Chapter 43
DARCY
Peytonand I met at the Mad Pirate Alehouse. The Alehouse had a pirate ship bar, and each of the bartenders were dressed as pirates and stayed in character throughout the whole night. The barstools were barrels, and every night, they awarded the drunkest person “the mad pirate” award, and they were given a paper pirate hat and a sword. Peyton had been dubbed the mad pirate on more than one occasion, but I was proud to say I had not. Mostly because every time I had been in the running, I was with Peyton, who always ended up doing something that deemed her more worthy of the crown.
We arrived at the Alehouse and headed straight to the bar. We both ordered two shots of tequila and a couple of beers before we went to the dance floor, ready to shake off the last week. Peyton and I hardly ever came to the bar for men. I couldn’t say never, because there had been a rare occasion or two when we had stumbled upon someone we found interesting, but it was never the objective. We came to the bar to dance and laugh and forget about the world.
This evening was no different. The music was loud, the cheese fries were delicious, and the drinks were going down smoothly, but there were a couple of incredibly handsome men that were showing Peyton and me an awful lot of attention. We entertained them for a couple of drinks and a few dances before I grabbed Peyton, and we sat at one of the tables toward the back, drunk and sweating.
“Okay, I have had too many shots,” I slurred, trying to straighten my hair.
“Me too,” she replied. She blinked slowly, leaning in. “Don’t look now, but Taylor and Orlando are still looking over at us.”
I looked. Of course I did.
“I said don’t look!” She giggled and waved daintily.
“Wait, Taylor and Orlando? I thought their names were Oscar and Ryan?”
Peyton shrugged. “I couldn’t remember, and they look like Taylor Lautner and Orlando Bloom to me.”
“Oh my God, you’re right,” I replied, squinting at them, my vision blurry. “Do you think they really do, or is this the liquor talking? Remember that one time you made out with a guy who we swore looked like Channing Tatum, and then the next morning when we looked at the selfie you guys took, he was more Gollum than Channing Tatum?”
“Don’t remind me of that!” We both laughed, and Peyton snorted slightly. “Speaking of hot guys, like actual hot guys, how are things going with Operation AA?”
I took a sip of the beer I had gotten before sitting down and wiped my mouth with my hand. I shrugged. “It’s good. It’s going well.”
Peyton eyed me as though she could see right through my lame attempt at brushing her off. “‘It’s going well...’ You expect me to believe it’s just going well? Give me details!”
“I don’t know, Pey! It’s just going well.” I sighed heavily, rubbing my hands over my face. I was really drunk, and I was beginning to realize that giving Peyton the details about how things were going with Penn would make me have to really think about what was happening. And if I really thought about what was happening, I knew I would come to the conclusion that I might be starting to not completely hate him.
And that was not a part of the plan.
Peyton leaned back, her eyes squinted and her arms crossed. “Something is up.” She leaned forward again. “If you don’t tell me what is going on right now, I’m going to have to post that video of you from St. Patrick’s Day 2017.”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
Peyton nodded. “I don’t want to, but I will.”
The most embarrassing video of me in my entire life was from St. Patrick’s Day 2017. I had fallen asleep sitting up, my head tipped back with my mouth wide open. The video was sixty seconds of me snoring like a freight train with Peyton giggling in the background.
I groaned. “Fine. It’s going fine. I have done a couple of the things we talked about, but it’s getting increasingly harder to act.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes he’s just...nice and down to earth, and I feel like I can talk to him about anything. We seem to get along well, and I forget what he’s in Aveline for.” I took another drink and closed my eyes. “I don’t know; it just gets a little complicated.”
Peyton’s eyes grew wide, and her words slurred together. “Oh my God,” which sounded more like Ermagerrd. She pounded her hand on the table, and I jumped. “Son of a bitch, Darcy, you like him!”
“I do not!” I retorted. “I barely know him. I don’t like him.”
Peyton leaned across the table. “Listen to yourself.” She put up a finger. “He’s nice”—another finger—“down to earth”—another—“and you feel like you can talk to him about anything. How can you be so daft? You like him!”
A bartender in a pirate outfit brought over two more shots. “Ahoy, mate! Seems you have a couple of gentlemen callers who wanted to quench yer thirst with some good ole tequila. Whaddya say?”
I looked back and saw Taylor and Oscar—or Orlando and Ryan, whatever their names were—holding up a couple of shots in salute.
Peyton and I shrugged, downing the shots and then holding the empty glasses up in a thank you.
“Thanks, Cap’n.” I tilted my head to the side. “Hey, you got an eyeball under that patch?”
Peyton snickered, and her eyes moved to his pants where she grimaced. “And is that a banana in your pants, or are you just happy to see us?”
The bartender put his hand in his pocket and pulled out an object. “No, it’s a banana. I get hungry.” He rolled his eyes and walked away.
Peyton and I fell back into our booth and began laughing hysterically.
“That was so weird,” she said, and I nodded.
“I did not expect that at all.” I wiped the laughter tears from my eyes and took my phone out, wondering if Penn had texted, but there was only a message from Lettie.
LETTIE: If you guys need a ride home, call me. Don’t get a ride from one of the random bar guys like you two did last time. That scared me to death when you called me from the car whispering about how you were sure he said he was going to steal your spleen and come to find out he told you to keep his car clean.
Peyton squinted her bloodshot eyes and reached for my phone. “Who is it? Your face looks disappointed. Were you hoping Penn texted you?”
“No!” I exclaimed, trying to keep it away from her, but it was no use, my reflexes were not as quick as they normally were, tainted by alcohol, and Peyton took it right from my hands.
“Let’s call him!” She clicked the screen as I squealed.
“No, no! Don’t you dare!”
She put the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing!” She held her hand over the bottom of it, and I could hear a muffled voice.
“Hello?”
“Peyton, stop. Hang up!”
“Hello?” Penn said again, and I snatched the phone from her hand and hung it up.
“Have I mentioned how much I hate you?” I said to her, and she smiled drunkenly.
Seconds later my phone began ringing, and Penn’s name popped up. “Now you’ve done it!”
I cleared my throat and pushed the hair back from my face as though he could see me looking disheveled through the phone. “Hi, Penn,” I said as normally as I could. “How are you? Are you having a lovely evening?”
“Darcy? Are you okay? It’s midnight. Why is it so loud?”
I stood up and stumbled to the door. It was too loud to hear anything properly, but the room was spinning with each step. “I’m just having a grand ole time. Just—” I paused, holding on to the bar, the room going in circles with no end. I’d had too many shots. That much was evident now.
A hand touched the small of my back, and I turned slightly. “Hey baby. You need some help?” It was Taylor or Ryan or whatever his name was, but he was too close to me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Who was that?” Penn’s voice was stern, demanding. “Darcy, where are you?”
“I’m not telling you, Mr. Nosy-Pants.”
“Are you drunk?” Penn asked.
“I–I’m at the Mad Pirate Alehouse, so I would think the answer is yes.” I sat on the barstool.
Damn it, I just told him where I was.
“Let me help you. I can take you somewhere,” Oscar or Orlando, or whoever it was, said, grabbing my arm. I pulled it from his grip, feeling uncomfortable.
“Darcy?” Penn’s voice was serious. It was a tone I hadn’t heard from him before. “Darcy?”
“Uh huh.” It took everything in me just to respond. “I’m tired.”
Penn continued. “Listen to me. Stay at the bar. Do not leave.Understand?”
“Uh huh,” I replied, laying my head on the bar.
“Do not hang up this phone.” He was adamant, and I could hear rustling like he was moving around quickly. “Okay? I want you to stay on the phone.”
I nodded, my face against the cold counter. “Mm-hmm.”
“And tell whoever that guy is to back the fuck off. Tell him if he touches you in any way or if he tries to leave that bar with you that he will leave in an ambulance. Can you tell him that?”
“Uh-huh.” My eyes were closing.
“Darcy, talk to me. Tell the man what I said. Don’t fall asleep.” Penn was out of breath. It sounded as though he were running, and I was trying everything in my power to stay awake.
“Come on, darlin’. I’ll take you home.” The man was grabbing my elbow, trying to help me up.
Penn was frantic, his voice loud. “Darcy, hand him the phone, now!”
I handed the man the phone, and after a few moments, he handed it back and walked away. I had no idea what Penn had said, but that was the last thing I remembered.