32. Hendrix
Hendrix
“ Signorina …” Carlo calls out to me in his all business protective voice. “ Basta .”
“‘Enough’ is a subjective word, my dear Carlo.” I sway side to side with the music, a glass of champagne in hand. “Besides, we’re on a damn boat off a secluded beach, what harm is there in having a drink or two?”
Or twenty.
We’ve been at Archer’s yacht party for hours, spending the entire day sightseeing foliage and city landscapes before ending up here, just off Crescent Point.
Where, in spite of my hesitation with large bodies of water, I’ve been more than comfortable letting my guard down since Archer came through on his promise to keep the invites low key.
I.E. Royal Heathen fucking free.
The sun has set over us just enough to cast orange and pink hues across the sky, marking not only my favorite time of day but our soon-to-be migration onto the small private beach.
Not because the yacht isn’t big enough to continue through the night: it’s got two levels, indoor and outdoor, bar, kitchen, jacuzzi, comfy beach chairs lining the deck.
All the makings for one hell of a party any time of day.
No, it’s because my forever extra best friend can never tone down one thing without enhancing something else. Something else being the huge gazebo bar, lights, DJ, and bonfire he’s set up for us to keep warm as the fall temp drops.
“You really outdid yourself this time, Arch,” Bex says through a sip of her Sex on the Beach. Such a basic hoe drink…but my soon-to-be diminishing inhibitions choose to allow it.
“Bitch you’ve either been blind or out of the loop for too long because I’m shocked not to see stilt walkers or…” I stop, trying to figure out who the hell those peeps are who flip torches around. “Fire jugglers?”
Bex scrunches her nose. “Fire flippers?”
“Fire dancers,” Archer deadpans. “And I thought about it…”
“But?” I wait.
“Too Caribbean for fall in the city.”
“Oh, yeah, dude. Total blasphemy.” I chuckle through a sip of my drink. Bex does the same.
“Anyway…” Archer clears his throat. “Cap said he’s almost ready to dock. So finish those drinks, miladies, because shit’s about to get even better.”
Archer takes off, announcing the same thing to the twenty other people with us, while Carlo—being Carlo—is already demanding in Italian for me to stay on the boat until he does a sweep of the area.
You know…in case any squirrels decide to attack from the woods surrounding the beach.
“He’s pretty intense, huh?”
“Meh. Carlo’s doing his job.” Shrugging, I add, “And he’s kinda becoming a Hendrix staple.”
As for Bex, Archer, and the Lavell situation with the mafia, I decided to keep the nitty gritty details quiet.
And to be honest…there’s not much to say.
They already know the Salvinis are involved.
Our families are on high alert, and whatever Vic did must be bad enough for Carlo and Stanley to watch Theory and me like hawks.
As for villains in the story, either Carlo’s got The Flash’s speed getting rid of them, or nothing of substance is actually happening.
At least around me.
My only hope is that this shit will blow over soon so I can go back to typical teenage drama…and maybe demote Carlo from hawk to papa mafia bear.
“Look at you…all social and shit.” Bex nudges my shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
“Well someone had to play the role of fish out of water now that you’re homeschooling it.”
“Yeah, def not being voted best friend of the year.”
I mean mug Bex, a much gentler approach compared to pulling the orange hair out of her head.
“Who the fuck are you kiddin’? I already got you nominated. And just so you know, I’d shank any bitch who says you don’t deserve it. Even if that bitch is you.”
Bex, for whatever reason, does not seem convinced, but I’m not about to ruin any of the fun we’ve been having. So, we’ll just have to save the reassurances for when there isn’t bartender eye candy waiting to serve me from across a wooden dock.
Thirty minutes later, Carlo disappearing into the woods for fifteen of them, we’re finally getting into the night and it. Is. Lit.
Good music. Vibes. Even food to offset the alcohol.
Still waiting on the last one, though, since I’m only allowed to drink from Carlo’s vetted stash.
A fair compromise, yeah.
But what good is bartender eye candy if I’m limited to half a glass of wine served by a paranoid gangster?
Once every damn hour.
“ It’s-eh …good…yeah?” Carlo says, beaming with pride as I take the first sip of Moscato imported from his town in Sicily.
The wine goes down like a shot of liquid Jolly Ranchers, making me tap my tongue against the roof of my mouth.
“If you’re into cavities, sure.”
His eyebrows knit together. “ Che ?”
Flattered gangsters make for fatter chances of leniency, Hendrix.
“ Magnifico .” I chef’s kiss the air and he nods in appreciation.
“Hen! Come dance with me!” Bex runs up on us shouting, many shades drunker than I am now that I’m on a schedule.
I level Carlo with a stare, eyes demanding to give me some space.
He does so through a tense nod, so I hand him my bag and glass of nasty wine in hopes he drinks the rest of it and falls into a sugar coma.
You can tell how drastically the tables have turned since Bex is the one dragging me to a crowd of moving bodies, stopping just at the edge of them. Unlike Archer, Bex needs more time to push past her white girl rhythm, not that she seems to care as she shakes her little ass back and forth.
It’s secondhand embarrassing, yeah, but in an endearing way.
“I only got like ten before I head out!” she slurs over the music. “Got a date with my favorite psycho.”
I’d argue for her to stay, since we don’t get to see each other as much as we used to, but thanks to my favorite psycho, I know how easy it is to get caught up in their madness.
“How are you getting home?” I ask, twirling her.
“Roman’s on his way!”
“Roman? Since when?”
Her parents are more the type to be comfortable with an Uber.
“No idea.” Bex sways to a Halsey song. “They’ve been more on edge than usual, lately.”
My eyebrows scrunch together. “What about when you’re with Cray?”
“Ironically,” she laughs, “that’s the only time they’re not on edge.”
I’m completely absentminded as my body moves with the music, that is, until a drunk, messy Archer nearly pummels through us, vodka neat in hand.
“Miladies!” He sloshes the drink. “I totally killed it with this one.”
Bex and I reassured him at least a handful of times how great he’s done planning the party, but ever since the night I caught him with Riggs, it seems no amount of assurance is enough for Archer.
Constant comments…like how good he looks and how well he’s doing in classes. Even getting flirtier than usual.
By “usual” I mean at all, since I can count on two fingers the amount of times he pursued a girl he was crushing on. The rules, the books, the incessant need to be perfect has always been a crutch of his.
To those on the outside Archer looks as though he’s finally breaking out of his uptight shell.
But not to me.
I can spot the hint of sadness in his charming smile with my eyes closed. The doubt in every stroke of his ego. Archer may not have told me what happened between him, Riggs, and the fire, but his behavior speaks loud enough on how much he’s hurting.
Since Bex is also aware of the state he’s been in, she does the glorifying honors with a clumsy hug. “Totally killed it, dude!”
Archer throws back whatever alcohol is left in his glass, handing it off to a server before stumbling over to a blonde he catches eyeing him.
“What the fuck, dude?” Bex comments as soberly as possible. “When are we gonna address the stranger in the room?”
We stop dancing and step off to the side. “What are we supposed to do? Force a truth outta him he’s not ready to tell?”
“Maybe it’ll help.”
“No, Bex, the truth about bad choices doesn’t always help.”
I should know, Saint’s are still ripping me apart.
Regret tinges the delicate features of Bex’s face, likely figuring I’m right. “Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point.”
“When Archer’s ready, he’ll tell us.”
She pouts, then jumps when her phone lights up in her jeans pocket. “Shit. That’s gotta be Roman.” After a quick shimmy and brush of fingers through her hair, Bex says, “We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yes ma’am. Say fuck off to Cray for me.”
“You got it.” She kisses my cheek. “Take care of our Good Guy and be safe, m’kay?”
I reassure her again, then offer to walk her to the car with Carlo.
Naturally, Bex declines, because she’ll be calling her boyfriend the second her pink flats hit the trail to the parking lot.
Bex offers a quick wave over to Archer, who’s busy dancing with the blonde, then takes off like the wind to her stepdad.
Carlo asks about Bex’s abrupt exit as we meander to the bar, so I explain that she’s going home the best I can.
Guess I did alright, because he dips his head in approval.
Carlo’s phone rings and he steps a few feet away, so with a quick plop of my ass onto a barstool, I call over the bartender and whisper for a Rum and Pepsi.
Yes, Pepsi , because I’m a creature of habit.
“Ballsy one, huh?” Cute chocolate haired bartender smirks as he gets going on my drink.
“What can I say? I stay living on the edge.”
“Surprised given the scary dude with a pistol.”
“Carlo isn’t scary.” I rear my head in offense, even though I’m not sure why. “I mean…look at his sparkly micro bag.”
“Ha!” He places the drink in front of me. “Maybe not to you because he loves you.”
Oh, no fucking way am I going to allow this guy to think I’m some damsel being swooped up in an age gap romance.
Carlo’s got grays for fuck’s sake.
Not that grays aren’t sexy.
Shit, I’d let Eric Dane do the nastiest things to me in bed.
“What’s your name?”
“Craig.”
“Well, Craig , Carlo is not my damn boyfriend. He’s my driver.”
Stupid cute Craig raises a groomed eyebrow. “Driver? Guy looks more like a mobster.”
I really need to buy Carlo a pair of jeans and a hoodie.