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Blondie, or Leslie it would seem, tilts her head in my direction. “So this is Shit-storm?”
Who is Leslie? And what is shit-storm? And is no one going 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 it’s 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.
“No, Leslie,” Bell starts. “I don’t think—”
“Mike!” But my shout comes too late. The little fucker leaps from the baby carrier, his teddy-bear-covered ass tearing across the bar floor, pouncing on every moving dot of light.
It’s a cat’s laser light show fantasy come true.
His teddy bear hood falls off, and a woman with more sequins on her ass than all the Elvis impersonators combined screams. “Rat!”
Pandemonium.
The Elvises stop swinging their hips, too busy being body-checked by women hustling their high heels off the dance floor. Men in heavy boots are following, not wanting to lose sight of their dates. The music stops playing, but the disco lights are still in full effect.
All this means a shit ton of people in dangerous footwear are stomping around where Mike is playfully pouncing about like a nudist on acid.
Before I make it two steps toward the beast, a shrill whistle blasts through the air. Everyone slows and looks toward Bell, who takes her fingers out of her mouth and addresses the crowd.
“Stop moving! You’re going to kick Mike Hunt!”
* * *
Bell
“It hurts!”
I swing my body away from Chase and the ice pack he procured out of nowhere as he tries to press it against my bruised hand.
“Yeah, well, so does my face.” His eye is a little swollen.
“Yeah, well, you deserved it.” Yes, I’m aware I’m a grown-ass woman pouting. But all I care about right now are the bones I’m pretty sure were pounded to dust when I connected with Chase’s stupidly firm jaw.
“As Ms. King’s legal counselor, I need to ask if you are going to sue for damages.”
“What?” Chase and I say at the same time, turning to Leslie, who’s standing over us in her superhero boots.
