chapter twenty #2
A shit-eating grin spreads across Ben’s face as he nods at me. “Time biding. I get ya.”
“What’s he talking about?” Riles grouches.
I grit my teeth. “Never mind.”
Ben studies the table, then scrunches his face like a puckered asshole. “High rollers, I see.”
“Riles is just learning.”
“Fuck that! Come with me and play like the big knobs do. My treat.”
She raises her hand at him. “No, Ben. Thank you, but no. I want to gamble my own money.”
“That’s not money, love. That’s change.”
“I don’t care. It’s my change.”
“Suit yourself, kids.” He slaps my back and stands. “Happy biding, fucker.”
Clenching my fist, I want to deck the dickhead. But again, I think better of it. I’m happy. Riles is happy. And knocking some sense into the mouthy idiot would only destroy that.
“What did he mean by ‘biding’?” Riles asks as he walks away.
I lie. “Who knows what Ben is talking about half the time?”
“True.” She cocks her head and continues sipping her drink, the straw echoing the empty contents of her glass. “Peanut butter. I’m out.”
Peanut butter? What is she talking about?
Frowning, she flags a waiter down and orders us both another drink, and when she no longer has the ability to notice—which, at the rate she’s going will be sooner rather than later—I plan to slow my consumption down.
“Let’s try the slots,” she says after playing another round of Roulette.
I don’t argue—this is her night, after all—so we cash in our chips, and I follow her to machine after machine, hilariously entertained by how she selects them for their colors and themes until she eventually gets bored.
“I don’t like gambling. I keep losing.”
“Yeah, that happens a lot.”
Spinning like a record to face me, she almost blankets me with her drink. “I know what we can do.”
I step back to a safer distance. “What’s that?”
“Karaoke!”
My ears shrivel.
She grabs my arm in a death grip. “Yes! It’ll be fun.”
“You can’t sing, Riles.”
“Hey!” She pokes her finger into my chest. “Says who?”
“You, remember?”
Staring past me, or perhaps through me—who knows—she shakes her head. “That doesn’t matter.”
It does. Because I also vaguely recall her saying she doesn’t want to make a fool of herself. But then, she also said she doesn’t want to be her tonight, so I guess she’ll forgive me tomorrow for allowing this to happen.
“Where’s Ben?” she blurts. “He’ll come with me.”
Riles marches off, finding Ben when he hollers from the other side of the room, a small crowd gathered around him, applauding.
I grip my hair and follow after her.
“Did you win?” she asks, her hand resting on his shoulder.
Eyeballing her twiddling fingers, I have the overwhelming urge to remove them and thread them with mine, keeping her close.
“Yeah, love. Look at my stack.” He waggles his eyebrows.
“We’re going to the karaoke bar. Want to come?”
“No can do. I’m on a roll.” He holds his fist over his shoulder. “Kiss my bones.”
Kiss his what?
I step forward, ready to crush his hand, when he twists his wrist and opens his fingers, presenting a pair of dice. Riles stares at them, confused, and then shrugs and gives them a peck.
Tossing them onto the table, Ben hollers, “Seven, seven, fucking is heaven,” his posse cheering him on.
The dice bounce off the sides, tumbling until they slow to a stop. I crane my neck, then rub my beard.
Ouch!
Ben slams his palms onto the edge of the table. “Motherfucker!”
Riles nudges him. “Peanut butter!”
He frowns at her.
She frowns back. “What just happened?”
“Your kiss sucked, love. That’s what happened.”
“My kiss does not suck!”
“It did.”
She gives him a shove. “You suck.”
He spins his chair around, face stretched with animation. “Are you drunk?”
“No!” She swipes her hand at him. “I’ve only had a couple of cocktails.”
I count the empty glass in her hand and hold up five fingers at Ben.
“Karaoke bar, huh?” The corners of his mouth lift higher. “Count me in. This could be fun.” He turns back to the dealer and snaps his fingers. “Cash me out.”
“Hold this for me,” Riles says as we enter the dimly lit bar. “I need to pee.”
She passes me her empty glass and kisses my cheek, then shuffles off to the bathroom, past a group of passengers studying song lists. Backstepping, she snatches one up, then takes it with her.
I chuckle and hand her glass to a waiter as he strolls by, and then I take a seat on a stool at one of the last available high-top tables.
“Easy fuck tonight,” Ben says, nudging my shoulder and holding up his fist for me to bump.
I smack it away. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Just stating the obvious.”
“I’ve told you before, I’m not about an ‘easy’ fuck, and you shouldn’t be either.”
His eyes bulge. “Do you have a vagina?”
Ignoring him, I scope the room, spotting Carlos taking song requests near the stage area. “Riles is going through a lot. The last thing she needs is a dickhead trying to take advantage of her.”
“But you’re not a dickhead.”
I should say “thanks,” but I don’t. “I would be if I were after an easy fuck, Ben.”
“Are you saying I’m a dickhead?”
“Yes.”
He frowns. “That’s a bit harsh.”
“Then stop trying to get into every woman’s pants.”
“But I want to get into them.”
“And I want a cock the size of Texas, but that doesn’t mean I should go and get one.”
“You should,” he says, adjusting his crotch. “They’re great!”
I cross my arms over my chest and tip my beer to my lips. “You try too hard.”
“It’s better than not trying at all.”
“Is it?” I take a swig.
“Damn straight.” He gestures toward the bathroom. “So what’s her story?”
I debate telling him, deciding to give him the condensed version. “Her mother recently passed away.”
“That’s shit.”
“Yeah.”
“So she’s drownin’ her sorrows?”
“Sure is.”
“And you don’t want to fuck her?”
“I never said that.”
He nudges my shoulder again.
I smirk. “I like her… a lot.”
“Feelings and shit?”
“Yes, Ben, feelings and shit. So stop being inappropriate toward her.”
He raises his hands. “I’m bowing out, brother. She’s all yours.”
I give his shoulder a patronizing squeeze. “You were never in.”
“Sure I was.”
I shake my head sympathetically.
“I wasn’t?”
“No.”
He slams his glass down. “Ahh, fuck!”
“So, where’s Brittany and Whitney tonight?” I ask, my eyes trained on Riles as she slowly makes her way toward us, her head buried in the song list.
“Don’t know. I think they’ve ditched me. Haven’t seen them since I got back from the basketball game.”
“That reminds me, how was it?”
“We killed ’em.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Riles bumps into a dude and apologizes, his hands lingering on her arm longer than they should.
“Back off, fuckstick!” Ben shouts. “The lady’s with us.”
I choke on my beer.
“I got your back, man. No one touches her but you.”
Jesus!
“So whatcha gonna sing, love?” he asks as she stops at the table.
Sighing, she plonks herself onto a stool. “I don’t know. I’m not drunk enough yet.”
“Then let’s fix that.” Ben snaps his fingers at a waiter.
“Don’t do that,” Riles scolds. “It’s not very nice. And you are nice; I know it in my tummy.”
He grins. “Are you sure you’re not drunk enough?”
She looks at me for an answer. “Am I?”
“What’s the capital of Norway?”
“I don’t know.” She giggles. “I didn’t know the first time.”
Suspecting that was the case, I wrap my arm around her back so she doesn’t topple off the stool.
“What’ll it be?” Ben asks when the waiter arrives.
“Peanut butter,” Riles says.
I go to ask her why she keeps saying peanut butter, when Ben butts in.
“Who drinks peanut butter?” He scrunches his face. “Give us two rounds of Jager Bombs.”
“Not for me,” I say.
“I never said they were for you.” He glances at Riles. “She needs this.”
My gut churns yet again, even though I agree.
“I need what?” she asks, not looking up from the sheet of paper in her hands.
“Liquid courage, love.”
“Yes, yes, I do.”
Several minutes later, four Jager Bombs are lined up in front of Ben and Riles, Ben instructing her on how to drink them.
“Fill your glass up halfway with the Red Bull and drop your shot in, like so. Then, all you do is chug.” He raises his Jager Bomb. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
They clink glasses, Ben’s empty within seconds, Riles politely sipping as her eyes squint.
He lets out an “aaah” and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Stop playin’ with it, love. Chug faster.”
She tips hers higher, swallowing like crazy until her empty glass is slammed back onto the table, remnants dribbling down her chin.
I offer her a napkin, and she takes it.
“That tastes like medicine.”
Ben grins. “It does.”
Riles licks her lips. “I like it.”
“Thatta girl.” He pours another two, and I want to tell him to slow down. I know she needs this or, more accurately, wants this, but I’m concerned she’ll be in no state to do what she must tomorrow.
“Bottoms up!” he hollers, clinking her glass yet again.
They both chug, Riles almost beating him, her hands shooting into the air not long after his. To say I’m impressed is an understatement, so I kiss the side of her head as a burp bursts from her throat.
“Beg my pardon,” she says, covering her mouth, eyes wide.
Ben clutches his gut and belches as well before offering her a fist bump. She giggles, balls her fist, and taps his.
God, help me!
“So, what’s it gonna be, love? Elton and Kiki?”
Her eyes light up. “You’re going to sing with me?”
“Damn straight I am.”
Clapping, she slips off the stool and latches onto Ben as they walk toward Carlos, both of them soon on stage, illuminated in a blue glow, their voices murdering “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” along with my eardrums.
Laughter dances in my chest as they joke around, pretending to gift each other their hearts, Riles twirling and forgetting all her sorrows, Ben the perfect accomplice. And as the night wears on, I realize I’m going to have to drag her out of the bar.
“I think she’s done,” Ben says as Riles drones to the lyrics of “Just Smile” by Nat King Cole. He clears out his ear with his fingertip, rolls a ball of earwax, and then flicks it onto the ground.
Yep, I think we’re all done!
I slide my stool back, sigh, then make my way to the stage, when Riles snags my arm and tugs me next to her, her head resting on my shoulder as she slurs about smiling instead of crying.
“Sing, you pussy!” Ben hollers.
I grit my teeth at him, nearly losing an eye when Riles’s floppy arm shoves the microphone at my face, her wrist limp, her voice box broken… or asleep. And after reluctantly murmuring the closing line for her, I scoop her into my arms and hand Carlos the microphone, mouthing, “Thank you.”
He nods as if a mourning woman pouring her alcoholic heart out isn’t new to him—and it probably isn’t.
“You need a hand getting her back to the room?” Ben asks.
I shake my head. “Nah. I’m good.”
“You sure?”
I nod. “Thanks, man. I appreciate your help tonight.”
“Any time, brother.”
We part ways, and as I make my way to the elevator, Riles tries to lift her dangling head while slurring, “Sssmile.”
“Yes, sweetheart. Smile.”
“I sssang for Mmmomma.”
“I know you did.”
We pass passengers, most of them giving me a wide berth, as Riles waves at them, still slurring, “Sssmile.”
Some of them chuckle while others are etched with concern, and I can’t say I blame them. I’d probably be suspicious of a man carrying an inebriated woman to God knows where as well.
Feeling highly uncomfortable, I elbow the Up button, take the elevator, and hurry as fast as I can to our cabin.
“Riiileyyy?”
“Yeah, Riles?” I prompt, fumbling with my sailing card.
“I don’t feeeel good.”
Say what?
Swiping it like a madman, I shove the door open with my ass when it unlocks, then swing us into the bathroom and place Riles on her feet, holding her hair back just in time for a fountain of puke to plummet into the toilet bowl.
I dry-heave but hold her steady until she’s done, and then I clean her face and carry her to her bed, gently laying her down before removing her shoes and slipping her dress over her head.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, voice cracking.
“Shhh. It’s fine.”
She lets out a sob. “But y-youuu don’t do puke. And I—” She bursts into tears. “—puuuked.”
Slotting myself beside her, I smooth her hair back from her face. “I don’t do puke, but I’ll do it for you.”