3. Indie
THREE
Indie
M issy giggles excitedly next to me. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you did that. He’s so scary looking.”
I peer over my shoulder at Butch and shake my head. “That man is a teddy bear, through and through. All bark, no bite.”
We huddle back into the booth, the table now covered in a smorgasbord of half-devoured appetizers. I pop a salty pretzel bite into my mouth and reach for my drink. This game is out to kill me. First, a twisted ankle after a near-perfect performance, then Mr. Buzzkill came rushing out with a Louisville Slugger ready to bash some heads in. At this rate, I might need the money for bail.
“Okay, ladies, here’s where we’re at for the night. It’s almost midnight, and you have a little less than two hours to boost those points and get in the lead. Right now, our top three contenders for the jackpot are Maureen with fifteen points, Indie’s coming in second with eighteen, and our leader is Chels with twenty-one,” Tay announces.
I’m close to moving into first. If I take another five-pointer, I can get there and monitor the score for what to do afterward. Considering my last fiver almost got me kicked out by the proprietor of this lovely establishment, I need to be careful.
Taylor unzips her belt bag and drops a small stack of envelopes on the table. “These are eight-point cards. You can only take one, and I’ll warn you, they’re a little riskier than anything else you’ve seen tonight. If you dare take one and don’t complete the challenge by last call, you lose eight points from what you’ve already won. To win big, you have to be willing to go big.” Tay stares us down like it’s a life-or-death situation.
The other girls look unsure about Tay’s new option. Knowing her, it could be anything, and even I’m hesitant to take her up on it. When no one moves, she deflates, and the biggest pouty lip and puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen fill her face.
Fuck it.
I snatch one of the eight-pointers and throw her a piercing stare. “If the cops get called, or I get kicked out, do I automatically win?”
She’s happy again, and I feel like the hungry fish that took the bait, thinking I could get away with it.
“You better hope you knock out the challenge before and get the points,” she confirms with a laugh.
Blowing out an exaggerated breath, I rip open the note card and reveal my next challenge. “Oh, come on. You know this is going to piss off Mr. Happypants. There’s no way I’m not getting kicked out for this, Tay.”
I flip the card around for her to read, and she does a little happy dance. I know she added this specific card to the game because she loves doing it, especially when she’s drunk.
“Karaoke time!” She squeals.
When she reaches for a box at the back of the booth and pulls out a wireless microphone, I realize there’s no getting out of this. Even if I were willing to forfeit the points, we’d still end up singing tonight.
The mass of people from earlier has thinned, chilling the place out just a smidge. The copious amounts of alcohol are taking hold of everyone. This place doesn’t have a stage, but there’s no way I’m climbing back up on his bar to make another spectacle of myself. Maybe the booth will do.
“Hand it over.” Taylor plops the silver menace in my palm. “How the hell does this thing work?”
“Just hit the power button. Then, use the up and down buttons for the volume.”
The microphone crackles to life, screeching in protest when it gets too close to my phone. “Any requests?” I ask Taylor, since she’s the only one still at the booth.
The other girls have taken their lower number cards and are off trying to make them count.
“Hmm, how about some Spice Girls? They're iconic, or you could go with Carrie Underwood and make the men worry. Wait! No, I’ve got it.” She steals my phone, taps away, and slides it back to me. “That’s the one,” she says with a pointed look.
The title and lyrics pull a very unladylike snort from the back of my throat. Gretchen Wilson’s “Here for the Party” is loaded and ready.
“If you insist.”
The music plays, magnified by the microphone cradled in my hands next to the phone, reading me the upcoming lyrics.
In one fell swoop, the bar quiets, all eyes swinging in my direction, ready for their next performance. I’ve made our booth my new personal stage, and at this rate, I feel like the talent for the night.
I should definitely be getting paid for this.
When the chorus hits, I jump down, taking my gig on the move. The girls around the room are singing back up, and when I put the microphone in Butch’s face, he has the good sense to join in.
Everyone’s having a blast; this might just be the easiest eight points of the night.
Repeating the last few lines, the music fades. I’m breathless, but full of joy. Ready to pick another song and do it all again, just for the hell of it. But before I can finish on a high note, my new favorite toy is ripped from my hands.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing now?”
If a DJ had been playing my music, he would have scratched the vinyl to quiet my audience. But here I am, once again, facing down the man who kills the party.
“Jesus, what’s your problem? I’m not on your precious bar. I’m just offering the place a little entertainment for the night. Literally, no one is complaining.”
A firm grip tightens around my upper arm. “Shows over, folks,” he barks out, dragging me back to my table.
Taylor’s grinning from ear to ear when I’m deposited at her feet. “That was totally worth the eight points. Don’t you think?” she asks my captor.
“I think that’s enough for tonight, Taylor. Stop letting your friend make a scene in my bar, or I’m booting the lot of you.”
“But Brooksie, it’s my bachelorette party. You wouldn’t do that to me!” she whines.
“Wait,” I interrupt their friendly banter, “you know this prick?”
Now, my best friend has the good sense to look sheepish. “Indie, this is Brooks, one of Spencer’s groomsmen.”
My gaze flicks back and forth between the two.
I’ve been betrayed.
“Oh, fuck no. I don’t want to spend the next week with him.”
“Don’t worry; the feeling’s mutual,” he grumbles. “Last warning, Tay. I love you, but that one’s caused enough issues tonight.” He juts his thumb toward me.
“Oh, my God! You know no one complained about me. Get the stick out of your ass and have a little fun. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so fucking uptight.”
Tay slaps my shoulder, and I worry for a minute that I might have overstepped. However, this time, he doesn’t respond.
He stomps away in his worn cowboy boots. Those tight Wranglers hugging his ass—wait, why am I staring at his ass? I jerk my eyes back to Taylor, but she knows exactly where my eyes lingered.
“Don’t,” I hold my index finger out to her, “any woman would appreciate an ass like that.”
“Mhm. Whatever you say. But maybe it’s time we call it a night for you.”
“What? How is that fair? I still need more points to win,” I say, exasperated.
Why is she letting this guy ruin our night?
“You’re already in the lead. I doubt anyone will top you in the next hour. No, wait, it’s only forty-five minutes,” she corrects, trying to do the math as she stares at her watch in her inebriated haze.
“Fine. I’ll sit with you, but if anyone else gets close, I’ll get another card.”
“I’ll allow it.”
Tumbling back into the booth, we chat about the crazy schedule of the coming week. There’s a final fitting for her dress at the bridal boutique and nail appointments for the entire bridal party. The best way to ensure everyone adheres to the theme of your wedding is to control everything from their hairstyle and makeup down to the color of their mani-pedis. We have dance lessons, the venue walkthrough, and the rehearsal dinner, all before we get to the big day.
“Here!” Missy shouts, dangling a piece of fabric over the table, scaring us.
“What is that?”
“These are boxers from that guy over there.” Missy nods toward a table full of men who barely look old enough to be in here.
“Disgusting. Get those away from our food.” I laugh, looking down at the card she’s handing to Taylor.
Tay adds the points to her notebook, but Missy’s too far down the list to worry about. The bar’s open layout lets me monitor the rest of our party. But I can’t find my competition anywhere.
“Where’s Chels?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, she had to go. Something about one of her kids throwing up everywhere and the sitter threatening never to return if she didn’t come home and deal with it right away,” Missy informs us.
I do a mental happy dance. I have this game in the bag now. Kicking my feet up on the bench across from me, I slip down and rest my head back. The alcohol’s taking its toll, and my eyes feel heavy.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” I say to the ceiling, my eyes at half-mast. “We’re still so young.”
“We’re not that young, Indie,” Tay rudely points out.
My head lolls to the side so I can look at her. “Twenty-five is young. I’m still getting my life on track.”
“Are you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask defensively.
“Come on, babes. How many one-night stands can you have? Don’t you want to find your person.”
“There is nothing wrong with enjoying a variety of man meat.”
Her face contorts in disgust. “That’s fucking foul, Indie.”
I leave the sentiment hanging between us, but I’m too drunk to keep the giggle from escaping. Taylor joins in until we’re both doubled over the table, mascara tears running down our faces. A stitch in my side steals my breath and makes me calm down.
“No, but really,” I’m finally able to add. “Why is it so bad to focus on my career for a while? It’s the more difficult of the two. Getting men into bed has never been a chore. If I wanted a relationship, most of them would be jumping at the chance. They love me in LA, Tay.”
“Wow. Cocky much? You sound like you think every man will fall at your feet and beg for your hand in marriage.”
“They would if they knew what was good for them.” I shoot her a self-assured look.
She draws in a deep breath, and I know she’s had enough of my shit.
Bracing for her continued lecture, we’re interrupted by Maureen colliding with the end of the table. She waives a slip of paper that looks like it was torn from a server’s notebook in Taylor’s face.
“Fourteen,” she says, out of breath, collapsing into the booth across from us. She snatches the closest glass and downs its contents in one gulp.
Tay lets out a long whistle. “I’m shocked you could get this one done.”
“What is it?” I ask curiously. Mostly, hoping she brags about the points she just scored.
“Fourteen numbers from single people with a cat photo saved on their phone.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “Ouch, Tay. Way to make people worried they’re living up to the Cat Person stereotype.”
“If the shoe fits,” she answers with a shrug. “And anyway, it has merit if she could get fourteen from this dwindling crowd.”
She’s right; the bar’s occupancy has dropped significantly, and we can finally hear each other talk without shouting over other’s conversations and the music. The sound of a cowbell rings through the room.
“Last call!” the bartender yells for everyone to hear.
Our table fills with the rest of the girls. Some hand over the proof of their conquests while others slide in, looking ready for the night to end. Not everyone is built to be out until two in the morning.
“Well, that’s it, girls! Time to count the final tallies and see who our winner is!”
She takes almost the full fifteen minutes we have left before the bar closes to add up her notes. Drunk math should be a new game show. The group helps me clean up the decorations, getting everything shoved—not so neatly—back into the bag I brought in.
“Any guesses?” Taylor excitedly asks the tired crowd.
“Time to go, ladies; I called you cabs. They’re waiting outside to take you somewhere that isn’t here!” That booming voice sounds from steps away.
“Come on, Tay. Just tell us before we get booted,” I urge.
“Fine.” She pouts. “Looks like somebody got bit by Brooks’ no-fun bug. Now, I really wish you weren’t the winner.”
“Wait, I won? Really?” I shoot up from the booth, knocking straight into a hard chest, the back of my head smacking hard into bone. “Ouch, fuck!” I yell, reaching for my throbbing injury.
“Should have known you’d be hardheaded. I think you cracked a tooth,” he growls, too close to my ear.
The shiver it sends down my spine and straight to my toes has nothing to do with the sexy deepness and everything to do with the fact that I’m drunk.
Drunk and horny always go together.
I spin on my heels, noticing the table has cleared and Taylor’s in the middle of slinking off to join them. I reach for my bag and step up to our ungracious host. “Don’t worry, we’re leaving. Good luck with the tooth,” I snap, patting his hard chest in a moment of intoxicated weakness and storm off.
Taylor leans heavily against the dark brick building when I push open the door and enter the frigid night. “There you are. Did everyone else get off okay?” I ask my very inebriated best friend. Ushering her toward the curb to wait for the next cab to arrive.
“You know, I think you're wrong,” she says instead of answering my question.
“Yeah, about what?”
“I think you need to fall in love. It’ll change your life, Indie. I promise.”
I laugh at the sincerity in her voice. This girl is sloshed; even so, she’s still madly in love with Spencer. That’s how I know they will be among the few to make it. “I know you think so, Tay, and I love this journey for you. But I’m not there yet.”
She lets out a frustrated huff at my disagreement. I forgot how quickly her emotions flip on nights like these.
“How about this? Double or nothing. I’ll double the money from tonight’s pot if you at least try to give someone a chance this week. Not just a hot fuck, but spend time with him, get to know him. You never know; maybe we’ll end up with babies at the same time. How cute would that be?”
“Woah, there. I’m ignoring the baby comment altogether. You want to pay me twenty thousand dollars to give some random guy in your small town a chance this week?”
“Yep!”
“Do I get to pick who it is?”
“Nope! I’ll point him out to you tomorrow. But for tonight, that’s my cab, and I’m going home to the man of my dreams. Night, night, Indie. I love you.” She ends the conversation on that note and pours herself into the cab's back seat.
I stand in the middle of the sidewalk, stunned and completely still. Twenty thousand dollars. I could do almost anything for that kind of money.