Carlson
A hand smacks me upside the head as soon as I shut the door. I whirl around to glare at Gemma at the backseat of the car. “What the fuck?”
Gemma is glaring right back at me. “Are you hooking up with Melissa?”
Rubbing the back of my head, I switch my scowl to the man seated next to her. Hawkes merely grins, scratching the back of Bull’s ears.
“Melissa who?” I growl at Gemma.
“Melissa who,” she parodies comically in a falsetto. “Melissa a la gonorrhea, that’s who.”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“The fuck are you talking about,” she mocks a second time. “I’m talking about your dick falling off, that’s what.”
“Why are you talking about my dick?”
It’s Hawkes’s turn to glower. “Why are you talking about his dick?”
“I’m not talking about his dick, per se.”
“You just said you were talking about my dick,” I maintain.
She shakes her head. “I was talking about STD.”
Both Hawkes and I recoil in disgust.
“Why are you talking about that shit? What the hell did you guys do in Hawaii?”
“Not us, you dope. Melissa.”
I frown. “Melissa who?”
Her hands fly. “Ugh!”
I swiftly duck, but Gemma is only throwing her hands up and not trying to deck me.
“Gemmy, can we talk about STD during dinner? I’m starved.”
That gets my attention. “I know a great vegan place.”
Hawkes turns his glower on me. Ignoring it, I straighten and switch on the car.
“How was your Christmas?” Gemma asks.
“Quiet,” I respond, maneuvering the vehicle out of the private airport. “Ma misses you guys.”
“We miss her too. Is she coming for New Year’s Eve?”
“Yup. She’s gonna corner you both about the wedding,” I warn. “She couldn’t stop chattering about it over Christmas.”
“I definitely need her help planning it. I’m glad she’s coming to the gathering.” There’s female smugness in that last part. “Suzy will get to meet her then.”
“Oh?” I play it down, feign cool-cat-nonchalance while acrobats go to town in my stomach. “Is Suzette coming too?”
I haven’t seen Suzette since yoga night. It’s been so crazy at work the last few days trying to acquaint myself with everything from the perspective of the new position that I haven’t had time to stop by to see her. She texted me with a thank-you for the food I left at her desk, but I’ve been in and out of the office and don’t wrap up for the day until well after regular hours.
Besides, it’s not like she’s been blowing up my phone.
“She didn’t mention it?” Now there’s a smirk in her tone. “Where’s your game, Carlson?”
“He loses that game each time he drives like an obsessed soccer mom,” Hawkes put in. “Which is every time he drives.”
“Blow me, Hawkes.”
“Does this mean your hand finally found your dick?”
“Eww. Can we not talk about dicks for five minutes?” Gemma exhales audibly. “Speaking of driving, don’t you guys think Carlson should stop driving us around?”
“Why?” Hawkes and I voice in unison.
“Image. The COO isn’t the driver to the CEO. Besides, Carlson doesn’t have time for that now. It’s nice that you picked us up, but I’m sure you’ll be way too busy to be playing chauffer. It’s not in your job description.”
“But I like it,” I argue.
“But he likes it,” Hawkes counters simultaneously.
“Baby,” Gemma lowers her voice, making it clear her words are for Hawkes. “Marty didn’t drive you around.”
“Marty took the bus.”
“He did not,” she scoffs.
“Sure did. He had his license revoked after he was caught jerking off while intoxicated in his car. He was parked in his own driveway, but still…”
“Be that as it may, Carlson is no longer our driver. He’s the COO now, remember? It’s what you wanted.”
“See why my being COO is a bad idea?” I tell them both. “See what happens? Now you guys have to drive yourselves around.”
I’m rewarded with Hawkes’s grumble. “I drive better than you anyway, and we wouldn’t be going to some crappy vegan joint.”
“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” To my shock, I discovered that little dive wasn’t half bad. It even motivated me to look up some vegan recipes online. “You wouldn’t be able to tell the food is plant based. All natural, too.”
“Oh, I can tell,” he protests. “When I fertilize the toilet. Talk about natural.”
“Men!” Gemma exclaims with exaggerated defeat. “If it isn’t dick remarks, it’s potty jokes. We need more estrogen up in this place besides me.”
A chuckle rumbles my throat, quietly delighted to have them back.
~~~~~
Flipping the visor down, Ma smears red lipstick from a tube, turning this way and that while she studies herself. At fifty-three, Ma is gorgeous. She stopped coloring her hair after her stylist told her silver was the latest rage. Women more than half her age were paying top dollars to achieve her natural hair color. Now she sports it proudly in a stylish bob. She’s put extra curls in it for tonight. In a pretty deep blue cocktail dress, Ma is positively glowing.
“I think they should have a destination wedding,” Ma suggests of Hawkes and Gemma’s nuptials while recapping the makeup. “Perhaps France. Or Italy.”
I grunt.
“Maybe they can do France. Italy will be yours. In a cute little villa.”
“Ma, they haven’t even picked a date yet.”
“Pff.” She waves that off. “I’ve seen the way Bradley looks at Gemma. Trust me, it’s not going to be a long engagement. It’s you I’m worried about.”
My restless fingers fidget with the snake choke around my neck. Ma likes me to dress up when I take her out, and considering all that she’s put up with during my younger days, it’s the least I can do… but a tie! Who the hell came up with this outrageous notion? Put a noose around a man’s collar and call it fashion. If heels were invented by a man so the woman wouldn’t run off as Suzy proclaimed, then ties were created by a woman to easily keep the man in her grasp. I suppose ties sound better than shackles.
A fleeting image of Suzette shackling me with the tie while she straddles me gets my dick happily jolting. I slide a self-conscious glance at Ma, but she’s preoccupied with blotting her lips with a tissue.
Since the day Hawkes brought Gemma to meet Ma, she’s been harping on me incessantly about my love life. Or lack of one. And grandbabies. A minivan. With a grand-dog thrown in. I’ve never brought a woman home, never even mentioned a woman’s name to her other than casually. When I was seventeen and fresh out of juvie, she caught me sneaking a half-dressed girl out of my room, so she knows I’m not gay, yet she’s been patient, blasé even, about not pushing me on the matter.
Until Hawkes and Gemma.
It wasn’t a competition, she assured me, but she wasn’t getting any younger… and neither was I, she candidly pointed out. She wanted grandbabies, from Hawkes and from me.
“Doesn’t Gemma have any friends she can introduce you?” She’s asked me – and Gemma – that question a hundred times. Suddenly excited, she lurches up in her seat. “Maybe there’ll be someone at the party tonight. You look so handsome, I’m sure you’ll meet someone nice.”
Fuck.
If she gets wind of Suzette and whatever the hell is going on between us, she’ll be all over that shit like only a well-meaning, grandbaby-desperate mother can.
“It’s not really a party,” I remind her. “Just a small group of friends. Let’s just have fun tonight, okay?”
It’s hard enough trying to talk Suzette into brewing us up again now that I officially work at HC. I don’t need the added pressure from Ma.
I learned to pass the subject along with the gravy during dinner on Christmas. Normally, Hawkes and Gemma would be there and diverted her pestering about my love life, but with them on vacation, it was no holds barred. She was ecstatic about my finally taking on a role at HC, but that didn’t stop her from full speed ahead about them missing grandbabies.
As if they agree, my balls are swelling to unbelievable capacity, ready to blast off.
Or maybe it’s knowing I’ll see Suzette tonight.
I pull into my usual spot… only to find men in uniforms hustling all over the place. Tiny lights twinkle throughout the shrubberies lining the house, while a ginormous flocked tree greets us at the front patio.
And cars. Rows of idling cars lined on the curved driveway.
“What the hell is this?” I mutter irritably.
Ma is frowning out of the passenger window. “I thought you said this was an intimate gathering?”
“It is.” I watch one of the uniformed men rushing over to us. “Maybe they’re the caterers?”
It would be like Hawkes to saturate the house with food, except caterers use utility vans, don’t they?
I open my door just as the guy reaches for the handle. Another is racing to the passenger side.
“Good evening.” He tears off a tag for me. “We’ll take care of this for you. Please make sure the keys are in the car and keep your ticket.”
“Who the hell are you?” I blurt out brusquely.
He blinks in surprise but doesn’t appear affronted by my abrupt tone. “We’re the valet for this evening, sir.
“Valet?” I bark. I gawk at all the waiting cars. What the fuck?
“Carlson.” Ma is out of the SUV and is clearly thrilled at what this means. “Let’s go inside.”
Hawkes has lost his ever-loving mind.
Ma rests her fingers on my elbow as we take the steps to the double front door. They open at our approach. Cheery tunes blast out to receive us. Two college-age girls decked out in glittering tops, tiny skirts, towering boots, and bright plastic beads around their necks grin at us from inside the door.
They’re a bizarre hybrid between go-go dancers and disco balls. Go-go balls.
“Welcome to the Hawkes’ New Year’s Eve Bash!”
One of the women reaches way up high and slaps a fucking tiara on my head. She leaps back at my growl.
Ma is giggling with delight as the other does the same for her, then deftly hooks several bead necklaces around her neck as well. Makeover accomplished, the woman immediately hands Ma a flute of bubbly.
Elated, Ma tips closer to me and murmurs, “How about one of these girls? Aren’t they cute?”
I’m going to kill Hawkes.
I put on a suit – a suit! – for this crap?
Yanking out my phone, my fingers fly over the screen.
What the fuck is this shit?
Knowing Hawkes, his phone is probably on vibrate in his pocket. His response comes within a minute.
Happy New Year, asshole.
Ma’s here, I text back. I can’t believe he’d have me bring Ma to some New Year’s Eve drunk feast.
Where are you?
Front door. And about to fucking leave.
Be right there is the immediate reply.
Pulling us both aside, I turn to the amused woman next to me. “Ma, let’s go.”
“What?” She looks genuinely baffled. “Why? We just got here.”
“This isn’t what I thought it was going to be.” Someone bumps into my arm and I immediately swerve with a warning glower, only the motherfucker is already staggering away. “Gemma said a small get together. There’s nothing small about this shit show.”
“It’s all right.” Her free hand pats my biceps. “It’s just a party.”
With effort, I inhale deeply. “You don’t like to be around drunk assholes. From the looks of this, there’s going to be more than a few tonight.”
“Carlson.” Her eyes soften on me, with understanding and soothing reassurance. “It’s time to let it go.”
My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it. “You don’t have to do this.”
She smiles, the picture of serene. “I’ll tell you what. If things start getting rowdy, we’ll leave then. How’s that?”
“This isn—”
“Ma!” Gemma rushes over and hurdles into Ma’s waiting arms. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
“Gemma-baby. Let me look at you.” She squeezes her affectionately before holding her out, skimming her gaze up and down and nodding her approval. “Uh, that dress is divine on you. And I like that headdress.”
Gemma preens.
“She made sure they matched. Hi, Ma.” Hawkes gives her a one-arm embrace and plants a loud kiss on her upturned cheek. “You made it.” He jerks a thumb in my direction. “Despite this grumpy one.”
“This was supposed to be an intimate shindig,” I snarl through my teeth. “You lied.”
“Carlson!”
“They did, Ma. Look at this place.” People as far as the eye can see. Booming, garish laughter, conversations shouted to be heard. Liquor passed freely. “It’s a fucking circus.”
“Language,” Ma scolds.
Gemma’s glance at Hawkes is uneasy. “It’s not like that.”
“Gemmy.” Hawkes sighs, lifting a comforting hand to her back. “Why don’t you show Ma how the planners decked out the back?”
Gemma nods and links arms with Ma, her mouth running nonstop as they zigzag around and into the heart of the unruly festivities.
“It was my mistake,” Hawkes begins when they’re safely away. “I asked Linda to work with the caterers and whoever else, but it was last minute, and neither Gemma nor I had the time to see to them. I mentioned those at HC were welcomed. I guess I should’ve been more clear. We didn’t realize it until it was too late to cancel.”
“You know Ma doesn’t like these types of shit,” I enunciate harshly.
He nods, his expression sober. “I get it. I understand if you want to take her home.”
Frustrated, I plow my fingers through my hair. Yeah, Hawkes gets it. He knows. Given his cruel history with his alcoholic father, he doesn’t like to hang out with a bunch of inebriated assholes either, but he’s learned to cope with it throughout the years.
Scanning the perimeter of the open foyer, I take in the groups gathered, happily clutching small yet piling plates of refreshments in their hands while laughing and chattering animatedly. All these people battling for space, carelessly disruptive, sucking up all the oxygen, triggers my unease and irritation. Some are bopping in place to the live band rocking the crowd and look to be truly enjoying themselves, but a few are undeniably taking advantage of the open bar.
That’s when I catch sight of some discreet but burly guys keeping a watchful eye.
Security.
My suspicious gaze assesses them… is that Lenny from that dick-swinging strip bar?
He must have picked up on my dubious study, because the Lenny lookalike narrows beady eyes at me.
And that other one at the far side, perched there with his arms folded like he owns the place. He’s that fucking pretty boy Tarzan stripper that was all over Suzette. Is he working security, too?
Just what kind of entertainment has Hawkes planned?
They have to be security. Their unruffled, alert demeanor isn’t a prelude to clothes ripping. They clearly mean business.
Air leaves me slowly, releasing my aggravation with it.
Hawkes hikes up a brow. “Is that approval I see on that ugly face?”
“Stop looking at the mirror, Hawkes.”
He laughs. “Does that mean you’re staying?”
I don’t answer the question directly. “Where’s Suzette?”
Like me, his gaze tracks over the swarm of people, a lot of whom I recognize from HC.
“I haven’t seen her,” he says earnestly. “I don’t think she’s here yet.”
“Not here? The party started hours ago.”
“Let me ask Gemmy.” So saying, he extracts his phone out of his pocket. “Hey, baby. Is Ma okay?” His eyes meet mine. “She’s chatting up a storm with Linda,” he shares for my benefit. “Carlson is asking about Suzy. Have you seen her?” Brows furrow at whatever he’s hearing. “Okay. We’ll be there soon.” The phone is returned to its place in his pants. “Sorry, man. She’s not here,” he divulges reluctantly.
If I have to put up with all these dickwads and Suzette doesn’t show, I’m going to be royally pissed.