Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Which means it’s time for me to leave.
I’ve had enough “fun,” the girls are already up past their bedtime, and I’m driving. A second beer probably wasn’t a good idea anyway. I’m a big man, and can easily have two beers in a few hours without going over the legal limit, but when I’m out with the kids, I usually stick to a one-drink rule. Their safety comes first, and part of keeping them “safe” is ensuring I don’t go Cro-Magnon on their nanny’s new boy toy on the dance floor and scare her away.
I’ll just tell Clover we’re headed out, give her money for a cab—so she’s free to stay and hump Roid Rage’s thigh as long as she likes—and make a beeline for the play structure to fetch the kids.
Do not pass go.
Do not linger long enough to be introduced to the Chad the Chode in the Salmon Polo, who I’m itching to punch in his pimply chin.
Mind made up, I make a brief detour by the bar to say goodbye to the guys. I promise to put Capo’s product launch party on my schedule for Fat Tuesday—Why not? It’s not like I’ll have a date that night—and head for the dance floor.
It’s more crowded than it looked from the mezzanine, and Clover and Handsy Creep I Hate More than Head Lice aren’t where they were before.
They must have moved deeper into the crush.
I make a circuit of the floor, angling around a bachelorette party in matching plastic crowns wiggling to a Whitney Houston banger throbbing from the speakers. Whitney, warbling about wanting to “dance with somebody,” is more wholesome than Prince, but I’m not sure it matters. Once two people have gotten to the “humping in public” stage, they don’t exactly need musical encouragement.
Which is fine. Clover’s a free agent who can hump anyone she pleases.
I just don’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity while she’s doing it. I’d prefer to be in another time zone, but across town will have to do.
I check the pinball machines, remembering her saying she loved vintage pinball, but she’s not there, either.
She’s not…anywhere.
Not at the mezzanine bar or by the pool tables or in the kiddie zone below, checking in on the girls.
As I return to the dance floor, my chest tightens with worry. I remind myself that she’s an adult dancing in a public place and most likely fine. Maybe she hit the ladies’ room, or she and Roid Rage took the elevator down to the basement so he could show off his killing dinosaurs with a fake machine gun skills.
I’m about to head down to check when I see it—a flash of wild curls in the corner of my vision—and turn to see a laughing Clover disappearing through a flat black door next to the empty stage.
Handsy is hot on her heels…
The door swings shut behind them, disappearing into the wall. It isn’t an exit, or it would be clearly marked. It must be a backstage area or something.
I hesitate for a moment.
Clover led the way off the floor. She was smiling and laughing while she did it. She did not seem to be under any duress or to feel threatened in any way. She decided to seek out a more private change of location with Chad the Wonder Loser of her own free will, and that’s…fine.
It really is.
Only, can I really be sure it’s fine?
She barely knows this guy. She can’t be certain he’ll behave himself when they’re alone. It’s not disrespectful of her choices to just…pop my head in to make sure she’s okay. And if she is, I’ll tell her we’re leaving and excuse myself as quickly as possible.
I will not rip Roid Rage’s hands off.
I will not.
I am a grown adult, a father, and a player known for his cool head. I can come face-to-face with Clover making out with another man and remain in control.
Probably…
Willing myself to remember that there’s no one to take care of the girls if I end up in jail for strangling a meathead, I thread through the people now bouncing to the Beastie Boys to the black door.
I open it just far enough to slip through and close it behind me, surprised to be greeted by a gray cement wall. Guess it’s not a backstage area. It appears to be some kind of utility hall, wide, cool, and…strangely quiet.
There must be several layers of cinder block between the hall and the dance floor. The sound is significantly muffled, the lyrics of “Brass Monkey” reduced to a vibration against my palm as I brace a hand on the wall and follow the sound of voices coming from my right.
I peek around the corner, where the hallway continues behind the stage, to see Clover and Roid Rage locked in an awkward embrace.