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He disconnects and tosses his phone on the bar top. “Shut up, all of you. Goddamn it, where are these costumes?” He wanders to the seating area where two leather sofas sit near the big fireplace.
We all follow and watch as he sorts through garment bags, each with a name card attached. He starts passing them out. “Better grab a shower and get into these quick, boys. Our ol’ ladies are on their way.”
We each get our bag and head to our rooms.
I take a quick shower, then walk out of the bathroom in a towel and unzip the bag. “A pirate. That’s not so bad. Cool.”
I exit the room and head down the hall just as Utah comes out of his room. I take one look at his costume and bust out laughing. He’s dressed as a furry wolf, with his face in the wolf’s mouth.
“Shut up, asshole. Who the fuck are you supposed to be?”
“Captain Jack Sparrow. Isn’t it obvious?”
“Well, you need more of a swagger than that. He always looked half in the bag.”
I slap a hand on his shoulder. “Can’t wait to see what Little Red Riding Hood looks like. I bet she’s sexy as hell.”
“You stay the fuck away from her, or I’ll take that sword and shove it up your ass.”
I remove my feathered hat and take a sweeping bow. “I can’t help it if the ladies love me, now, can I?”
“Shut up.” He stalks off, his big tail swishing behind him.
I swat at it, and he grabs it up in his paws.
“Knock it off.” He keeps walking. “I’m gonna kill Kate for putting me in this ridiculous thing.”
My laughter follows him down the hall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Baja—
The clubhouse is crowded with people and the music is blaring. I’m playing pool with Starlord, Le Stat, and the Big Bad Wolf.
Utah bends to make a shot, his big furry paws looking ridiculous wrapped around the cue, and his tail curls up and hits Memphis in the face.
I almost snort beer out my nose.
When Rock rounds the corner. I scan his outfit and burst into laughter.
“Hello, Dad.”
He comes to a dead stop when he sees me. “Oh, fucking hell.”
“Is that mom hanging from your belt?”
He looks at the shrunken head. “Yeah. She got mouthy, like you.”
Trez snaps his fingers and points at his father. “Ah, you’re Keith Richards.”
Rock gives him a death glare. “Not exactly.”
After he stalks off, Trez elbows me. “Got any smokes?”
I dig a pack out of my jacket and pass them over.
“You really think it’s over?” I ask.
