23. Too Stupid to Live
TWENTY-THREE
TOO STUPID TO LIVE
Ian
Two hours of work from my hotel room, and I’m oddly wound up.
Germany is still a go. Meetings and training sessions are scheduled, flight manifest approved and funded. My flight leaves three days after the wedding. Plenty of time to grab the anxiety meds from Dr. Brown and get Trish’s warrant revoked.
I close the lid of my work computer. For once, the NASA stuff seems the easiest to contend with. And with all the government red tape, that’s saying something.
I call Trish again. No answer.
Damn it. I toss the phone on the hotel room’s makeshift desk and rub my hands down my face. I should’ve just stormed the West ranch two days ago and kidnapped her ass, VIP list and security be damned. Now I get why Holt put a security detail on Jules.
I pause on that last thought, my mind putting pieces together. I pick up my battered phone and scroll until I hit Holt’s name.
He picks up on the second ring. “I’m just answering to let you know that I’m not allowed to talk to you until the wedding.”
Jesus. Jules sure has him whipped. But then again, I’m the guy who drove twelve hours just to meet with a private detective, so I shouldn’t judge.
“I’m not trying to get Trish.” I pause, standing.
“Well, I am , but not right now.” I stand and walk to the window, the night dark but hazy from city lights.
“Tonight is the bachelorette party, right? I want to make sure your security detail is still following the girls.”
“How’d you know about the security team?”
I open my mouth to explain about Ranos, but I stop. I don’t have the energy. “Never mind how I know. Just tell me the girls are together and safe.”
There’s a beat of silence, but thankfully Holt doesn’t push. “Yeah. Two guys are with them tonight. Last check-in was two hours ago when they arrived at Big Texas. No updates since.”
“Good, good,” I say absently, thinking back on other nights out with the girls that I’ve witnessed. Trish is usually the calm and collected one. It’s Rose that’s usually the wildcard.
“What’s up with you? I mean, I know they can get kind of crazy when they get together, but usually Trish reins them all in.” Holt’s words mirror my thoughts.
I brace a hand against the window, trying to think of what to say.
How to explain. I don’t want to lie to Holt, but I also don’t want to betray Trish’s confidence.
A headache pounds at my temples, and I feel another wave of sympathy for Trish, who’s been skating this line for the past couple years on a daily basis.
“I know things aren’t good between you guys.” Holt interrupts my thoughts. “But I’m sure you can straighten it all out at the wedding.”
Yeah, the wedding that she’s planning on running away after.
“And as hokey as it sounds, I’m rooting for you. You two seem like a good fit.” He sighs and mumbles, “And maybe with all her friends in relationships, Rose will finally settle down.”
I chuckle at that. “How’d that work with Jules?”
“Touché.”
We both laugh.
“Just let me know if anything changes.” I can’t help but sigh, annoyed that I’m not home already. “I’m out of town right now, but I’m heading back in the morning.” The thought of being stuck in my small car for another twelve hours has my muscles aching.
“You got it.”
We hang up, and I blindly toss the phone back on the bed, staring out into the city. As tired as I am, I know sleep won’t come. Thankfully, I packed a swimsuit. Habit.
I’m going to swim until my muscles go limp, until I can fall asleep comforted by the fact that Trish is used to keeping a low profile when they go out.
We just have to make it until tomorrow.
Trish
I rub a hand down my face, uncaring about smudged make-up while the girls hoot and holler over Blow Job shots.
I knew Jackie was smart about space, science, and math. Even random trivia. But I didn’t know she could be so astute.
Not only did the girl figure out that I’m hiding something, but she made the correct logical leap that I’m on the run and leaving town soon.
“Blow Jobs for everyone!” Rose shouts, once more on her barstool rung perch, and the men in the bar nearly fall over themselves to cheer.
I guess having spent more time here and around these women than I have anywhere or with anyone over the past few years, I never realized how obvious my tells were.
Jackie, being Jackie, was bound to pick up on it.
Rose bows to her newfound fan base, then yells over to the bar, “Better run out for more whipped cream!” When the men see the bartender filling up shot glasses, they visibly droop. Rose cackles.
Jules helps her turn and sit, and Jackie is busy writing something on the table with her finger again. “How many ounces of whipped cream would you say are in a can?”
“Fuck, Jackie.” Jules rests her hand over Jackie’s. “Save the math for Flynn. You know he loves that shit.”
Jackie sighs like a schoolgirl. “Yeah. He does.” She reaches for her phone in her back pocket. “I’m gonna text him my alcohol level equation.”
“Nope!” Rose jumps down off the bar stool and swipes Jackie’s phone. “We agreed no men tonight. And that includes texts.” She tosses the phone in her purse.
She eyes Jules and me and raises her hand toward each of us, her fingers curling in a gimme motion.
Jackie pouts, the tulle and crooked glasses making her look more adorkable than usual. “But Flynn’ll be worried.”
Jules hands her phone over without issue. “No they won’t.”
I zip my purse closed, holding it securely on my lap, not wanting Rose to see the fifteen unread text messages and twenty-three missed calls from Ian on my phone’s screen. Not that I’ve been keeping count or anything.
“Why not?” Interested in this new turn of events, Rose forgets to collect my phone.
“’Cause of him.” Jules points to the corner, and we all turn. A large, lone guy sits at a bar with a full pint in front of him. “And him.” She swivels and points to the other side of the room where a serious looking man with a shaved head looks everywhere but at us.
Jackie perks up. “Who are they?”
“Security detail.” Jules takes a sip of her water.
“The fuck?” Rose’s eyes bounce between the two people. “Whose?”
“Mine. Ours.” Jules wipes more sweat from her brow. “Holt hired them.”
Rose blinks at her, open-mouthed. “And you’re okay with that?”
Jules shrugs again. “He’s just worried about me.”
“You are so whipped.”
Rose and Jules continue to bicker while Amanda hustles over with a tray full of shots, dropping ours off before offering the rest to anyone in the bar who wants one.
The weight of my phone feels heavier by the second. Why did I get so mad at Ian? Why did I have to leave like that? He was just worried. My fingers tighten around my purse. Maybe I should?—
Rose elbows me in the boob. “So are you going to drink this one or pass it off to me like you usually do?”
“No, you can—” I look at her sharply. “Wait, what do you mean?”
A snort and an eyeroll is all I get as Rose throws her shot back, a half-moon of whipped cream lining her upper lip. A guy walking past stumbles as she takes her time licking it off. She gives him finger guns and a wink.
Okay, so maybe it isn’t just Jackie who’s astute.
I suddenly feel like such a failure. My friends see through me. Ian sees through me. I grip my bag hard in my hands. Why am I even trying to hold it together anymore?
Rose’s hand goes for my shot glass, and I smack it away.
“Ow.” She rubs her hand with a pout. “What was that for, T.D.?”
“This is mine , thank you very much.” I choke while inhaling whipped cream and swallowing the Baileys but manage to get it down.
“Wow.” Jules rests her head in her hand. “Shortstack is tying one on.” She frowns. “Why am I just realizing that you’ve never done that before?” She looks to the other girls for confirmation. “I mean, you’ve been tipsy , but I’ve never seen you drunk.”
Rose nods. “Yeah, why is that, T.D.?”
I snag Jules’ shot as well and knock it back before she can object. It goes down smoother this time. “No idea.”
Between the two fingers of whiskey and the sugar-laced shots, my blood starts to heat, and my constant fear begins to ebb.
Rose reaches out her fist toward me. “About time, T.D.”
I tap it with my own.
Jackie slides her glass toward me, a true gesture of friendship considering how much she loves these shots and the trigonometry involved in knocking them back properly—hands free.
Ignoring the math, I pick up the glass and swallow it down.
Three exceptional, amazing women I’m blessed enough to call friends, who have put up with my secrets and half-truths, eye me as if they’ve never seen me before. Maybe they haven’t.
It might be a little late in our relationship, and it’s definitely not the safest decision, but why shouldn’t I have one night where I’m not looking over my shoulder? One night of being a normal girl out with her friends. One night of letting loose before I go.
Decision made, I slap my hand on the table. “We’re dancing.”
Jackie jumps in her seat. “We are?” The genius never dances unless Flynn is around.
Jules stands. “Come on, hooker. I’m sure you can math your way into a rhythm somehow.” She nudges her bestie’s arm and nearly sends Jackie sprawling.
Rose catches her.
Once on her feet, Jackie nods. “Yes, you’re right. Rhythm is a measured, repeated pattern of sound, after all.”
After handing Rose’s purse, as well as mine, to a passing Amanda for safekeeping behind the bar while we dance, I grab Jackie’s hand. “That’s the spirit, sugar.” Though honestly, I would’ve dragged her out on the dance floor even if she’d said no.
I’m determined to let loose. And with alcohol fueling my determination, it feels like there’s nothing I can’t do.
I just wish Ian could see me now.
It takes a hot minute to lose the security detail.
The security detail that I’m pretty sure would not care if we left Big Texas. But after an hour on the dance floor, two more rounds of drinks, and another round or two of shots, we were all feeling the desire to be ridiculous.
Rose hums the Mission Impossible soundtrack as we weave our way out the back “employees only” exit, bent over, hands together forming finger guns. We stumble into walls and each other before finally making it out the door.
Jackie, Jules, and I do a running leap into an Uber XL while Rose circles to the front in a bent-over duckwalk.
Like I said, ridiculous. But so much fun.
Amanda, holding the security door open, waves goodbye to us, laughing. Sometimes it pays to know the waitstaff.
“Go! Go! Go!” Rose slams the passenger door shut. The driver looks stunned, his brain probably needing a moment to register that four intoxicated women have set off a glitter bomb just by jumping into his car.
Poor guy.
“Wait!” I try to stop giggling as I pull myself up between the two front seats. “We forgot our bags. Our phones!” And my letters.
Rose scoffs. “No problem. We may not have phones, but we have money!” She pulls out a fifty from her cleavage, slapping it on the dash. “Go!”
The driver goes. And thankfully cracks the car’s windows so the glitter can escape.
Jackie, drunk enough to have stopped trying to calculate her intoxication level, rips off her veil headband, blond hair shooting off in every direction. “I’m getting married!”
I can’t remember the last time I let myself have this much fun. I’m not just watching. I’m participating. I’m instigating . “And I’m your bridesmaid!” I hug Jackie, the headband in her hand almost blinding me.
“Holt’s going to jizz himself when he sees me in that dress.” Jules snickers, then lowers the window all the way down and leans her head, sweaty from all the dancing we just did, out the window.
“You puke, you pay,” the driver says, taking a right onto NASA Road 1.
Fifteen minutes later we’re at Heartbreakers.