I was just about to shut my laptop when I spotted a recent tagged picture of her and a familiar face—my neighbor. I clicked on the image and zoomed in.
“No way!” I started talking to myself again. “She’s banging him? Gross!” I shivered.
I no longer felt sorry for the lousy lay that my neighbor had probably been. Sara could eat a dick for all I cared.
Six
Victor
Waiting for my week to finish up had been like waiting on my eighty-two-year-old grandma to finish her rum; it was gone before I knew it. Somehow, I had made it a few days without screwing Samantha, and now, the opportunity had arrived, in a little black dress with cleavage plunging down the valley of fuck me tonight titties.
“Hop in.” I motioned for her to come inside while my driver held the door open.
“Fancy! So, whose funeral is it? I’ve only ridden in a limo once before, and that was when my great-aunt passed,” Samantha said, crawling in beside me.
“That’s a bad limo experience. Let’s hope this is a better one. We won’t be going to any funerals, but we are going to a dive bar, if that’s okay?”
We were a tad overdressed for a dive bar, but I’d heard all week about some famous singer, Jason Jones, down from Nashville. Of course, I had pulled some strings and gotten the best seats in the house—luckily. I had tried to get front-and-center seats, but the manager had said something about his wife being there, and she wouldn’t like that. I had still managed to reserve decent seats with a little bit of bribery and a whole lot of cash. I hoped if I took Samantha somewhere that wasn’t so stuffy, it would cool her jets on this alpha-male crap she’d kept harping on about.
“What dive bar is it?” She situated herself beside me as we took off.
I couldn’t help but notice that her dress kept riding up so high that I could see a peek of her panties underneath. Lilac and lacy.
Fuck.
“House of Blues. Some famous guy is—”
“Jason Jones? You’re taking me to see Jason Jones?” she squealed, clapping her hands together as if I’d answered her prayer.
“I take it, you’ve heard of him,” I said, raising my eyebrows.
“Who hasn’t? Have you been to his shop in Nashville? Deuce’s? Oh my gosh, it’s amazing! I hear he doesn’t get to work there much anymore. He’s too busy with gigs and albums. But such a humble story. Doesn’t hurt that he’s one hell of a good-looking dude too.”
“Good-looking, eh?” I tugged at my jacket sleeves and brushed off a piece of lint from my knee. Maybe I didn’t need to stand next to this Jason Jones dude.
“He is.” She looked me up and down, grinning. “He’s also married.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t even known I was holding.
“So, I guess he won’t be whisking you off to Nashvegas then. Darn. And here I thought, I was going to hire a new event planner. Maybe even put Sara in that position.”
“Ouch. She couldn’t do what I do even if she worked day and night, trying. Besides, she’s busy banging my pervy neighbor.”
“Huh? How do you know that?”
“She added me on Facebook. I didn’t want to add her. I don’t like to mix my business and personal life. It’s just business, right? But I figured she wasn’t someone I wanted to turn down either. I have nothing to hide from her. She won’t be slandering me like she did your Bitch Who Must Not Be Named.”
“Great. Well, double-check that you aren’t in a bikini in any photos. God forbid that woman see a hot chick! She sees red. I’ve never seen someone so jealous of other women in my life. She’s just … bitter.”
“Noted. I’m pretty much a hermit though, so she can’t mess with me. Also, I know she’s boning the guy next door. I could just hit her back with that. That’s shameful enough. He has a thing for having an audience—of birds.”
“This conversation is confusing me. Let me get this straight. For starters, you aren’t running away with the famous Jason Jones. Phew. That’s a relief. For two, Sara added you on Facebook because she’s starting to feel like you’re in her territory, which is me; I’m her territory. But you said you could handle her, so that takes care of that. But for three, she’s banging your neighbor who has pet birds that like to watch him fuck.”
“Wow, you did good.” She squeezed my knee, sending that damn vibration up my leg and into my crotch, making my dick hard once again.
“I think you got your bases covered.” I leaned over to press my lips against hers. I couldn’t hold out any longer. I had to kiss her.
“I can take care of myself,” she mumbled into my mouth.
“Ms. Independent. Don’t I know it!” I felt her smile.
We made our way inside the packed building. Already, the room was filled with women—hot women—and a handful of men. Since tonight was some special event with limited seating, tables were set up in front of the stage where it usually tended to become a mosh pit. I had spent a few drunken nights here as a younger man and maybe as an older one too. I scanned the tables for a Beaumont tag, finally finding it right next to the front-and-center table. Good enough. Sometimes, I even impressed myself. Whoever had reserved this table before me would be getting a fat paycheck. It was a win-win situation all around.
“Whoa! These seats are amazing. Thanks, Victor! I’ve never been this close to the stage before.” Samantha’s face lit up as I pulled her chair out for her.
“Limo rides, front-row seating. What else can I woo you with tonight?” I asked as I scooted closer to her so that we both faced the stage.
“Yourself. Just be yourself. No fake personality crap.”
“I feel like I’m being interrogated tonight or like I’m on trial. Are you judging me? Trying to get to know Voodoo Victor?”
“I thought you didn’t like that name. You sure do use it a lot for not liking it. Just saying.” She unfolded her napkin and set it in her lap, avoiding eye contact with me.
“You are judging me tonight. Okay, I’ll be on my best behavior.” Spoiler alert: I wouldn’t be.
“So, you know how I am—fresh meat on the market. I have to be picky. One red flag and …” She dragged her finger across her neck and made a screeching sound.
“Shit. How am I doing so far?” I asked, picking up the menu and thumbing through it. I needed a drink.
“I’m only teasing! You’re great … so far.” She reached for my hand and gave it a little pat.
“In that case, let me set the bar higher.”
“Oh, yeah? How so?”
The waiter came by to take our order, interrupting our conversation and then hurrying off into the crowd.
“You were saying?” she continued, pulling me out of my trance.
“I said, I’m going to set the bar high. Just watch.” My foot fidgeted under the table. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. I was making shit up as I went. Basic bullshitter Beaumont.
“I’m watching.” She held two fingers to her eyes and then pointed at mine.
My butt cheeks clenched tight.