The light throb is a reminder that I’m a strong beast of girl who can put those killer cardio-kickboxing class and elementary school Tae Kwon Do moves to good use when needed. Getting up, I doctor a cup of coffee and plop back down on the couch, turning on old gameshow reruns as background noise as I curl up with my laptop. For some reason, listening to Richard Dawson asking what the survey said gets my creative juices flowing.
I click around, checking my emails, Instagram, and Twitter to see if there’s anything I can cull into a story for the tabloid. There isn’t much. An Instagram girl famous for her booty seems to be stiffing her video editor, both literally and financially. I also cobble together a quick hundred-word blurb about a celebutante dining at the fanciest restaurant in town with her brother, noting that they’re rarely seen together in public. It isn’t much, but it’ll keep Jeanine happy enough to not bug me on my day off.
Nothing’s really smashing ground-breaking journalism, but it’s what I’ve got. Fortunately, I’m still riding high on the Jimmy Keys expose story I was able to write based on his appearance in the club. Jeanine ate that up like candy, just like I knew she would.
I’d even written a couple of follow-up pieces about the fallout when his wife found out, and then when he admitted to having a sex addiction and was seeking treatment.
I think his reaction’s a bit overblown and probably more to save his reputation, considering he was just getting a lap dance. There’s no need for the melodrama, but the cynical side of me wasn’t surprised to see the pedestal-living pseudo-hero fall to Earth with a crash.
After a few more minutes of clicking around, I find myself staring at the TV screen mindlessly rather than digging for more juicy stories. Sure, it’s a waste of time, but it feels good to laugh as a bunch of pseudo-celebrities swap one-liners and give double-entendres for answers to ridiculous questions. It’s light and bright. Nothing they’re saying really matters, but that’s what makes it fun.
Setting my laptop aside, I give in to the draw of the show, but after a few minutes, my phone rings. I mute Charles Nelson Reilly, circa 1978, to grab it, seeing it’s Allie.
“Hey, Allie. What’s kickin’?”
“Are you serious right now?” Allie asks, sounding outraged and amused at the same time. “You punch an asshole customer out last night, and today, you’re all casual, ‘Hey, Allie, what’s kickin’?’ Bitch, you’d better start spilling the story.”
I grin, loving how she’s blunt and straight to the point. She also shows that she cares that way. The more direct she gets, the more she likes you. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
Allie guffaws. “Actually, pause right there because I need to see your face when you tell this story. I gotta see how much of your bullshit you actually believe. What are you doing right now?”
I look around my apartment, at the muted show I’m watching, the nest of blankets wrapped around me on my couch, and me still in my pajamas. “Literally, nothing. Why?”
“Perfect. I’m picking you up in fifteen minutes and we’re going for mani-pedis so I can hear it all. Okay?”
“That sounds great, actually,” I admit, grinning. When Allie makes me offers like this, she always insists on picking up the tab. “I’ll be ready.”
We hang up, and I hurry to get ready, pulling on shorts, a T-shirt, and flip flops before retying my ponytail and swiping some mascara and lipgloss on. It’s not fancy, but it’s what I’ve got on short notice. I’m just making sure my mouthwash is doing its job when I hear a knock, and I know I’m out of time.
Of course, when I open the door, Allie looks like a million bucks. Her chocolate hair is hanging straight down her back, her makeup is impeccable but perfect for daytime, and while she’s also wearing shorts and a T-shirt, she manages to look like a Pinterest pin while I look like a fashion don’t list victim.
“Are you planning on handing out heart attacks today?” I ask, and Allie grins.
“Nope, that’s your job. You look gorgeous,” she says.
I smooth the wrinkles out of my T-shirt and laugh. “You must be high! Come on, let’s go. Who’s driving?”
“Like you have to ask,” Allie says, dangling her keys. “Come on, I’ll drive.”
Forty minutes later, we’re sitting in matching pedicure chairs, my feet already feeling softer as they soak in eucalyptus-scented water. “Mmm . . . nice.”
“So, what color do you think?” Allie says, flipping through the color guide. “I’m thinking dark navy blue, something that’ll stand out.”
“Yeah . . . I don’t think so,” I reply, flipping through my own copy. “Hey, what do you think?”
I hold up my card, a pinkish light lavender that just caught my attention. Allie grins, giving me a thumbs-up. “Totally you. It’s so sweet I need to check myself for diabetes.”
I stick out my tongue, and Allie laughs. A few minutes later, our technicians take our choices and get to work, buffing and smoothing our feet until they tingle.
As the ladies really get into their work, Allie looks over at me, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, now spill it.”
“Well, I was working the floor,” I begin before giving her an edited play-by-play of last night’s events. Of course, I have to leave out names. We’re in public, and I know that name dropping could bring unwanted attention. “So, anyway, I socked him in the nose.”
“You caught that motherfucker in the nose?” Allie asks, barely containing a fist pump. “How’d the boys react?”
I think back to the shocked looks on Dominick and Shane’s faces, and I grin. “I surprised them pretty good, I think. I’m sure they thought I didn’t have it in me. Honestly, I didn’t think I had it in me either, but watching the way he was trying to weasel, I just knew I had to fight back. Or else.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else I was going to be afraid of jerks like that my whole life,” I reply. “And you know what? It felt really good to stand up to him that way. I think the guys probably scared the bejesus out of him more though. Hopefully, he won’t try coming around again.”
Allie gives me an odd look, like I must be having the sillies or something. “Uhm, he definitely won’t come around again if he knows what’s good for him. I’m sure they beat the shit out of him. Did you see the guys again last night?”
I think back, then shake my head. “No, Bossman came in and told me I could take off early, considering everything. He even comped me the missed tips—reached into his pocket and slipped two Bennies in my hand like it was nothing. I was so surprised, I went straight home and slept like the dead till late this morning. Why?”
Allie seems uncertain if she should say more but finally hums to herself and makes a decision. “Well, I saw the boss’s hands later. He had a few scrapes, and his right shoe was scuffed. And I’m thinking your knight had more of an axe to grind.”
“How so?”
Allie bites her lip before replying. “Later, when he was walking us out, I noticed that one of his hands was bandaged. I asked, and he said he was fine, but . . . if I could give you a guess, I’d say your knight laid a major asswhipping on your motherfucker.”
I let that sink in.
Dom and Shane beat Miles up . . . for me. I should be horrified at the caveman-like behavior, disgusted that they sank that low instead of . . . what? Using their words? Not saying pretty please and calling the cops?
I scoff at my own line of thinking. It’s not like this is kindergarten, and I know Dominick protects the club and his girls fiercely. They used brute force because they’re able to and that’s what the situation called for, especially after Shane gave Miles a threatening talk the first time around.
I mean, even I got a shot in, so their beating him up isn’t all that different from what I did, right? Maybe more aggressive, taken further, but I know that deep inside, I’m not upset at what they did.
I’m thankful they defended me that way, made me and all the other women Miles has likely tried to intimidate safer with their actions.
“Well, I’m glad then. If I never see that poohead again, it’ll be too soon.”
Allie chuckles, shaking her head. “Poohead. I swear the universe missed out on one of the greatest jokes in history when you weren’t named Pollyanna. Then again, you don’t seem upset by the news.”