by Denise Wells
“Why? It’s not like you ever get into trouble?”
He shrugs, like that’s an answer.
I order a Lyft to bring us to the restaurant Hunter has chosen for dinner. I’m still dying to know where we are supposed to enjoy cigars and scotch afterward because Washington is notorious for its lack of cigar lounges. Want a smoke shop? Done. Dispensary? No problem. Cigars? Oh, now there’s the brake screech. Supposedly, this place we’re meeting Hunter at has a backroom for rent, and smoking is allowed.
I love a good cigar as much as the next guy. I mean, a glass of Macallan neat, and a Padron Anniversario—I’m in fucking heaven. And before cigars and scotch, we get a big cowboy steak, medium rare? Fuck, yes. Bring on the night.
We arrive at the steakhouse. Hunter and the rest of his friends are already seated. It’s clear that Gregor is his guest of honor, since the seat directly to his right is open. Me? I have to ask the hostess for another chair and then squeeze in between two other computer guys at the opposite end of the table. Gregor is used to this. He has his Gregor persona that he puts on and he charms the fuck out of everyone around him. It’s a gift.
I don’t have that same gift. So, I introduce myself to Geek Number One on my left, and Geek Number Two on my right, then I order an entire bottle of pinot noir, just for me. And when she brings it, I tell her to make sure my glass is never empty, but do not afford the same courtesy to my neighbors.
Drinks flow heavily, and we all get a little loose-lipped. Before long, Geek Number Two is asking me how I know Hunter.
Because I am the epitome of grace and class, I answer with, “I used to fuck Tabatha.”
Geeks One and Two look at me, then each other, then start to laugh. “Of course you did,” Geek One says.
“I did,” I say.
“Yup,” Geek Number Two chimes in.
“I took her virginity, mother fuckers,” I add, immediately regretting it, but caring more about my pride than Tabatha’s feelings at this point.
Because, first and foremost, apparently, I’m an asshole.
“Yeah, right,” Geek Number One comes back with. Then he elbows the other geek next to him. “This guy says he took the queen’s virginity.”
The other geek gives me a onceover and responds with, “Yeah, right.”
Bunch of articulate motherfuckers.
“I’m Pax Baldwin, her high school sweetheart, first husband, star of Keeping Tabs. Ring a bell?” I ask.
Both shake their heads.
I pour myself some more wine and drink it.
“Why would Hunter want her ex to be here?”
“Uh, because Gregor is my best friend and that was the only way to get him here.”
“Yeah, right.” Geek Number Two rolls his eyes.
Fuck these guys.
“Gregor,” I call down the table. Conversation stops. Gregor looks at me, eyebrow raised. “Who am I?” I ask him.
“Pax,” he says.
“Right,” I say. “But who am I to you?”
Gregor smiles, pushes back his chair, and stands. Then he starts to sing, in true Gregor style, a little ditty by Joe Cocker made famous by a TV show called The Wonder Years. Asking about what we’d do if he sang out of tune. And I know he’s singing to me. I think the rest of these blowhards might think he’s including them as well. But no way, mo-fos, this here is my best friend. And he’s singing to me. So, what do I do? I get up and sing with him.
Now, we’ve never made this a duet before. Really, we’ve never made anything Gregor does a group effort, so it’s not just this song. I’m not entirely sure, once I get up there, that he’s okay sharing the spotlight. Mostly because I don’t quite have the rhythm he does, nor can I really carry a tune. And public venues don’t typically give me the same leeway they do G. I know this all makes it seem like I can’t do shit. But I can.
First, I take pictures in the middle of fucking wars. Like, with gunfire and bombs and shit. I mean, yeah, I can’t golf or bowl, I can’t carry a tune, and I’m not the best solo dancer. But I jump out of planes, rappel buildings, run from explosions, and dodge rapid gunfire, all in the name of realistic photojournalism. And I’m a total badass when I want to be. So, the fact that these douchebags don’t believe me when I tell them who I am, is on them. Not me.
But with this song, I have to admit, it probably would have been better had I just let Gregor do his thing. Now it’s too late. I’m up here with him, the song is coming to an end, and I’m not real sure what to do.
“We’re taking requests,” I yell out, belatedly realizing all eyes in the main dining room are on us. Gregor can get away with this stuff. One, he’s a really big guy so no one ever has the balls to stop him. And two, even more importantly, people expect it from him. He dances on the sidelines during games, he breaks into song whenever he wants, and he’s a celebrity. Sports celebrities always get to do what they want.
“No, we’re not taking requests,” Gregor responds as he sits back down.
I take my seat. Geek’s One and Two are suitably impressed with my status in Gregor’s life so I feel as though I’ve redeemed myself in their eyes, even if they don’t still believe that I slept with Tabby first.
We move into the back room for scotch and cigars about an hour later. Hunter and his friends take forever to finish a meal. I finally get to sit next to Gregor again and only have to deal with a geek on my other side. Hunter has brought in a number of leather couches and chairs for us to sit in. The lighting is dim, but not so much that it’s hard to see, and ceiling fans spin on low. Enough to circulate the air around the smoke, but not so much that you can’t light a cigar properly.
Hunter has girls that wander around with trays filled with cigars, different brands of scotch, and expensive-looking glasses. Another has whiskey ice rocks for those who prefer a chill to their heat. The girls are dressed like vintage “bunnies” in nightclubs. Short shorts, heels, fitted jackets, pillbox hats, and trays more like low-side boxes with straps around their necks to help them hold it.
“Won’t Tabatha mind about the girls?” one of the geeks asks Hunter.
“No,” he says. “She’s not the type to get jealous. Very even-keeled, that one.”
Even-keeled? Tabatha? Is he thinking of the right girl?
“Besides,” Hunter continues, “what’s to mind? It’s not like they are strippers or prostitutes. This is my bachelor evening, so I’m sure even if I had a stripper, she would be fine with it.”
“And are you?” I ask him.
His gaze hits me. “Am I what?”
“Are you having a stripper?”
“Of course not. Are we not civilized enough to be able to enjoy an evening of conversation and wit without having breasts and buttocks shaken in our faces?”
I look around the room at the guys assembled here. “No, I don’t think we are.” I’m only halfway kidding. And it’s meant to be a joke. Hunter doesn’t seem to take it that way.
“You’re welcome to leave anytime. You weren’t even on the guest list.”
I hear a noise of suppressed laughter. I’m sure it was Geek One or Geek Two if not both. I catch Hunter’s eye and hold his stare, not looking away until Gregor interrupts.
“So, how ’bout those Seabirds?”
We laugh, which was his intent.
I get up to grab a bottled water from a chilled bin on a side table. A body appears beside me. I know it’s Hunter without even looking.
“Don’t push me, Pax. I could bury you so fast it would make your head spin.”
“I don’t think so, bud.”
“You’re a photographer.” He says it like it’s a dirty word. “It’s nothing in my world. I could buy and sell you one hundred times over. I know the deal. If I want Gregor, I have to take you as well. But mark my words, it won’t always be this way. At some point, he will realize the trash that you are. Then who will you tag along with to the big boy parties?”
I could hit him. I really could. I won’t. But I could. My f
ist tightens at my side. He’s just such a—
The door to the room crashes open.
“Surprise!” In walks Tabatha, with her little entourage behind her.
21
Tabatha
I’m kind of nervous walking into the steakhouse where I know Hunter and his friends are. Though, I can’t really tell you why. The girls follow closely behind me as the hostess shows us to the private back room. We get to the closed door, whereI smell the faint aroma of cigars and hear male laughter. It makes me smile knowing that Hunter is in there with his friends, doing what he enjoys.
Maybe we shouldn’t interrupt.
“This was a dumb idea,” I whisper. “We should just leave them alone and let them have their guy night.”
“I think it’s cute,” Crystal whispers back. She would. Michael would be happy to spend his bachelor evening with her. Hell, he’d probably rather. But I’m not sure Hunter and I are the same way.
“Just go,” Angela urges.
“Okay, fine.” I push open the door and waltz in. “Surprise!” I cough a bit from all the cigar smoke in the air and look around for Hunter.
Instead, the first person I see is Pax.
What in the actual fuck is he doing here?
He catches my eye, then purposefully looks me down and back up again slowly. Appreciation and desire are written all over his face, and a hunger in his eyes.
That’s it right there!
That’s how I want Hunter to look at me on our wedding day.
Speaking of, there he is. Right next to Pax.
“Tabatha? What are you doing here?” Hunter calls out, walking toward us.
I laugh uncomfortably. “We were heading to the club across the street and I thought I’d pop in and surprise you. Surprise!”
“It’s lovely to see you, of course,” he says as he gets closer. Then he grabs my upper arm and pulls me into the corner. I’m expecting him to kiss me, just with a little privacy. Which is so like him—
“What are you wearing? And what did you do to your hair? Is it going to stay like that? You look so . . . common. Where did you get that outfit?”
Hold up.
“Did you just say I looked common? What’s wrong with my outfit? And this is my hair. I just always straighten it for you.”
“I much prefer it straight. Straight and up.”
“If it’s up, how would you know if it’s straight? Look, forget it. This was a bad idea. We’re just going to head across the street.”
“You’re going to a club?”
“Yes.”
“Have you already been drinking?”
“Of course. We’ve been having champagne in the limo. Why, all of the sudden, is it a problem if I’m drinking?”
“It’s not. I just . . . this outfit, and showing up, it’s just unexpected, that’s all. I’m sorry. Of course you’re dressed for having fun with your girlfriends. You should go a little crazy. Just not too crazy. We don’t need any undesirable pictures showing up in the media.” He laughs at his comment, but I’m pretty sure he’s dead serious. He’s always been reserved, but not controlling. Or am I just now noticing?
I look around him for the girls and see that Pax and Gregor are talking to them. Crystal has always loved them both so it’s not surprising she would say hello. If I’m not mistaken, Gregor seems to be taken with Maisey. I have to warn her. She does not need an Igor BigJerksy—
“Tabatha, are you even listening to me?” Hunter interrupts my thoughts.
“Of course I am. That’s fine,” I lie.
He looks at me, eyes narrowed. He knows I’m lying. I know he knows I’m lying.
Exit, stage left.
“Okay, girls, ready to go?” I call out to them. “I’ll see you later,” I say to Hunter. I don’t hug him. I don’t kiss him goodbye. I strut to the door, yell out, “Woot! Woot! Party time!” and pump my fist in the air as I disappear through the doorway without once looking at the rest of the room, or to make sure the girls are with me.
Luckily, they were.
“What was that all about?” Crystal asks once we reach the sidewalk again.
“He can be so weird sometimes.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sure it’s just pre-wedding weirdness. It happens.”
“I don’t think that’s what it is,” I tell her.
“Well, I say this calls for some tequila shots and girl talk in a crowded place where we can lose ourselves in a corner and ogle men,” Angela says.
We tell the limo driver where we’ll be and head across the street to the club. Angela called ahead and got us a private table in the VIP area. We weave through the crowd, centipede style, with me in the front. The music is loud and thumping, reminding me of crazier times.
Hunter prefers classical music, which is what we listen to a lot at home. I’m a closet pop-music addict. “If I Can’t Have You” by Shawn Mendes comes on, and I raise my hands above my head and swing my hips as I walk. I’m in the mood to let go with my girls. I haven’t had a night like this since I started seeing Hunter.
Angela orders us shots as we head into the VIP section. The club has a few raised areas around the perimeter as interconnected designated VIP areas with private restrooms, servers, and bar. We have one all to ourselves.
“And with our first shot of the night, congrats to Tabatha. May marriage bring you all the happiness you deserve.”
“Here! Here!” Crystal cries.
We lick, salt, shoot, and lime.
I shake my head and grimace. Sometimes I forget how potent tequila is. The warmth spreads down my center through my body. It feels good. I don’t want to talk about Hunter. I want to dance until I sweat. Dance until I forget all my problems and just feel.
Billie Eilish’s “Bad Guy” begins, I start to move my body with the beat, singing along, the girls right along with me. We do a few more shots and a lot more dancing. I’m feeling badass and invincible, and in the perfect mood to go a little crazy when “Like a Girl” by Lizzo blasts through the speakers.
“I am in love with the music at this club,” I yell to no one in particular.
Maisey and I sing to each other at the top of our lungs, jumping around in our little circle of women. Shaking our shoulders, wiggling our hips, laughing at everything without a care in the world.
I dance for another three songs or so before I motion to the girls that I’m going to sit down. I need a break. I grab a bottled water and drink most of it.
Crystal joins me a moment later. “Ohmigod, I forgot how much fun this is. How come we never do this anymore?”
“‘Cause we’re getting old and have to take breaks.” I motion to the two of us.
“Truth,” she says. “So, what’s going on with Hunter?”
Ugh.
“I don’t know. He’s just being weird lately, like about my taking this part, my clothes and hair tonight. It’s like he doesn’t know me at all.”
Angela and Maisey join us.
“We finally chick-chatting?” Maisey asks.
“Yes,” Crystal and I say at the same time. Angela orders another round of shots.
“To happiness and dancing,” Angela says. We repeat the sentiment and take our shots. I don’t shudder with this one at all. In fact, it goes down easy.
“Oh, that’s good, what was that?” I ask Angela.
“Buttery Nipple,” Angela says.
“Of course it was,” I say, laughing.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Maisey asks. “I’m sensing some weirdness tonight.”
“I’m just . . . I don’t know. You’re right, I’m feeling weird. Or I’m feeling like Hunter is being weird. And I don’t think it’s just wedding jitters. I think he really is being weird.”
“About what?” Angela asks.
“About Pax being the wedding photographer—”
“Who’s Pax?” Maisey asks.
“Oh, girl. We’ve got to catch you up,” Crystal says. We order drinks, and Crystal and Angela briefly fill i
n all the missing parts for Maisey. I sit back and listen. It sounds bad to hear someone else tell it. Not bad like evil, more like maybe Pax and I have unresolved feelings. Or bad, like maybe I’m not in love with Hunter. When of course I am.
Aren’t I?
I laugh at myself. I wouldn’t be marrying him if I wasn’t. I wouldn’t even be with him. I was fine being single. I mean, I figured I wasn’t ever going to get married again, so that I am to him means my feelings are strong. I was happy when he proposed. I was—
“Wow, it kinda sounds like Pax still has feelings for you,” Maisey says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Trust me,” I say. “He doesn’t. We were kids, barely knew what we wanted.”
“If you say so,” Maisey adds.
“Look, it’s ancient history,” I tell the girls, mostly to wipe the snarky looks off both Crystal and Angela’s faces. They both think Pax and I belong together, well, if the choices are between Hunter and Pax anyway.
“Even if it didn’t work out between Hunter and me, that doesn’t automatically mean Pax and I would be together. There are a gazillion guys in the world. Not just two,” I say.
They don’t look convinced.
I give Crystal a look. The look, actually. The one that two best friends can share that says everything without a single word leaving anyone’s lips.
“Fine, I’ll drop the Pax thing,” Crystal says. “For now. What else is going on with Hunter?”
“He’s just different, maybe more presumptive and controlling about what I should say or do. It’s like he thinks he’s got me all figured out and tucked away in some category that fits. I don’t know, it’s little comments, about my weight, my tits, my hair. I mean, even tonight, he told me I looked common!”
“I’m sure he’s just stressed between planning the wedding and selling his tech baby. It’s like two huge things the guy has to divide his focus on. You know how hard it is for guys to do even one thing, let alone two.” Crystal laughs at her own joke.
“I get that,” I say. “Like I said, it’s just a feeling. And I’m sure it’s nerves, no big deal. Another round?” I raise my hand to get the server’s attention before waiting to hear if they want one. I order another round of Buttery Nipple shots. I’ve lost count of how many it’s been on top of the champagne, but I know the number is at least five.
