7. #IamCaesar
SEVEN
#IAMCAESAR
Rose
“What the actual fuck?” The neon red, white, and blue Big Texas Saloon sign, which is usually lit up like a beacon to all those in search of a good time, is dark.
I grab my boob flask from my bra and take a swig.
“When did they close?” Jackie asks, turning to Trish and Jules.
We’re on our first girls’ night since the wedding, and it is not off to an auspicious start.
“Don’t ask me.” Trish shrugs. “Must’ve happened while Ian and I were in Germany.” She twists her new, very shiny, very large engagement ring on her finger.
Yeah, Trish getting engaged in Europe was a surprise. It also sounded sappy as hell, but Trish deserves all the romance Ian can muster and then some. I’m happy for them. For my best friend. I am .
It’s just… did Big Texas have to shut down now ? After Holt and Jules decide to raise a pet cow and Jackie and Flynn’s promised till death do we part, and Ian and Trish’s having a magical castle engagement?
Can I get a well-earned, drunken girls’ night break from all the happily ever afters?
I twist my lips to the side, trying to look like I’m pouting.
Pouting is more acceptable than the tears threatening my eyes.
Even though Big Texas was shady as hell, had police stationed outside every night in case shit broke out, and the drinks were basic as fuck, this was our place.
The place where the group first came together.
The genius, the astronaut, the wanted felon, and the billionaire party girl.
And now it’s closed.
Fuck you, Big Texas. Fuck you.
“Not a problem.” Jules pulls her phone from the back of her leather pants. “I’ve got the details of another honky-tonk closer to town.” Her thumbs fly over the screen. “We’ll go there.”
I’m too upset to even poke fun at Jules’ use of honky-tonk. I simply take another large gulp from my flask and let Jackie lead me back into our UberXL.
Twenty minutes and an empty flask later, we arrive at Whiskey River. Where there’s a line out the door and along the covered front porch.
Of course there is.
Waiting in line is not my thing. Which I know makes me sound privileged as hell, but I don’t care.
I don’t understand the concept of waiting hours in line just to give someone more of my money.
I reach into my cleavage, wondering how much cash will be needed to get us through the door when the line erupts in surprised shouts and laughter.
“Whoa!” Jules points to the entrance. “Get a load of that!”
At least a dozen Vegas-style Elvis impersonators pour out of the double doors, their sequins flashing under the streetlights, followed by a rush of country club dressed customers.
“What in tarnation is going on here?” Trish asks, her eyes wide.
“Beats me, Yosemite Sam,” Jules deadpans.
They bicker while Jackie and I stare, open-mouthed. Jackie is probably calculating the odds of triangulating each Elvis with the orbit of Mars, or some other such genius thing, while I’m simply astonished in the best possible way.
And happy.
Their cheap polyester capes flare out behind them as they hightail it to a nearby shuttle bus, and my hope grows with each twinkle and sparkle.
This place might not be so bad after all. I mean, a bar that has cheesy Vegas-style Elvis impersonators has gotta be fun, right?
Maybe this place will be even better than Big Texas. Maybe this girls’ night will?—
“Darlin’!” We all turn to see Flynn standing in the door the Elvises just ran out of, arm outstretched and waving in our direction. Holt’s beside him, slipping the bouncer a bribe in the guise of a handshake.
My hope dies hard and fast.
Jackie waves back and bounces over in her Chuck Taylors. The rest of us follow.
I don’t even ask. From the look on Jules’ face as she lets Holt put his arm around her and walk her into the bar, it’s obvious she knew the boys would be here.
This night is circling the drain faster than Elvis could eat a peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwich. God rest his soul.
Trish’s red lips curl up into a wide smile. “Ian’s here too.”
Et tu, Shortstack?
“Rosie West, we meet again.”
I close my eyes against the image of Vance Bodaway, one arm stretched out across the back of the empty chair next to him, hair tumbling forward in his eyes.
For the love of God. My one-night stand is haunting me.
Vance, nonchalant as you please, is sitting next to Ian in the coveted back corner table, looking way too good in a plain blue T-shirt among a sea of button-downs and ten-gallons.
Jules grabs one of the beer bottles from the tub of ice by the table before spinning a chair around with her other hand. “Again?” She plops down, straddling the chair. “When did you meet the first time?”
Trish slides to the right of Ian. “Rosie?”
Sighing, I sink into the only vacant seat, the one next to Vance.
Vance nods at Trish and taps his beer bottle against Jules’. Ignoring my friends’ pointed interest in us, he leans into me. “Thanks to you, I got another memorable lecture on the female anatomy during the drive home Sunday.”
That has me rolling my lips in to keep from laughing.
Seeing my amusement, he nudges me with his elbow. “And yes, it was just as awkward and unnecessary as it was when I was fourteen, in case you’re wondering.”
The laugh I’m suppressing turns into a snort. “God, I love your mother.”
“What happened Sunday?” Trish, whose eyes have been ping-ponging between us, probably trying to memorize our dialogue for her next book, looks riveted.
“And how do you know Vance’s mother?” Jules takes another swig. “She’s my hero by the way. Met her when Vance and I were given our astronaut pins.”
Her admission irritates me for some reason. More so than her springing the boys on me during a girls’ night. I shrug, trying to play it off. “I pole dance with Helen.”
Jules’ mouth drops. She turns to Vance. “Your mother pole dances ?”
I smirk, feeling victorious.
Vance doesn’t even take note of the rare sight of Jules being gobsmacked, his eyes still on mine, those damn sexy crinkles deepening. “You did a good job washing your hair. I don’t see a speck of glitter.”
I shrug, smiling despite myself, trying hard to ignore Trish and Jules, who share a WTF look.
Vance cocks one brow. “That mean you’ll finally make time for me?”
“Ever heard the phrase hit it and quit it?” I try to keep the smile off my face, but I don’t think I succeed.
Jules chokes on her beer, Trish’s mouth drops open farther, and Jackie’s brows pinch together. Ian looks amused but unsurprised. Hmmm .
“Isn’t that the colloquium for a one-night stand?” Jackie pushes up her glasses.
“As usual,” Jules says, tilting her beer bottle at Jackie, “you are correct.” Pointing the mouth of her bottle to me, she asks, “When was the hitting and quitting? Because though Vance Bodaway is a friend, I’m not sure he’s good enough for you.”
Vance’s eyes cut to Jules. “Are you serious?”
Probably paying him back from earlier, this time Jules ignores him.
“You hold a mean flashlight in space so others, like me , can get the real spacewalk work done”—she smirks when Vance rolls his eyes—“but what else do you bring to the table? I mean, this is Rose West. Billionaire and best friend of Julie Starr. She deserves more than a flashlight hand job.”
I know she’s saying all of that to get a rise out of Vance, but it pleases me nonetheless, nullifying any annoyance I was harboring from her, including the boys on our girls’ night.
“He was mentored by John Herrington,” Jackie pipes up, not realizing Jules was joking.
“Who’s John Herrington?” Trish and I ask at the same time. When Vance raises his eyebrows at me, I regret my obvious interest.
“He was the first Native American in space.” Jackie tilts her head in that way she has when she’s trying to recall facts. “Now in retirement, he does a lot of recruiting on government preserved reservations, doesn’t he?” She looks at Vance.
“Yeah, he does.” Vance nods, the crinkles around his eyes disappearing.
“But I didn’t meet him until after I was selected as an astronaut candidate.
” He takes a sip of his beer. “But he was a big inspiration of mine. Even though he’s Chickasaw and I’m Zuni, it was life-changing watching the first Native American fly into space. ”
Not liking how serious Vance has gotten, I nudge him in the ribs with my elbow. “I’m surprised they had televisions back then.”
“Back then?” He looks mildly affronted. “I’m only thirty-six.”
I try not to let the surprise show. “And I’m only twenty-one.”
His surprise does show.
Honestly, his Native American heritage is working for him. I really hadn’t thought him that old. I just liked giving him shit.
I grab my glass and salute Vance with it. “That’s what they call a generation gap, old timer.”
Holt and Flynn come back with a handful of rum and Cokes.
“What’d I miss?” Holt asks, eyeing the mixture of surprise, amusement, and confusion we’re all expressing.
“Rose wham, bammed, and thank you, ma’am-ed Flashlight here.” Jules pipes up. “Though he doesn’t seem to know that the ‘thank you’ implied that she was done with his ass.”
“Or how young she was when the whamming and bamming happened.” Trish sips her drink through the miniature cocktail straw.
Without a word, Holt turns and walks back toward the bar. Jules gets up and follows him, laughing so hard she stumbles.
Flynn stands frozen, eyes narrowed on Vance.
“Yo, big bro.” I kick out with my boot and connect with Flynn’s shin, making him wince. “Just remember all the times I have to hear about your sex life from Jackie.” I shiver and take a big gulp of my drink. “So just be thankful this was a one and done.”
My brother’s frown turns upward in what I think is supposed to be a smile but doesn’t quite make the mark. “What?” Flynn’s grimace is frightening. “It’s cool. I’m cool.” He shrugs awkwardly. “Besides, we all make mistakes.” He throws Vance some serious side-eye. “No offense.”