Page 60 of Own the Eights
“Then we should be fine. We’ll harness the Marks Perfect Ten Mindset. Always finish and always win. Rah-rah,” she answered robotically.
He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Are you going to be all right?”
In the space of a breath, her neutral expression morphed into a smile with a wattage so high, he squinted.
“Smile like it’s your birthday,” she said as if she were auditioning for a teeth-whitening commercial.
“What are you talking about, Georgie?”
Her gaze grew distant. “That’s what my mom would always say before I had to hit the stage and parade in front of the judges.”
“It’s not your birthday, is it?” he asked.
“No,” she answered in one numb syllable.
He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “Then I say smile however you want. Or don’t smile at all.”
She glanced over at him, sighed heavily, then pulled her hand from his, and got out.
“Do we have a plan?” he asked, walking a step behind her, but she didn’t reply.
They showed their IDs to the bouncer then entered the sprawling bar. Music blared over the speakers while people stood in large groups, drinking and horsing around. It was wall-to-wall, hormone-infused twenty-something pandemonium.
“Jell-O shot?” a woman asked with a tray teeming with the frat house staple.
Georgie scooped up six mini-cups and popped the gelatin squares into her mouth as if they were Gummy Bears.
He leaned in toward the waitress, whose jaw had dropped. “What’s in those?”
“Everclear. You know, one hundred ninety proof grain alcohol. And she just pounded six of them!”
Dammit! That was not good.
They weaved their way deeper into the bar and walked into what looked like a scene out of aGirls Gone Wildvideo. An elevated makeshift walkway pierced the center of the bar, running nearly the entire length with…holy fuck…young women in wet white T-shirts parading down the catwalk.
He gripped her shoulder. “Georgie, we don’t have to stay here.”
She blinked slowly, the Everclear clearly hitting her system, when she looked at one of the bar patrons and gasped.
“Virginia?” came a man’s slurred voice from over his shoulder. He turned to see a decent-looking guy holding a beer with aDaddy bought me this Porschehaircut and a drunk grin on his face.
“It’s been ages. You look…the same,” the guy said, then took a sip of his beer.
Georgie stared at the man as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Sorry, dude,” the man continued, then extended his hand. “Brice Casey, Vice President of Operations for Casey Pest Control.”
Brice Casey.
This was the asshat who hurt Georgie.
Brice glanced around. “Good to see you, Virginia. I’m going to go check out the hot chicks on stage now,” he slurred, then disappeared into the crowd gathered at the base of the runway.
As much as he wanted to go punch Georgie’s jerk into next week, after what she’d endured in the last hour, he needed to get her the hell out of there.
He ran his hand down her arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”
She gave him a tipsy smile then glanced at the stage as a woman did a sexy spin, teetering on sky-high heels with her breasts on full display beneath her wet shirt, as the crowd roared with approval.
