13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirtee n
All relationships formed after the child is born should somehow benefit the baby.
A Young Woman’s Guide to Raising Obedient Children
Dr. Francine Pascal Reid, (1943)
I stick to my promise to give Brit a weekend to remember and keep the conversation off of men or kids with difficulty.
After dinner, we stop for dry martinis at Vesper.
″J.B would love this place,” I muse as we’re shown to our seats. But that’s all I say about him.
We move on to the funky Bond , where a creepy guy does his best to pick us up. Offensive, but it’s been a long time since anyone tried to pick me up so I’m a little flattered.
I mentally make note of the cocktails in the CliQue bar to pass on to J.B. The drinks are delicious and potent and give me the courage to suggest we try the nightclub to dance. But the liquid courage doesn’t last long when it’s apparent that we are the oldest ones in the place. Brit’s inability to get served at the bar sends us running to the Chandelier nightclub.
And at two-thirty in the morning, we’re still here, watching Brit do shots with another bride-to-be, who must be about half her age.
″Why are we the only ones here?” I try my best to hide the yawn that splits my face, but Morgan sees it and smiles.
″Is Casey tired?” she mocks in a singsong voice.
″Casey is sleeping with her eyes open. Can’t you tell?” I glance over my shoulder at Brit, talking and laughing and still going strong despite steadily drinking all night. I switched to water hours ago. “I want to bail but I can’t leave her here.”
Gone are the days when I could party all night. These days, staying up past ten-thirty is an accomplishment.
Morgan gives me a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you head back to the room? I’ll drag her back when she starts to run out of steam.” We both glance at Brit again, who is laughing uproariously at something the bartender has said. “She has to run out of steam soon, doesn’t she?”
I make no effort to hide my sigh of frustration. “When she divorced Brick, we closed down that bar, remember?”
″But she was sad then. She’s happy that she’s getting married, isn’t she?”
″I think so. But you’d think after the last time…Serves her right for marrying a guy named Brick.” Brick had been Brit’s second husband, close after Tom divorced her after only a few months. Brit had an affair with Tom’s boss, who refused to leave his wife and left Brit in the lurch. Brick helped console her; that marriage lasted two years before Brick moved on to console someone else.
″Was that really his name?” Morgan wonders. “Or a nickname? ”
″Brit and Brick.” I shake my head. “That should have been a red flag right there.
I swear, sometimes her life is worse than a soap opera.”
Morgan nudges me. “Check out what just walked in the door. Can we have him in the soap opera?”
I glance over and my jaw literally drops. “Fuck a duck–what’s that? ″
A group of men walks in, wearing nothing fancier than baggy jeans and white T-shirts but commanding the attention of every woman in the place by the way they wear those jeans and simple shirts. I’ve never seen better bodies.
J.B. still looks good, but my hubby has nothing on these boys.
It’s as if a scene from Magic Mike has come to life. Even though these boys still have their clothes on, even though my experience with male dancers has been once when I was twenty, and once when I was thirty-four, I can tell in an instant that these guys are strippers.
″Close your mouth, Casey!” Morgan laughs. “I think they’re coming over.”
The group of seven extremely sexy men do come our way but bypass us for Brit’s little bride-to-be friend and her group. They saunter, they swagger, they exude arrogance with every step. Normally, I’m turned off by such a display of raw cockiness, but I’m tired and they’re very good-looking.
And in a matter of minutes, they succeed in returning Brit to us.
″Asshats,” she grumbles after weaving her way through the throng of bodies. It was as if every available person in the place flocks to the dancers, males as well as females.
“Are you too old for them?” I ask her sympathetically. Brit is all about fighting off each and every sign of aging and as a result, she can easily pass for thirty-three rather than forty-three. She looks good, even at ten-thirty in the morning.
But her little bride friend is twenty-five if she’s a day, and cute as a button. And her three bridesmaids all have impressive chest measurements that haven’t been impacted by the sands of time. As good as Brit looks, there’s no competing with that.
″They’re looking to get laid,” Brit says dismissively. “And I’m not.”
“Who are they?” Morgan asks. I can’t help but notice her attention has been caught by one of the men. All of them must be at least six-five; they tower over the group like the women are children.
″Tower of Power, Power Tower–something like that. They’re strippers, Morgan, can’t you tell? A cheap version of Thunder from Down Under .”
“They don’t seem cheap to me,” I muse. I notice Morgan has caught the eye of one of them–taller than the others, bald, and with a chest as broad as the Mississippi. He gives her a shy smile. His smile triggers a memory. “Hang on a sec.” I fish in my back pocket and pull out the flyer which has molded nicely to my backside. “A guy gave me this in the casino. I think it was him.”
We stare at the paper advertising The Power of the Tower. And from the looks of it, Morgan’s new admirer is at the centre of whatever power we’re talking about.
″He’s a stripper?” Morgan whispers, her face falling.
“So?” Without giving her a chance to stop me, I stalk toward Shy Smile. To give him credit, he moves away from the group when he sees me coming.
″What is she doing?” I hear Brit after me.
″Was that you in the casino earlier?” I wave the flyer at him.
″Ah, the lady of the coins,” he says, his smile widening. He’s very cute, with dimples and everything. I glance back to see Morgan, eyes wide and staring .
″I still haven’t cashed them in,” I say. “I had to pick up my friends. That’s them over there.” I gesture to where Morgan is now shaking her head frantically. “That’s Brit, who’s getting married, and Morgan, who’s not.”
″Not getting married, or isn’t married?” he wonders.
″Not married at all.” I grin. “Would you like to meet her?”
And it’s as easy as that. I usher Brit off to the side after a few minutes because it seems like Morgan is doing just fine.
I like the way she smiles at him. I’m not sure how a man larger than The Rock, aka Dwayne Johnson, can look sweet, but this guy does. Sweet and shy and–
″ What is she doing?” Brit hisses as we watch them.
″ She’s talking to him, so let’s give her a minute.” Brit huffs a response and taps her foot with annoyance. “Give her a minute,” I repeat. “She hasn’t met anyone in a while.”
″Being a single mother will do that to you.”
″Now who’s talking about kids?”
″She can talk to him for however long she wants, but he’s a stripper, Casey, and this is Las Vegas. What does she expect to get out of this?”
I cock my head and stare at Brit. “What do you think she wants out of this?”
Brit flips her hair. I suspect most of her annoyance comes from the utter lack of attention she received from the men. “Not in my room.”
″I wouldn’t mind a bed to myself tonight,” I muse.
Morgan only makes us wait about ten minutes. “Don’t wait for me,” she says, touching my shoulder with a starry-eyed smile. “Go on to the room. We’re going to get coffee.”
I haven’t seen that smile on her face in a long time. Nerves and excitement and whatamIdoing and I thinkImightlikehim all rolled into one toothy grin.
″Coffee, huh?” I narrow my eyes at the brute standing behind her. Either this guy is a good enough player to fool Morgan, or he really is a nice guy. And it’s not easy to fool Morgan. The girl is smart , plus ever since she opened her own PR firm a few years ago, she’s developed the best built-in asshole detector. Because of this, I’m not as worried about leaving her as I would be about Brit.
Plus, not that Morgan would ever say anything, but I think she’s desperate to pick up. She hasn’t been in a relationship since she broke up with Derek–my step-uncle– long story–two years ago. I know one of the reasons she agreed to this weekend was the slim possibility of getting laid.
″I’ll have her back to your room in an hour.” His voice growls like a dump truck and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. The lights of the chandelier gleam off his bald head. Is that an accent I hear amid the noise of the bar?
″Well, that’s no fun,” Brit says sotto voce .
″He’s Canadian too,” Morgan says proudly. “From Newfoundland. We’re neighbours.”
Morgan’s family is from Nova Scotia, so neighbours is a bit of a stretch.
″If you’re sure,” I pretend to relent, narrowing my eyes at the Newfie.
″I’m sure,” Morgan says with an even wider smile. “Really, Casey.”
″She’s fine, let’s get out of here.” Brit grabs my arm, frog-marching me out of the bar. I’m relieved to be heading back to the room, but Morgan…
A last look behind shows that Morgan will be just fine.