Chapter Seventeen
Ripley
What in the actual ever loving fuck was that?
One second I’m letting Archer down easy by telling him I’m bored and we’re not doing whatever we’ve been doing anymore, and the next, Seth has me cornered in the bathroom, sucking my soul out through my cock.
I mean, no complaints here, but warn a fella.
It takes me a minute to come back online, pull myself together, pee, and get back out to the party.
I take a breather at the bar, eyeing our booth.
No one has moved from their positions around the table, like the last ten minutes didn’t happen; and by how unruffled Seth looks chatting with Cary, I’d think I imagined the whole thing.
Not even a hair is out of place. How does he do that?
There’s only a low undercurrent of self-satisfaction in his usually blank expression that tells me it was very real.
That pouty, perfect mouth was just on mine, then stretched around my cock.
Right now, I’m really regretting the multiple Dirty Cowgirl shots I took when I first got here. I’m not in control of all my faculties, and I’m afraid of what I might do if I don’t pull my eyes away from his lips.
I pour myself a glass of water from a self-serve dispenser at the end of the bar, just for something to do with my hands, and down it in a few gulps.
I catch Brooks’ scowling eyes when I look back at my friends.
He’s at the end of the booth, one long, toned leg stretched out from under the table.
He’s still pissed about the cutoffs. I can’t believe I got him to do it.
Thank fuck for Margot, she has that man wrapped around her little finger, and now we’re all benefitting from Brooks’ three inch inseam.
The cutoffs only accentuate his thighs, spotted with tattoos and corded with muscle.
He’s getting lots of compliments, which makes him blush but also get more angry.
I rip my eyes away, and they catch on unamused blue ones. My cock twitches at the thought of his jealousy getting the better of him again. I don’t think I’d mind another go in the bathroom, but now’s not the time.
I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d get Seth into the shorts, and maybe a fifty-fifty shot for the boots, but he put on the shirt and hat, and my heart swells with affection for the small gesture.
As much as it means to me, he knows it’s important to Thea.
Who is currently getting a little too handsy with her husband-to-be.
And that’s my cue to get this party started.
“Okay. The rules of Redneck Wrecked are very clear,” I say as soon as I get to the table.
They all grumble in unison, and my lips turn up in a smirk.
I love that the game Thea and I invented has become so infamous around town.
“Every time Shelley calls someone by a pet name when she’s delivering drinks, the girls take a shot. ”
“If Bob plays ‘Everybody Hurts,’ the guys drink,” says Thea. When a few confused glances shoot her way, she adds, “What? He and Joan are going through a rough patch; he’s played it three times already.”
“I want to add a rule,” pipes up Cary.
“By all means,” I say and gesture for him to go on.
“Every time Seth scowls,” he points to the man in question, “Yup, just like that. Every time his face does that, he drinks.” Cary looks so pleased with himself, and I can tell Seth is doing everything in his power to relax his face. This is going to be so much fun. “Time to loosen up, buddy.”
People fire off a few more rules, many of which we’ll forget as the night progresses, and as is the nature of the game, more will be introduced as the night wears on.
Shelley sets down two trays of shot glasses filled to the brim with clear alcohol.
“Now don’t go drinking all of these yourself, hot pants,” she says while eyeing Brooks.
She flips her brunette curls over her shoulder and cackles as she walks away.
Everyone bursts into laughter as his face blushes bright red.
The girls around the table reach out and down a shot each.
And we’re off!
Seth is a very sore loser. If they gave out awards for the worst loser, he would definitely win a trophy. As the empty shot glasses piled up and our table got rowdier, his glower was ever-present.
Seth is also very drunk. The bright side of the whole situation is he’s a happy drunk, so the scowl that got him into this situation is nowhere to be found now.
Which is a blessing because if he were sober, he’d definitely hate what’s coming next.
I run over to the barback coming out of the hallway as he wheels in the karaoke machine. This thing is taller than me with a huge screen on top. Cheers ring out throughout the bar as people notice the device. I situate it next to the jukebox, and the barback plugs it in before going back to work.
“Testing, testing,” I say into the microphone and then repeat the process into the second one, getting some slight feedback.
“Alright, folks! For anyone not familiar, you are right smack dab in the middle of Cary and Thea’s bach bash.
If you’re looking for a quiet night, best be getting on home because we’re about to unleash the musical stylings of Indigo Hill’s most inebriated.
” There are loud cheers and clapping from around the entire space.
“To start, we’re going to have the groom-to-be up here,” I say, motioning for Cary to come over.
He’s less than pleased with the situation, but he comes like the good sport he is.
I’m sure Thea’s whoops of encouragement have a lot to do with it.
“I did the honor of picking a song for you, I hope you don’t mind.
” He shakes his head and accepts his fate.
“Perfect! Everyone else, there’s a sign up sheet at the bar. ”
I hand the microphone to Cary with a pat on the back.
“Knock her socks off, Care Bear.” The first notes of “Die A Happy Man” play as I step to the side and catch sight of Thea’s face.
She’s beaming at her man like he’s the only one in the room.
This is totally worth the earful I’m sure to get tomorrow.
Cary’s a little off-key, but he puts his all into the song. Several phones record the moment Thea leaps into his arms after he croons the last lines. I take note of who I’ll have to get a hold of for a copy of those, I’m sure it’s something she’ll want to watch over and over again.
The karaoke is a hit, there’s barely a pause between songs. Tiffany performs a rather racy rendition of “Earned It” by The Weeknd, and Mr. and Mrs. Davis, the sweetest geriatric couple in town, bring the house down with Queen’s “We Are The Champions.”
The cheering goes on for a full three minutes for those two, and I feel sorry for whoever has to follow it up.
I almost spit out my drink when Mr. Hot Pants himself grabs a microphone. He’s motioning and whisper-shouting to Margot but pipes down when Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran’s “Everything Has Changed” starts playing.
Margot has the voice of an angel, and Brooks is pretty much just reading the words. I don’t know what spell this woman’s magical vagina has cast on him to get him to do this stuff, but I am here for it.
“You know this is so much better than I thought it was going to be.” I turn toward the voice and find Thea’s sidled up next to me, elbows resting on the bar behind us.
“Thanks?”
“Just take the compliment. I’m trying to tell you you did good.”
I pull her into my side. “I can’t believe you doubted me. Like hell would I send you off into matrimonial bliss without a true southern bachelorette party. I take this man of honor thing seriously.”
“I know. I love you,” she says, wrapping her arms around my torso.
“I love you too.” I press a kiss to the top of her head.
After a long pause, she picks her head up from my chest and says, “I was out of line the other day. I’m so stressed with the wedding around the corner, and Seth just gets under my skin.”
“Oh, it’s his superpower. I haven’t met a person he hasn’t pissed off yet.” Then I add, “But there’s more than meets the eye with him and his family. It’s a touchy subject, especially when it comes to his dad.”
“I figured by his reaction. I’m sorry I pushed and put you in the middle. I should go apologize.” She starts to pull away, but I drag her back to me.
“You might want to wait. He’s… tipsy,” I say as I scan the crowd for the man in question. “Oh, shit.”
Brooks and Margot have finished their duet, and Seth’s at the microphone, pointing clumsily to a song selection from the list Shelley had printed. The hot mic picks up Shelley’s “You sure, sweetcheeks?” to which Seth frowns and nods vigorously.
As if by magic, Margot’s tiny arm appears from behind Seth, handing him a shot.
This should be good.
Good… it is not. Enthusiastic and maybe a little ragey, sure.
Seth trips over the fast-paced verse of “Good 4 U” by Olivia Rodrigo and practically screams the chorus.
He’s hardly subtle as he glares toward Archer when singing about finding a brand new girl.
Archer, who, oblivious to the attention, is rocking out in the middle of the dance floor, his arm around Tiffany.
I’ve never seen a bigger or more public mess, and my heart flip-flops in my chest at the sight.
His hair is drooping over his forehead—a forehead glistening with sweat—his shirt’s untucked, and his cheeks are bright pink from the alcohol.
He’s fucking stunning, and I can’t help the undoubtedly goofy grin on my face as I take him in.
When his eyes connect with mine, I’m rooted to my spot. He smiles a little as he keeps singing, never taking those Caribbean blues off me. Someone will need to mop me off the floor soon.
The spell is broken though when Kori, one of Brooks’ coworkers, sporting her signature purple locks and all-black punk rock ensemble joins Seth as back up vocals, singing the high “ahhhs” his register won’t allow.