Again, nothing.
“I loveyou, Bell. You’re what I love.WhoI love.”
“You told me you loved me before.” Her eyes shine. “And then you left.”
Fuck.
I know I didn’t technically leave, that in reality I’d been holed up in my apartment like a sad, pathetic lump of self-pity, but pointing that out here isn’t going to help me. It doesn’t take a genius to realize she means emotionally. That I promised her I was worth it, and at the first blip I bailed.
“I’m sorry, Bell.” Unable to stop myself from touching her, I cup her cheek. “I’m so sorry.” She doesn’t pull away, so that’s something. “I—”
Right then, the house lights flare, and “Viva Las Vegas”blares from the speakers. Surprised, Bell pulls back and watches as seven Elvis impersonators in full sequined-jumpsuit regalia take over the dance floor, hips swaying, arms swinging, upper lips curled.
In my head, this had played out differently.
“Did you… did you do this?” Her wide eyes never leave the horrifying, bedazzled spectacle.
Before I can answer, a wide-eyed blonde wearing the most badass fuck-me boots I’ve ever seen comes hurrying over. “Oh my God. Are you seeing this?”
A man with good taste in music, if his T-shirt is any indication, follows behind her. He nods in greeting.
“This has to be you,” Blondie says to Bell. “Only you love Elvis this much.”
“Actually…” Three pairs of eyes swing to me. “This was me.”
Blondie goes from shock and awe to suspicious in a nanosecond. “Who the fuck are you?”
I stick out my hand, having to twist a bit to get Mike out of the way. “Chase Moore.”
Her eyes flick to Bell and then back to my hand. She doesn’t take it. “As in New York’s Moore’s?”
“Leslie…” Bell starts.
Blondie, or Leslie it would seem, tilts her head in my direction. “Sothisis Shit-storm?”
Who is Leslie? And what is shit-storm? And isno onegoing to acknowledge the hairless pussy teddy bear in the room?
How I, the person who arranged for seven Elvis impersonators to surprise flash mob a crowd of cowboys, ended up the one out of the loop, I have no idea. But there you have it.
“Yes,” Bell acknowledges. “He decided to surprise me.”
Mike starts shifting around in his carrier, probably pissed at the lack of attention.
“Do I need to file a restraining order? Because I may have had a bit to drink, but I’m not too sauced that I can’t run legal circles around you right now.”
A lawyer. Yeah. That makes sense.
The guy next to Leslie lifts his chin at me. “Mike.”
I bro-code introduce myself right back. Chin lift. “Chase.” I don’t think I look half as cool as he does, though, not with the wiggling skin bag dressed up like its Halloween I have strapped to me. He smirks, and my thought is confirmed.
I point at the skin bag. “Also Mike.”
His smirk vanishes.
“I’m so glad the boys are now all introduced.” The sarcasm is thick in Leslie’s voice. “Now what about that restraining order?”
The final swell of music surges over the crowd with the disco saddle light lowering in the middle of the dance floor, setting off a rainbow of lights reflecting off the impersonators’ jumpsuit sequins.
