43. Chapter 43
Chapter forty-three
Lucy
“ W e have a reservation for three.”
“Name?” asked the hostess with curves for days, a wickedly long blonde wig, and eyelashes so thick that Lucy didn’t know how anyone could keep their eyes open under the weight of them.
“Lucy O’Malley,” she chirped back with a broad smile. Kylie looped her arm around her friend’s elbow while Lydia stood behind, reapplying a layer of deep plum-colored lipstick. “Dirty O’Feelya put us on the list.”
At the mention of her fellow queen, the hostess clapped her hands together. “Lucy! Yes, we are so happy to have you tonight. Right this way, ladies.”
Winding through pockets of attendees and the noisy bustle of a Saturday night, the three women were led to a small round table right up against the stage. Lucy had never sat this close at any of Dirty O’Feelya’s performances, and she was excited to finally have the opportunity.
Inside the nightclub, Lucy tugged at the hem of her too-short dress as she lowered into her chair. “Your server will be by in a minute to take your drink order,” the hostess informed the table. Then turned and winked at Lucy. “Enjoy, sweetie.”
Fifteen minutes later, drinks in hand, Lydia raised her glass. “To an impromptu thirtieth birthday redo. Sorry we missed out on the real one.” She paused and thought for a moment before continuing. “Actually, I’m not that sorry since it sounded like an absolute shitshow. So here’s to replacing shitty memories with far superior new ones.”
Lucy clinked her tumbler against her friends’ glasses, smiling in agreement. This visit to The Tackle Boxx was already ten times better than the last, and she hadn’t even taken a sip of her J. P. Trodden yet. The smooth bourbon warmed a silky trail down her throat into her belly as hints of brown sugar and banana bread lingered on her tongue. Perfection.
The lights dimmed around the audience as a voluptuous queen in a body-skimming black pageant gown strolled onto the stage. Her bright smile matched the glittering stones woven into her intricately coiffed up-do. “Good evening, kiddies! Welcome to our Midsummer Saturday celebration. We are halfway through this lovely season, and every year we like to put on a real razzle-dazzle of a production to showcase what we love most about summer: the bright, sunshiny days; Bomb Pops as far as the eyes can see; and, most importantly . . . air conditioning.”
Laughter and applause sounded in agreement.
“My name is Goldie du Jour, and I’ll be your lovely hostess for this evening. Sit back, relax, and enjoy as we take you through a spectacular dedicated to all things love and Mother Nature. Let’s dive in, shall we? Put your hands together for the vulgar, the filthy, the one and only Dirty O’Feelya debuting her protégé , Buster O’Feelya.”
Protégé?
No wonder her friend had been desperate to have Lucy there for support. It was a huge deal to bring a new queen into the family. Dirty O’Feelya tended to perform alone—and did an incredible job of it—and this would be a big step in expanding the O’Feelya name .
“Did you know about this?” Lucy leaned over and whispered loudly to her friends.
Lydia shrugged noncommittally while Kylie, trying futilely to stifle a grin, refused to make eye contact. Prickly anticipation scuttled its way up Lucy’s neck. Something was up. Her friends had been acting weird all night.
Spotlights trained twin glowing circles upstage as a few bars of a familiar retro hit built through the venue. Lucy grinned as she recognized her favorite song: “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. From the left, a man stepped out on stage, turning and lip-synching to the audience with the opening lyrics, “Listen, baby!”
Her jaw hit the table as she took in the sight. The tall drink of water was dressed head to toe in green, teal, and blue tones: from the sparkling emerald combat boots and a pair of scandalously tight blue jeans, to the shimmering vest on top that emphasized tanned, muscular arms. A black and gray-toned mountain range tattoo sprawled across his left clavicle, shoulder, and bicep. Lucy’s fingers itched at the memory of tracing the lines and shading, exploring the ink with just as much awe as she’d explored the canvas. In addition to the garish coating of green glitter, his facial hair was different, thicker, like he’d allowed the stubble to grow into a well-groomed beard during the two months they’d been apart. His eyes, on the other hand, were the exact same. A searing swirl of living amber trained on her through the bright lights, making her squirm in her seat and grip the glass of bourbon.
Jonathan .
Tammi Terrell’s melodic voice piped over the speakers, and Dirty O’Feelya, dressed in a gown of matching colors, strode out next to Buster, placing a steadying hand on her pupil’s shoulder. The duo performed the lip-synch as they progressed toward the audience .
He’s here.
What is he doing here?
Lucy lifted her glass and swallowed the rest of her drink, cringing only slightly as the bourbon burned a fiery path down her esophagus. Her manic gaze flitted around the table then the room. Half of the attendees, including her friends, seemed to be watching her, taking in her bewildered expression. They’d all been in on it. Convinced her to come, dressed her in a sexy outfit, all so that . . . what, exactly? So that Jonathan could make some grand show? To what end? Had he changed his mind about being with her? He must have; otherwise, what would be the point? A rush of heartbeats thundered through her chest, louder than any raging river could possibly manage.
Nearing the end of the stage, Jonathan hopped onto the floor. He meandered around the table, stopping just beside Lucy, and slid her chair back so he stood directly before her. She hadn’t moved, fingers clenching the side of her seat. None of it felt real, yet there he was, kneeling before her, face turned up in supplication, silently pleading for forgiveness.
The final bars of music faded away. The stillness of the room was thick with anticipation. She knew over a hundred people were watching them. Waiting to see her reaction to her former lover’s extravagant display.
“Lucy.” His voice was husky, tough with emotion and nerves. “You are the most dazzling person I have ever had the privilege of knowing. The biggest mistake I ever made was convincing myself that I didn’t need you. I denied my feelings and hurt you in the process. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that, but I hope desperately that you will. I’m so sorry, sunshine. You are worth any risk. And I want nothing more than to love you and protect you for the rest of my life. Please, please forgive me.” He skated large hands up her calves and laid his head in Lucy’s lap. His chest heaved with weighted breaths against her shins.
As she inhaled the comforting scent of cedar and fabric softener, words stuck in Lucy’s throat. Relief and disbelief battled for victory in her mind. Fool me once , skittered through her mind, but the sentiment felt false in her heart.
She willed her hands to release the sides of her seat and touched his dark blond hair. It was firmer than usual, clotted with gel for a more stage-ready effect. But she envisioned sinking her fingers into the familiar softness she’d regularly fantasized about. He squeezed her tighter, fingertips pressing divots into her leg muscles, causing sparks to shoot up to the center of her.
“Jonathan.” His name tasted sweet on her tongue, like the first bite of cake after abstaining from sugar for two months. She cupped his jaw, and he raised his face to look at her. Moisture welled in his glimmering, saffron eyes. Black liner smeared as tears escaped and trailed down his cheeks. She swiped them away with her thumbs. “I forgive you.”
A smile rippled across his face like a pebble dropped into a still lake, starting small and then growing wide. He stood abruptly, pulling Lucy along with him, and pressed a kiss to her lips. She wobbled at the sudden positional shift, and he wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her upright.
The audience erupted in a chorus of cheers and applause. The rumble of merriment startled Lucy, reminding her that it wasn’t just her and Jonathan in the room but a gaggle of onlookers whistling in celebration.
“Should we get out of here?” His warm breath teased her ear. She nodded, and he snatched her purse from the back of her chair and pulled her toward the exit.
Lucy turned, waved to Lydia and Kylie, and then blew a kiss to her and Jonathan’s fairy dragmother. Dirty O’Feelya beamed happily then sauntered off stage.
“We might as well call it a night because I doubt anyone will top that performance,” Goldie du Jour groused into the microphone as she returned to the spotlight. “I’m teasing of course! We have so many colorful acts lined up for you tonight . . .”
The warm summer air enveloped Lucy as she and Jonathan all but ran around back to a small parking lot where Betty the Subaru awaited their getaway.