesn’t. John is constantly reminding me that he needs time and that he hasn’t taken off anywhere, so there’s still hope he’ll come around. If I didn’t have John keeping me grounded, I would’ve had weekly nervous breakdowns over my brother and our broken bond. But he’s right; I just need to give him more time, make sure he stays safe, and be here for him when he’s ready.
“Okay, thanks for telling me.” Tears well up in her green eyes. Brandy feels a sense of kinship with my brother because they suffered similar traumas at the hands of the same evil tyrant. I suppose it’s the same reason I feel a connection with her. I know that hell. “Hey, none of that now, okay? Smee won’t let anything happen to him, and I’ll check on him first thing tomorrow. Starkey’s going to be fine. The only thing you need to be doing is dancing and taking advantage of the open bar that my boyfriend’s dad paid ridiculous amounts of money for. All right?”
Brandy nods and gives me another of her sweet, half-smiles just as Thomas wraps an arm around her shoulders, offering his silent support. “Speaking of the open bar,” he says to the whole clan, “we were just about to grab some drinks. Does anyone want anything while we’re up?”
A few people shout their orders, so Silas, the arrogant pretty boy of the bunch, agrees to go with them, so he can tell the bartender how to make a better Manhattan (because of course he knows how to do someone’s job better than they do—insert eye roll here) and help carry the drinks back. John and I sit at the table with Tiger Lily, Tinker Bell, Nick, and Carlos. They all pause their conversations long enough to say hi, then pick up where they left off.
I’ve never been the talkative type, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon, but I’m content to sit with John’s hand in mine as he argues with the guys about professional football. Tink and Lily are pink-cheeked and giggly as fuck—a lot different from their usual stoic badass chick personas—probably due to the collection of empty champagne flutes on the table. They’re laughing and not-so-discreetly rating the men in the room. Since I’m more qualified to judge hot guys than talk NFL stats, I tune in to the girls’ conversation.
Following Tink’s line of sight after she announces her most recent contestant for a possible hookup, I say, “If you’re gushing over that douche with the pompadour hairdo and mouthful of veneers, you need your eyes checked.”
“Your opinion can’t be trusted, Hooky-poo, because you only have eyes for a certain cop.”
“I’m taken, not blind, little girl,” I clap back, calling her something equally as rude as the name she called me.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she hitches a single pierced brow. “Aren’t you, though? You have your head so far up John’s ass, I’m surprised you can see anything.”
Oh, it’s on. The insult sparks something in me I’ve learned to recognize as joy. As stupid as it sounds, I’ve missed the days before I shut myself off from the others when we bickered like normal siblings.
Smirking, I say, “Awww, that’s so cute, Tink. You’re jealous.”
“Ha! What do I possibly have to be jealous about?”
I glance past her to where Michael, Wendy and John’s baby brother, is pretending to care about a conversation with two older gentlemen, all while his eyes are glued to the token girl of the Lost Boy clan. “You see how good Pan and I have it, and now you want a Darling of your very own.”
I give a chin lift in Michael’s direction, and she looks over her shoulder to see his smoldering gaze deadlocked on her pretty face. Tink gasps and whips her head back to center, narrowing her heavily lined eyes at me.
“Never gonna happen. Not even if he makes a thousand wishes on a thousand stars. Feel free to tell him I said so.” She pushes herself to a stand, and if she had long hair, she would’ve flipped it over her shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need more champagne, and Pompadour needs my digits.”
Tink storms off in a huff in the direction of the bar and her intended conquest. When Michael immediately excuses himself to follow, I give myself a mental fist bump.
John shoots me an accusing eyebrow. “What’d you do now, James?”
I chuckle and squeeze his hand. “You should be thanking me. I’m basically Cupid. Only way hotter.”
“I concede on that last point, but I’m not sure about the first. You intentionally pissed Tink off before setting her up to be ambushed by Michael, which means he’s about to get his ass chewed out.”
“Okay, so I’m a slightly sadistic, hotter Cupid. Different methods, same results. You’ll see.”
John’s about to argue when Lily suddenly bolts upright in her chair and stares at us with excited dark brown eyes. “I just thought of something. Do you guys role play sex stuff as cops and robbers, except it’s not really role play because you’re actually a cop and a robber?!”
Nick and Carlos mumble something about that being their cue and hurry off to be anywhere else. From the corner of my eye, I see John press a fist to his mouth and turn his head, but the way his shoulders are shaking gives him away. I pinch his thigh through his tuxedo pants, eliciting a satisfactory curse. Then, like I did with her friend a minute ago, I set a trap for the very drunk princess of the Piccaninny tribe. It’s nothing less than the inebriated minxes deserve.
“And what makes you think we role play?”
She places her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her hands. “I don’t know, but it would be so hot if you did. Don’t you think? Ooh! Did I just give you a new idea?” Another dramatic aha gasp. “Do you need some ideas? Because I could help with that. I could be, like, your love guru or whatever. I would be good at that. Maybe I should start a business. Not that I’d give up racing, because I don’t care how much those assholes want me out of the circuit, I’m going to be the first female ASCRA driver, guaranteed. But professional love guru would be a cool side gig, don’t you think?”
Damn, when she’s drunk, the girl talks as fast as she drives. I chin lift to the two men standing just out of earshot who haven’t taken their eyes off her all night. When they start moving toward our table, John catches on to my plan and groans. I ignore him. This is the most fun I’ve had all night.
“That would be pretty cool,” I say. “Out of curiosity, though, what makes you qualified for something like that?”
“Oh, I know things. Lots of things.” Cupping a hand on the side of her mouth, she speaks in a stage whisper. “I have a PornTube account.”
“You what?” Tobias and Tyler, demand in tandem. Lily jumps with a squeak and twists around to find identical Lost Boys scowling down at her.
“What kinds of things are you watching on there, Lil?”
Turning away from them, she answers with a firm, “It’s none of your business, Ty.”
I have no idea how she tells them apart. The rest of us usually guess, knowing there’s a 50% chance that we’ll get it wrong. Tiger Lily’s the only one who never calls them by the wrong names.
Tobias (determined by process of elimination) leans down to brace a hand on the table next to her. “If there’s stuff you’re curious about, Tyler and I would be happy to fill you in.”
Ty mimics his twin’s stance on the other side. “More than happy.”
Something glints in Lily’s dark eyes. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe—
“Uh oh,” John says near my ear. “Did you see that?”
I turn my head just enough to respond without losing sight of the princess. “Yep.”
“Should I call Chief over?”
John’s not referring to one of his superiors at London PD. He’s talking about Gray Wolf, a.k.a. Chief, and Tiger Lily’s over-protective half-brother. “No need. Sit back and watch a master ball-buster at work, Darling.”
A deceptively sweet grin spreads across her face as she rises with all the poise of a woman who’s accustomed to being revered by her people. Both men straighten with her, their eyes as hungry as ever when it comes to her.
“Would you really?” Her tone is mocking as hell, but the way she’s batting her long lashes at the boys must have all their blood draining away from their brains because neither seems to notice. She turns her head toward Tyler and strokes a nail down his chest. “You’d be happy to teach little old me about all the things that make my belly quiver?”
He groans, but she’s already moving on to her next victim, resting her palm lightly on Tobias’s abs like it’s an unconscious gesture and not a deliberate move to lull him into a false sense of security. “Would you be willing to teach me everything?” Lowering her voice to a whisper, she croons, “Even the really naughty stuff?”
Tobias growls. “Fuck yeah, we will. We can start tonight, but then no more PornTube, baby.”
Ty chimes in. “You won’t need any more now that you’ve got us.”
“Wonderful,” she purrs. “There’s just one more thing.”
John and I both say, “Oh shit.”
Lily’s hands strike low and fast, grabbing the twins by their…well, their twins. They curse a blue streak as she squeezes their junk. John and I cross our legs and wince in sympathy.
“If either of you ever deign to tell me what I can and cannot do again or decide to mansplain to me about anything, especially sex, I’ll make earrings out of your testicles. Understood?”
There’s a lot of nodding and grunting. “Perfect.” Lily releases her hold then finishes her glass of champagne as the guys do their best to appear like they didn’t just have their nuts crushed for a full minute, which might as well be an eternity. “I think I’ll go grab another drink. Oh, and boys,” she says, stopping a few feet away. When she has their undivided attention, Lily smiles wide. “If you ever need some sex education, let me know. After all, I’ve been a member of Fetish Fantasies for six years and running.”
Their mouths come unhinged as she saunters away, and John and I laugh so hard we have tears in our eyes. Watching the twins learn that the woman they’d kill to have between them is probably kinkier than they are was worth suffocating in this penguin suit all night.
Standing, I grab John’s hand and pull him up with me.
“Come on, let’s leave the boys here to ice their balls and bruised egos.”
They gingerly drop into chairs and flip me off at the same time, doing that weird twins-in-tandem thing they do. John apologizes for laughing at their expense and promises to send one of the others back with ice packs—ever the caretaker, my Johnathan—then I lead him away. I’ve had enough socializing to last me a lifetime today. It’s time we make our escape. I have something special planned, and even though I’m crazy nervous, I’m determined to make this a night we’ll never forget.
I spot Pan and Wendy talking with Mr. Darling near the exit. Perfect. As the host and guests of honor, they’re the only three we have to say goodbye to. Being with John in “the real world” for the past six months means I’ve learned a thing or two about social etiquette. Sometimes I forget and sometimes I just don’t care, but I’m always very aware of the impression I make on John’s dad. Someday, I’ll need to ask him a very important question, and I want his answer to be an immediate yes.
“Ah, there you are,” Mr. Darling says as we come to a stop in front of them. “James, I was hoping I’d get the chance to talk to you about starting a retirement fund. It’s never too late to plan for your future, you know.”
“Jesus, Dad, do you ever not talk business? James doesn’t want to discuss his future when he’s at a party,” John says with a wry grin. “Hell, he might not even want to discuss it at all.”
“No, I do,” I say quickly. “John and I are on our way out right now, but I can call your office next week and set up an appointment. If that’s okay with you, sir.”
His face lights up, and I’m struck by how passionate he is for finances. The only thing I’m that passionate about is fucking his son, but I doubt he wants to hear about that.
“Fantastic! And, please, I think it’s time you started calling me George. I wanted to make sure you were sticking around before dispensing with the formalities,” he says, winking at his son.
“Dad.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, George,” I say, squeezing John’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Hook (Neverland Novels Book 2) Page 30
