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She texted last night that Cass had asked her to stay, and I hated it the second I read her message. I hated every minute I sat at home with Beau alone. I hated every long second of the night that I lay in my cold, lonely bed wishing she was there to keep me warm. I’d hated every stupid hour that passed today like a dripping faucet, second by second, waiting until I’d see her tonight. By the time she came to the house to change and pick up some things, I was already gone for the mid shift at The Horseshoe. And when that shift was over, I had a beer at the bar and waited some more.
I didn’t have enough time left, but I couldn’t think of a reason for her to come home that trumped her best friend begging her to stay over through the wedding jitters.
The whole thing was a horrible, terrible load of horse shit, and I fucking hated it.
The relief I felt when she finally showed up with Cass and a handful of our female cousins was instant and complete. The pack of them bounded into the bar, giggling with Davis, Hank—with a hopeful Annie on his arm—and a bunch of dudes right behind them. I was grateful for Henry’s presence as it gave me an excuse to kiss Jessa hello in front of the whole crowd. I wrapped my arms around her and stood up straight, taking her with me, burying my face in her neck.
“Missed you,” I said into her hair.
She squeezed my neck. “Missed you.”
For a second, I considered throwing her over my shoulder and marching out, but didn’t figure it’d go over too well with anybody but me. So I set her down, watching her with a dumbass smile on my face. One of the cousins handed her a huge tote bag, and she wore the wickedest smile as she dug into it, passing things out of its maw to the group.
My smile flattened when I realized what she was passing out, hand over fist.
Cass laughed, making a show of a satin sash that said bachelorette before draping it around my neck.
“For you, madam,” she said.
I flicked a pink plastic penis on her headband, and it boinged around. “Nice dick.”
“Don’t worry, there’s one for you too.”
I stood there like an excellent fucking sport while a gaggle of women—one of whom I wanted very badly to fuck—adorned me in penis accoutrements. Necklaces. Straws. Bracelets. Sunglasses. Suckers and candies, and all kinds of edible weenies. There was even a penis whistle, which Cass shoved in my mouth and told me to blow.
The bachelors stood behind them laughing at my expense, beers in hand. I took the tail of the pink boa Cass adorned me with and tossed it over the opposite shoulder, blowing my dick whistle like my life depended on it.
The girls all cheered and bounced and clapped. I adjusted my penis sunglasses and turned for the bar.
“Gimme a scotch, neat. And make it a double,” I added, absolutely certain I was going to need it.
Buddy Ray was in the DJ booth, and when Flo Rida started in about apple-bottom jeans, the girls took off toward the dance floor screaming every word, one of them holding a six foot inflatable cock like she’d won it in battle.
Jessa wiggled her way up to me rapping, dressed head to toe in penis apparel. The penis antennae wiggled when she got low, and goddammit if it wasn’t the cutest thing I’d ever seen.
I shook my head and laughed, tossing back the scotch too fast—it scorched a trail of hellfire down my esophagus, but I didn’t care. I grabbed Jessa’s hand and dragged her to the dance floor, hoping to get a minute with her, but the rest of the bachelorettes circled me like a maypole. I wasn’t sure how many times I’d ever had so many women dancing with me at once, but I was damn fucking sure none of them had ever been my cousins.
I managed to use Jessa as a human shield, and soon they lost interest, thanks to Nelly and his commentary on how hot it was in here and what we should do about it.
Jessa turned around, laughing as she slung an arm on my shoulder and straddled my thigh, swaying her hips in time to the music. So I did what every red-blooded straight man would do—I grabbed her by the hip and kept her beat, enjoying the feel of her grinding my thigh more than I should have for being in public.
She looked so happy, still laughing and smiling and lit up from the inside.
“You look good in dicks,” she said.
I smoothed my shirt. “I get that a lot.”
“I don’t know if any of them would have been such a good sport about so much plastic penis.”
I glanced at the bachelors, who all seemed to be laughing at me, and shrugged. “They’re missing out.” I put the dick whistle in my mouth and went ham on it.
She just kept laughing, finally pulling it by the chain. It popped out of my mouth with an audible noise.
“You look kinda hot with a dick in your mouth,” she said.
“I get that a lot too.”
She laughed again, and goddammit, I’d do anything to hear the sound. Even adorn myself in phalluses.
