Page 60 of For Pleasure Or Worse

I stood there like a person a pigeon had just crapped on, too shocked to move and arms outstretched scarecrow style. My toes wiggled against my wet sandals as Tyler Swan in all his big-bodied glory surfaced and shook his buzzed blond head like a dog.

“Tyler!” Ophelia complained halfheartedly. He swam to the edge of the pool and hoisted himself out in his bright pink swim trunks, which were short enough to show off an upper thigh tattoo that twisted beneath the swimsuit and popped out again on his hip, then continued all the way up his ribcage and across his barreling chest.

“You motherfucker.” Matty lunged, wrestling Tyler playfully into a headlock that softened into a brotherly embrace. “Missed you, you brute.” The Swan boys had spent New Year’s with us for a few days in Miami with Frankie and O, and though I’d only known them briefly, I considered them family the same way Mateo did. It was like we were all meant to be part of each other’s lives in one way or another. It warmed my chest to see Mateo smile again— genuinely, excitedly smile, the same way I had when I saw Phee.

“Tally girl.” Tyler opened his arms to me with a charmingly bright smile. “Get over here.”

“You’re soaked,” I pointed out. Mischief splashed across his eyes and he laughed as he pulled me to his chest anyway.

“We told you not to get the girls wet.” Another familiar voice rang from the deck above and Tyler’s younger brother Sam came down the stairs alongside Frankie in their bathing suits.

“I can’t help it,” Tyler answered with a wink.

The Swan brothers couldn’t have had more opposite demeanors, despite their physical similarities. Although Sam’s body was more athletically built, lean and toned to Tyler’s mass of crafted muscle, they had the same light, soft eyes and sharp jawlines. Personality wise, Tyler was the life of the party everywhere he went; he owned a bar in Salt Lake City and spent most, if not all, of his free time behind the bar there. He was larger than life, the center of attention, and a complete and total playboy. Sam on the other hand was quiet and observant, stoic, careful, and only comfortable in settings where he knew everydetail and person. He preferred it that way. Slowed down. Their differences were their strengths in Delta according to Mateo because Sam was the silent sniper the boys referred to as Wink, and Tyler was a human battering ram—hence the nickname, Echo.

“Drinks for the guests of honor.” Frankie reached the landing with a tray of plastic cups and handed Matty and me each a fruity cocktail with a paper umbrella.

Mateo squinted. “Is that a dick straw?”

“Yeah.” Frankie smiled. “O thought of everything.”

“Are there regular straws?” he asked.

“We thought you’d feel more at home with these ones.”

“You were right,” I said, sipping on mine. Rum and juice invaded my senses. “God, that’s delicious.”

“Made them myself,” Tyler said, drinking through his little green plastic penis.

“This feels like an omen for how the weekend is going to go,” Matty added, trying his.

Sam, Phee, and Frankie followed our lead and we all stood there in a circle with phallic straws in our mouths. When all the fondest memories of my life flashed before my eyes on my deathbed, this would be a highlight.

We filed through the French doors on the lower level of the house and Ophelia walked us through the layout of the expansive rental. Free floating pink and white balloons were dancing around the foyer, beach balls disguised as disco balls rolling over the floor. A metal spiral staircase took us up to the second floor, an open layout with a massive living area. There was a flat-screen television above a custom driftwood mantle; two deep-seated, L-shaped couches; and a bohemian-styled rug in various depleted shades of pink, orange, and blue. This floor was even more glamorously decorated—balloons scattered across the ceiling, more disco beach balls, pink flamingo-shapedneons, and casino dice. The Vegas disco theme was fun and well thought out, all the way from the tower of plastic champagne glasses centered on the kitchen island to the playing card napkins and Donna Summer playlist.

Frankie pulled a crown off the coffee table that saidTotal Bachin sparkling silver letters and placed it on my head.

“You should take up event planning, Pike.” Mateo nudged his best man. “Who are you calling whipped now?”

Frankie stifled a grin. “So I blew up some balloons.”

“He had some help,” Sam said. “And about four pages of hand-drawn diagrams.”

“Preparation avoids disaster,” Ophelia justified. “My back-up plans have back-up plans.”

“I, for one, am amazed at you both.” I slung an arm around Frankie and Ophelia’s shoulders and pecked their cheeks one after the other. “Show me more.”

Ophelia swiped a clipboard off the counter and talked us through it as we walked out onto the expansive veranda Tyler had leapt off of into the pool. The deck was covered in a soft green turf and furnished with cushioned outdoor lounge chairs and bean bags, a dining table under the cover of a cantilever umbrella, and circular seating around a freestanding gas fire pit. You could see the entire backyard and poolside from up here and beyond, out into the pink and orange desert stretching toward the city.

“We’re right on time,” Ophelia said, checking something off her list. “Welcome party with drinks, house tour, and room assignments. The next two hours I blocked out for getting settled and comfortable, but then we dip straight into light refreshments and more alcoholic beverages when the rest of the crew gets in. Tonight is about friendship, but tomorrow is when shit gets real.”

“You’ve really got this all mapped out?” Mateo raised an eyebrow.

“Tip of the iceberg,” she assured him.

“When do the strippers get here?” Tyler plopped onto a lone bean bag and flattened it beneath his weight.

Phee perused her list, jabbing at it. “That’s tomorrow.”

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