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“Two bottles of champagne,” I tell him coolly like I’m just ordering two beers at Greer’s bar.
“Two…” He trails off.
“Bottles.”
He blinks at me silently, as if waiting for me to elaborate. Before I can come up with anything he says, “Ah, okay.”
While I wait for him to stop frowning at me like I’m an idiot and get moving, I turn around and pull my phone out of my jean pocket to snap a few photos. Thankfully, the attire of the majority of male guests is jeans and biker leather.
An actual live band on a raised platform near the dance floor is killing it, so I take one of them before my eyes land on the biggest fucking cake I’ve ever seen on a table near the stage. It looks too cool to eat, stacked in layers four-feet high. I’m not even sure if the red roses and greenery are edible or not. The whole thing looks too pretty to mess up, so I take a photo of it too. I point and click a few more times at the people dancing until the bartender says, “Here you go. If anyone asks, you stole them when I wasn’t looking.”
“Oh-kay,” I agree as I slip my phone back into my pocket while wondering how he figured out I’m not a guest. Then he holds these two giant bottles, like ten times the size of a beer.
“Holy shit. Thanks!” I tell him as I take the bottles from him.
“You’re welcome,” he replies with that same smile again, like we’re both in on some secret.
Since the job Bear asked me to do is done, I start strolling casually back to the gate, a bottle in each hand hanging hidden behind my legs.
I was so focused on my assignment going in and stressed I would get caught that when I walk out of the gate, I can’t remember if we’re parked over to the left or to the right. It’s too damn dark to make out much of the vehicles that go on as far as the eye can see on both sides. They really need more lamp posts out here.
“Bear?” I whisper.
“Over here!” my brother thankfully calls out and waves his arms over his head from the left side.
When I’m back at the bikes, I hold up the bottles of champagne to show him.
“Hey, look what I found!”
“Jesus. Where the hell did you get those?”
“Some guy just gave them to me.”
“A guy? What guy?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t have a conversation,” I lie. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I think, although I could be wrong, the bartender was flirting with me.
“Do you think they recognized you?” Bear asks.
“No. I don’t think so. I got in, then got out.” I glance behind me to make sure nobody followed me. The coast is thankfully clear.
“Did you get photos?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Let me see.”
I give Bear one of the bottles to free up my hand so I can pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it over “There.”
“Thanks,” he says. He takes the device and starts swiping through the photos while I pop the top on my bottle of champagne.
“RJ, did you take any photos of Laurel?” he asks.
I can’t answer until I finish swallowing the tasty liquid I’m swallowing. Damn, that’s some good shit.
“RJ!” Bear yells like I’ve done something to piss him off.
“What?” I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand to dry it.
