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Chase
“Chase!”
“Hey, buddy. We weren’t sure you were going to show.”
“Better late than never, yeah?”
“Nice of you to show up. You’re two drinks behind us.”
It wasn’t the warmest greeting as I walked into the bar. It was the night of the bachelor party, and Patrick didn’t even greet me when I came in. Still, I wasn’t going to stand him up for the affair. I knew it wasn’t his choice for me to be there, so I’d keep to the shadows and stay silent. Patrick looked at me long enough to put a beer in my hand, then nodded his head.
The only greeting he would give me to acknowledge my presence.
“Want to take a shot?”
“Come on, you know you want to.”
“A round of shots for the man about to get married!”
I sighed as I sipped on my beer. I took the obligatory first shot of the night, but that was it for me. Patrick and his best buddies—who reminded me of college frat boys—took shots left and right. Tequila. Vodka. Lemon drops, for the hell of it. They washed it all down with beer and belched like assholes, creating more of a ruckus than they needed to. For me, it was simply irritating. I’d never enjoyed getting blackout drunk.
But, if I was going to do something like that, it sure wouldn’t be with a crew of guys that simply tolerated me for the sake of someone that wasn’t even there.
Patrick was soon stumbling around, laughing. He kept throwing his arms around the guys as we piled into cabs, driving this way and that way. We hit up four bars and I watched them all get plastered drunk. And I figured this was as bad as it could get. Watching a bunch of grown ass men trying to keep up with the college kids around them, and doing body shots off the fucking ‘bartenders’ in bikinis.
Things got worse, though, when our cabs pulled up to a local strip club.
“Guys, I’m not sure if this is a good idea,” I said.
“Fucking party pooper over here trying to destroy the evening,” Patrick said, slurring.
“Come on.”
“It’s not like he’s gonna remember anyway.”
“He can’t get in trouble for what he doesn’t remember!”
“Who the hell came up with that rule?” I asked.
I didn’t even know the groomsmen’s names, and I didn’t want to know. These would never be men I considered friends, and they would never be people I’d associate with after this damn wedding. I’m sure I must know some of their names if I applied myself. Especially since three of them had been regularly chugging down my mini-bar all week. But, they weren’t important enough to me to figure out which was which.
Despite standing with the groom, I came from the bride’s side of things.
The guys slapped one another’s faces, making an idiotic game out of it. They slapped one another around until they were sober-looking enough to get into the strip club. And while I didn’t really disapprove of a tried-and-true bachelor party tradition such as this one, I wasn’t feeling the vibe. And with Patrick being as sloshed as he was, I wasn’t too sure he wouldn’t try his hand at a lap dance. Or getting handsy with one of the strippers.
I mean, he was practically pawing at his groomsmen now as it was.
We all paid the cover charge to get into the strip club, but I wasn’t feeling it. I kept my head down, refusing to watch the dancers. I waved off anyone who came up, wanting to try and persuade me into a lap dance. And when one of the guys pulled a dancer over to Patrick and shoved her down onto his lap, I decided to take my leave.
It wasn’t as if I was part of their conversation anyway. Hell, I’d been in that place for half a damn hour, and none of them had said a fucking word to me. They wouldn’t miss me one bit, and I’m sure Patrick would have a much better time without me around.
So, I snuck out and flagged down a taxi.
We came to a stop light halfway back to my hotel when my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Mel calling, and it was almost midnight. I furrowed my brow as I answered the call, wondering what had gone wrong.
But instead, I got a very drunk Mel slurring her words over the other end of the line.
“Chaaaase!”
“Hey there, Mel. How goes the party?” I asked.
“You should, uh, comes here.”
“I should what?” I asked, chuckling.
“Come dance with uuusss. Please!?”
“Where are you?”
“Clubs are woooo!”
After that, the conversation devolved. There was thumping bass in my ear and Mel was trying to yell over the music. There was something about Jones, and that was all I could make out.
“Driver? Can you turn around and take me to Jones’ Nightclub, please?” I asked.
And without asking, the driver whipped a U-turn and started in the other direction.
“Mel? Can you hear me?” I asked.
“Dancin’ dancin’ dancin!’ Dancin’ machine. Look, guys! Moonwalk!”
Then, the line went dead.
I chuckled as the phone call died out, but deep down I was worried. I’d never known Mel to drink heavily, much less get as drunk as she was. Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up to the club and I tipped the driver for his time and energy. I slipped out of the back seat and went up to the bouncer, simply explaining to him that there was a very drunk bachelorette party happening here and I was worried about the girls.
He let me in almost automatically, waiving my fee in the process.
I wanted to make sure the girls were okay. If they needed help getting home, I wanted to make sure they got there safely. But, also I’d never give up another opportunity to see Miranda. Holy hell, I wanted to see her more than I wanted to take my next breath. Being with her was a much more productive way to spend my evening than in some smelly strip club with women gyrating all around me.
Quickly, I found the girls in the back corner by following Mel’s drunken squeals.
“Chase!” she exclaimed.
She practically threw herself at me, stumbling over her heels in the process. I caught her as my eyes widened, and the smell of alcohol poured off her body. Holy hell, I’d never seen her this drunk before. Or ever. I’d never seen her drunk ever. I slipped the drink out of her hand and placed it into a garbage can, worried that if she had anymore we’d be making a trip to the hospital.
“Hey, you okay?” I asked.
“Where’d my—uh, margarita?” Mel asked.
“I think maybe you need to sit down,” I said, chuckling.
“No! No-no-no, I need a hug from my bestest friend in the whole widest world!”
She threw her arms around me and I scanned the corner. My eyes fell onto Miranda trying to prop Jacy up against a wall to keep her steady. By the look of things, Miranda was the only sober one in the group. I walked Mel over to a chair and sat her down, then her face fell heavily into my stomach.
“Holy sh—Mel, come on. You need to sit up for—”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Mel said, giggling.
“What took you so long!?” Jacy called out.
My eyes caught Miranda’s and I saw the exhaustion on her face. I wanted to go help her, but Mel kept clinging to me. She fisted my shirt and kept me from going anywhere, so I crouched down and kept her upright with my own two hands.
“It was—an emergency,” Mel said breathlessly.
“An emergency? What’s wrong? What do you guys need?” I asked.
She laughed. “No one’s dying, Chase. So odervramatic.”
“Was that even a word?”
She laughed so hard she snorted. “Ashley needs a hot guy, stat!”
“Wait, who?”
“Her.”
I followed Mel’s pointed finger and found a redhead standing in the corner. She was leaning against the wall with her head leaned back, her hips still moving to the music. I saw her swallow back a little more of her drink before she tossed the cup into the trash can. Except, she missed. So, her ice and everything else went spilling onto the floor.
I watched Miranda grumble to herself as she cleaned up the mess.
“She’s single, and she’s hot as nails,” Mel said, smiling crookedly.
“You mean tough as nails?” I asked.
“No, hot as... hot nails?”
I leaned Mel back into her chair and stood up, readying myself to go help Miranda. She needed help collecting these girls and getting them home. But, no sooner had I stood up, I felt someone crash into me. I stumbled on my feet before I caught the woman’s flailing body, and when I looked over I saw it was Ashley. Her red hair was a mess and her green eyes were glazed over with an alcoholic, glassy sort of stare. Wait, was she actually wearing penis themed jewelry? She shoved her face into mine, her nose practically touching my face before she hiccupped.
Holy fuck, she reeked of tequila.
“Oh yeah, Mel. Totally hot. She’s right,” Ashley said.
Mel giggled. “I told you he was sexy! Woooo!”
“Okay. You need some water. In fact, all of you need some water,” I said.
“Let’s go dance,” Ashley hissed.
Before I knew it, her hand was in mine and she dragged me to the dance floor. Well, she didn’t drag me. But, she was stumbling along and I tried to keep her from falling. She leaned her body forward to propel herself toward the dance floor, and I followed to try and make sure she didn’t fall. I mean, a broken nose just two nights before the wedding wouldn’t go very well with the color scheme.
Until her nose ended up being blue.
“Come on, hot stuff. Swerve those ships,” Ashley yelled above the music.
“Those what?” I asked.
She put her hands on my hips and swiveled them around. Then, her body came crashing into mine again. She was stumbling in heels that looked almost impossible for any human being to walk in, even sober. I caught her around the waist, holding her close to make sure she didn’t tumble down to the sticky floor beneath our feet. Her lips tried to pucker up to me and I backed away, craning my head to see if I could find Miranda to come help me.
And when I found her, I saw a deep frown on her face.
One she couldn’t quite cover up.
