Page 88 of Inseparable
“Don’t start. This night is stretching my patience thin as it is.” I’m getting sick of this scene. A sure sign I’m getting old. If we weren’t away for the weekend on Rick’s bachelor party, I’d have bailed an hour ago. The persistent, loud, up-tempo beat of the music has already given me a headache.
“Are you ever these days?” he asks with a knowing look.
Danny and I met in college, and we both entered the police academy a little under three years ago after graduating UI early with honors degrees in criminology, law, and justice. After Ayden died and Ange left, I threw myself into my studies taking a full course load and additional classes at night and during the summer to graduate in half the usual time. At one time, I’d had notions of joining the Bureau, but I relinquished that ambition when I realized how much I loved my job as a cop and how much of a natural I was. I had the most arrests of any patrol officer in our unit, and I was pivotal in helping ATF capture a known arms trafficker. Thanks to that joint force operation, I was given an award and promoted six months ago, and now I’m assigned to the homicide division which is perfect because it gives me access to resources which enable me to continue my search.
Considering I spent a large part of my teenage years in and out of trouble with the local cops, I think it’s fucking hilarious I’ve ended up one. Ange would get a massive kick out of that.
Danny is looking at me pensively.
“You know why. It’s getting close, and this year will be the hardest one yet,” I tell him.
His look turns sympathetic. “I know, man. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.” I empty the soda into my mouth. “We’re here for Rick. I don’t want to think about that shit tonight.” God knows, it’s occupied enough of my headspace since it happened. It’s hard to believe the five-year anniversary of Ayden’s death is only a few short months from now—that it’s been almostfiveyears since he last walked the planet; almostfiveyears since I last set eyes on the love of my life.
The usual ache punches a hole in my heart.How the fuck can one girl drop off the radar so completely?I still can’t fathom it. Outside of work, I spend hours trawling the net, scouring the streets, hitting my contacts up, and putting out feelers—using every means at my disposal to search for Ange—but she may as well have been abducted by aliens. I can’t find any trace of her. She’s vanished, and I’ve no clue where she is. Or if she’s even still alive. She was in a dark place when she fled, and I haven’t stopped worrying about her since or chastising myself for not trusting my gut that last day. I knew something was up with her, but I allowed her to play me perfectly. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late.
She was already gone.
I need to find out what happened to her. I’ll find no peace until I do.
Danny’s smile is sad as he sits twiddling the wedding band on his finger. All the guys are starting to settle down, and this is the third bachelor party I’ve attended, so far, this year, while I’m still searching for the girl who ran away with my heart.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but maybe it’s time you moved on, man. She’s gone, and you can’t put your life on hold anymore.”
I sigh. This shit is starting to sound real old. “I’ll never give up on her. You know that, so stop wasting your breath.”
He gestures toward the blonde, still staring in my direction with a wistful look on her face. “What harm would it do to try with another woman? You haven’t had a relationship since the Dark Ages.”
It’s so damned ironic that the only relationship I’ve ever had was with Becky Carmichael. If you could call that epic fuck-up a relationship. “I just can’t go there.”
“You barely even hook up any more.”
Fact. Because the pain of waking up beside another woman, knowing it isn’t Ange, isn’t something I can handle anymore. Sex is a necessary release, and I only indulge when I’m primed to explode. It’s either that or turn to booze, and that’s not so easy to recover from, whereas sex with a random stranger is forgotten the instant I come.
“It’s not easy for me.”
“Sure it is.” He smirks, grabbing his crotch. “You just take that nice broad back to your hotel room, strip the clothes off her smoking hot body, and jam your rod into her pussy. Then it’s rock and roll, dude.” He rolls his hips forward, drilling his point home.
I poke him in the ribs. “Cut that shit out, you’re making me ill. How you ever managed to convince Juanita to marry you is a fucking miracle. Does she know her husband still uses words like rod? Rod? Seriously, dude?”
A loud roar erupts from our table, and a chorus of wolf whistles rings out, drawing the attention of the nearby crowd. Danny looks over my shoulder, rubbing his hands in glee. “Showtime, baby.”
The bartender appears with a chair and a smug smile, setting it down in the center of the floor. Matt shoves Rick into it, not that he needs much persuasion. The music changes, and a sexy, sultry beat reverberates off the walls. The stripper enters the far side of the room, and the crowd hollers their approval. I squint in the dim lights, focusing on her rocking body as she struts confidently toward the groom to be. She’s dressed in a hot pink open-necked shirt, displaying a magnificent cleavage and the edge of a lacy black bra. Long, slender legs poke out from under an ass-skimming black mini skirt. Sheathed in fishnet stockings, her legs are the stuff of dreams. Dainty feet are encased in killer sky-high heels as she struts toward Rick. Wavy red hair tumbles out the back of her cap, reaching beyond her shoulder blades, and she’s twirling a baton, so I guess she got the memo we’re cops. She’s, arguably, the hottest, sexiest, classiest stripper I’ve ever seen.
“Hot damn,” Danny shouts in my ear. “Why the hell didn’t you hire her formybachelor party?”
I turn to him, struggling to contain my laughter. “Your bachelor party was fourteen hundred miles away, and I doubt she’d have traveled that far.” I can’t fight my smile any longer. “Besides, you loved the fat stripper. Especially the part where she buried your head in her tits.” I bark out a laugh as a familiar look of horror washes over his face.
Catcalls ring out around us, and we return our attention to the action on the floor. The stripper has her back to us as she leans over Rick, showcasing a peach of an ass, barely covered in a lacy black thong. She flicks her palm back and forth across his crotch, and Rick spreads his legs, locking his hands behind his head, grinning as he eye-fucks the girl without shame.
“Oh, fuck,” Danny exclaims, articulating what I’m thinking. Rick’s inability to keep his dick in his pants has already led to two failed attempts up the aisle. I have a feeling we could be looking at number three in the works. Thing is, Rick’s a stand-up guy—when he’s not drinking. He’s one of the few guys I know I can always rely on to have my back. But put a beer or ten in his path, and he turns into the biggest dick of all time.
The girl whips off her shirt to the delight of the mostly male crowd. The muscles in her slim back move as she straddles Rick, grinding against him in tune to the music. She thrusts her chest in his face, in and out, in a teasing fashion, never quite letting him make contact. Rick is practically foaming at the mouth.
He grabs her ass, and she playfully swats his chest, removing his hands and putting them back on the arms of the chair. She leans in, whispering something in his ear. He smirks, and she tosses her hair with a flick of her wrist.
“Holy shit. I’m as a hard as rock just watching,” Danny announces. I don’t confirm I’m the same, because my vocal cords have stopped working. Along with my heart. The lighting is shit in here, so I can’t see the exact pattern of the ink on her wrist, but even the thought of it is enough to send me into coronary-inducing territory.
