2. Oysters
Oysters
Nash
“H ell, that guy is relentless! Nash, did you see that? Sinclair was refusing to be bucked off before eight seconds. He should get extra points for being able to stay on that huge motherfucker as gracefully as he did,” Blake, my youngest brother, shouts back at me. It is guys night out and one of the biggest nights of the year around here. So we have taken full advantage of our family suite for the evening, as we make sure to every year. Us brothers and a few of our good friends. One of the few nights we choose not to involve our investors when trying to wine and dine them. This is our night to enjoy. No work, no women, no real-world consequences.
We have the finest food and drinks being poured with the greatest company I know to keep. Including my best man, Fletcher, who goes everywhere I go. He is my golden sidekick as much as the two-legged ones that seem to press themselves within my life. Several events in and it's been a crazy evening with some of the biggest ball buster bulls we have seen to date. Even the broncs have been on the edge between crazy and deranged. Not one man has met eight seconds tonight.
I would say it is usually pretty calm up in the suites, as where it opens up, you can typically see those near you in the adjoining suite balconies. The party crowd typically hangs out on the floor and lower levels. Those are the ones I see the rodeo clowns have the most fun with along with the Jumbotron out to embarrass whoever they can capture in the moment. Like I said, typically it’s calmer and slightly classier up here, minus several suites down; I can hear shouts and explicits even all the way over in our suite. It must be a bachelorette party of many women because though I am unable to see them well enough, they sure as hell are loud enough for all the suites up here in this row combined. Hours have gone by, and they are still going strong.
The guys keep joking about going over and telling them to calm their asses down, or screw a few of them in the bathroom to see if that will shut them up. Look, we are men, but gentlemen. What we say behind closed doors, does not represent how we would actually handle a situation. Me, I am just going to keep sitting here, sipping my scotch and enjoying the show. The concert is about to start, and we are in for a treat with Ryan Bingham tonight. That is one thing I am sure of at this moment, as I prop my boots up on the seat in front of me.
All the sudden our suite door swings open with a very loud voice of “Tilly! You won’t bel…”
Before this bewitchingly, straight-haired fiery red beauty realized she just flew into the wrong suite, she was ready to say something. Now she makes eye contact with all these men standing in attention including my cock and staring in her direction. Her ice blue eyes take a gander around the room when they land and lock on me. Time stands still between us. My jaw begins to pulse as I take in her insatiable lips and body. Our eyes lock with a blaze of want. Or so I thought.
With a simple wiggle of her nose, then a breath in, she squeals,“O my Hades… I am going to be sick.” Her hand flies over her mouth as she is unsure where or what to do next. I see her eye the trash can across the room, but before I can even move to get it, the girl has found the buffet server of fried oysters. Though it is the most calm and quiet mess I have ever witnessed, she is definitely puking in the oyster tray. We all just stand there gawking. We have all seen our fair share of some gross crazy shit, but this is on a whole other level of our adult lives. As this scene plays out in front of us, we hear another lady walk by, hollering the name of Willa.
Clint takes a chance, “In here!” he shouts.
The lady turns to us and steps inside the suite. With one look, she chuckles, “Yep, that’s my girl.” She walks over and addresses the situation, then bellies over in laughter. This girl is striking too, in her cowgirl getup, blonde wavy hair and petite body, but for me, nothing compares to this redhead that just beguiled my mind and body. Even if she vomits all over our food in front of us. After a few seconds, I finally come back to planet now , moving my feet to grab her some napkins, while her friend is basically on the floor rolling with laughter. As I reach this person, I believe now to be Willa, I hand her the napkins. Just as I am about to speak up, she quickly grabs them, then turns her back to me. I can tell she is trying to clean herself up. Once she turns back around, she looks completely mortified.
“Are you okay?” I ask. The need to protect her from maybe even herself is fueling through me.
“No…no, I do not think I am. I promise you I am not usually like this, but drinking that much and then the smell of those things,” as she points to what once was delicious fried oysters, “it just did me in. Wow. I am a classy broad for sure tonight.” Letting out a moan of angst that makes my dick twitch, she continues, “For the love of all things holy…I am so ridiculously sorry for puking in your food, for barging into your suite to begin with and now for my friend who cannot seem to get her own shit together…This is beyond fuckstrating.”
“It is fine.” Is all I can manage to say as I try not to laugh at her words and situation. She must think I am a solemn man of few words because all I can do is stare at her and take in every inch of her features. Willa is curvy in all the right places with hand size breasts, no correction, perfect for my large hands to squeeze, and that is exactly what I want to do. Her deep-red fiery hair falls just below her breast line, which only makes me picture her with no clothes on with the teased look of her hair covering those said breasts with fuck-me eyes and mouth. An ass that I just want to sink my teeth in, while I place my hands on those curvy hips and pull her close to me. I grind my teeth as I find myself jealous of that pair of jeans she is wearing that hugs her lower half so well. I can tell straight away she is not a rich, fake beauty type, but my kind of perfect girl next door beauty with her symmetrical face, real refined nose, luscious pink lips, and full cheeks. Her at least five foot and some inches stature has her head perfectly at my chest.
Blake's voice interrupts my thoughts, “No, please, you do not need to pay us for the food.”
“No, really I must.” I notice her start digging in what I deem is a cross-body fanny pack to pull out cash. What the hell even is that? “Look, this is what I have on me, please take it. It’s eighty bucks.” As she tries to hand it to me, I throw my hands up like the rest of us, to let her know we are not taking it. She looks defeated, telling her friend to get up, as they are leaving. Right before she walks out with her friend, she throws the money on the counter and shuts the door behind them.
“Bro, what the fuck was that?” our buddy Alex says. I feel like I am frozen in place, but I hear the muffled sounds of them behind me, joking and discussing what just took place.
“Clint, please go find out who that was and what suite they are in?”
“On it, Sir,” he says as he salutes me like a smartass and heads out. The rest of the guys finally calm back down, just as Ryan comes on stage for his introduction. Me on the other hand, trying to stoke the fire that was just lit throughout my entire body. Even Fletcher is pawing at my leg as if worried something is about to go down. I take a seat next to Blake to try to focus on the show to calm down along with this raging hard-on in my pants.
* * *
WILLA
Tilly and I make it back to our suite with the unfortunate event that I have more than sobered up in the last ten minutes than I planned on feeling tonight. Who the fuck was that guy, and what in the underworld was that? I felt the pull to him the instant I walked into the suite. When our eyes locked, my nerves fizzled throughout my body, sending my mind in a million directions. Which in turn led to the embarrassing puking all over their food. Seriously though, who in their right sense eats oysters, let alone enjoys the smell of them fried? Ugh, just the thought has my mouth watering with bile again.
The scent of bourbon feels my nose, bringing me to the present.
“No water?” I grimace, taking the glass from Amity's hand.
“Nope. Best way to cure the thought of vomiting again is to keep drinking.”
“Not sure that is correct, but hades, cheers to not puking again.”
“Cheers!” my girls shout after me.
The bourbon quenches the thirst in my throat, but not the one that is burning lower within. A burn of want and need from that honey swirly-eyed man. His eyes haunt my thoughts as I listen to Bingham singing of being lost, of heartache that only a lost soul can feel in the deep parts of their heart. Me, I am that lost soul, holding on to a tattered string, warning it might snap with the lightest breeze.
Tilly is still filling in the girls on the events several doors down, with them trying to guess who those guys were. I wonder to myself who they are. Who he is, because it was like his body and mind were summoning me to him. Maybe even before I stepped foot in that suite.