Page 35 of Aced (Driven 4)
And I know how she felt—needing the fresh air—because I feel the same way. Isn’t that why I’m here right now? Decompressing. Grabbing a few minutes while she’s taking a nap after the excitement of my visit to Tawny today, to hang with Becks, shoot the shit, and get a change of scenery to make me a better man. Sitting in your own house day after day can wear on any man. Make you feel like an animal in the zoo: caged, pacing, and constantly toyed with by those on the outside looking in.
I grit my teeth and thank fuck the back entrance of Sully’s pub was paparazzi-free so Sammy could drop me off and I could slide in and meet Becks without being mobbed. After yesterday and how they treated Ry, my fuse is short and ready to ignite at the slightest misstep.
“Was it strange seeing her again after all this time?” Becks asks as he lifts his beer to his lips.
“Is the sky blue? Fuck, man . . . it was weird. But she gave me what I needed to know so maybe she’s changed some.”
“Don’t give her that much credit,” he murmurs.
“I don’t give her any.”
“Smart,” he says and slides the cardboard coaster around on the table. “Should have known Eddie would be the one to pull shit like this. Fucker.”
“Fucker,” I repeat because anything else would be a waste of breath. I glance at my phone to make sure Ry or Kelly hasn’t texted since the noise in the bar is getting louder the longer we sit here.
“Everything okay?”
“After ten more of these it will be. Need to drink to forget,” I say, rolling my shoulders and letting out a frustrated sigh. Too much shit, too damn fast. I want my happy, baby-crazed wife back. Her job back. Our life back. “It’s not gonna help shit and I’ll be sicker than a dog in the morning, but sometimes, it’s just what the doctor ordered.”
“Truth. And I’ve got just the prescription for us,” Becks says as he motions to the waitress again to head over to our regular table tucked in the back.
“What can I get you boys?” she asks, smile wide and cleavage jiggling.
“Bottle of Patron Gold. Two shot glasses, please. We need to forget,” Becks says.
“That’ll sure do the job,” she says with a lift of her eyebrows. “Looks like you’re going to be stuck here for a while anyway with the way paparazzi are stacking up outside.”
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
“Sorry, hon. We find out who in here called, we’re kicking their sorry asses to the curb,” she says louder than normal so those around us can hear her. She starts to walk away and then stops and turns around. “And we’ll stick ’em with your tab.”
I throw my head back with a laugh. “I like the way you think.”
She returns within minutes, our ongoing tab and prior large tips always earning us the best service. “Here you go, boys,” she says, as she sets two full shot glasses in front of us, and the bottle in between us. “May God rest your souls.”
“Amen to that,” Becks says as he lifts his glass. “What’s the first thing we need to forget?”
“Paparazzi.”
“Cheers,” he says as we tap our glasses against each other’s. “Fuck you, paparazzi.”
We toss the shots back. My throat burns as the warmth starts to flood through me. Becks lifts a lime from the bowl on the table and I mutter, “Pussy,” under my breath, earning me a flip of his finger. “Umm.” I think of what I want to forget next. “Fucking CJ.”
“Okay,” he draws the word out as he pours us another shot, “but if I’m drinking to forget something, I need to know what I’m supposed to forget since I sure as hell hope you’re not fucking CJ.”
“No. I’m not fucking CJ.” I belt out a laugh. My mind is starting to spin as I glance around the bar. “Because my goddamn hands are cuffed and not in a good way. He called earlier, said that in the eyes of the law, the tape was public. Eddie didn’t steal it from us per se. He uploaded it for free . . . isn’t making any money off it and so we can’t do shit about it. He gets his kicks fucking with us and we have no legal means to get back at him.”
“Sure as shit there are other means though,” he says with a smirk and a raise of his fist.
“Now that,” I say as I hold up my shot, “I’ll drink to. Cheers, brother.”
“Cheers.”
Our glasses clink. The tequila burns until it warms. Our laughter gets louder and our cheers get sloppier and take longer to come up with.
But I begin to forget.
About Eddie. The pressure to fix it all. And the thousands of men jacking off to the image of my wife holding her tits as she comes. And the rage over how she lost her job. And becoming a father. The need to win the next race. Being told to bite my tongue with the press.
