Page 2

Grease

Present Day:

“How the fuck did I end up here?” I practically yell at the room as I sit on the old, ratted, but comfy-as-hell sofa in the common area of the clubhouse.

“Language! There are children in the room!” Sunny yells, and I look at her incredulously. I notice Rome snickering from the chair beside me. He’s the only child in the room at the moment, and a demon at that.

“What are you talking about, woman? He has a bigger curse vocabulary than I do!” I scowl while running my hands down the dress — yes, you heard that right — that is now bunched up from how I'm sitting.

Again, I ask myself how I got into this situation. Then the fucker who is responsible for this and every other lousy bet gone wrong walks into the room.

Gray “Grim” motherfucking Adams. It's because of him and these stupid damn bets that I have a fully pierced dick. A Jacob's ladder complete with the crown some would like to call a Prince Albert. That mother fucker. I ended up losing so many bets that I had to replace piercings with tattoos. Seeing as I have gauged ears, two black rings in one eyebrow, my lip, and nipples pierced unless I wanted to pierce my damn belly button (no fucking way), tattoos were next. Though I am nearly covered head to toe, I only have a few special places left untatted after all the losses. So I had to go with something else for losing this one.

How the hell was I supposed to predict it would be sweet little Sunny who started the latest round of chicken and upped the stakes? We started out on the kids' three-wheeled trike. Then went to the kids' little motorized jeep and Harley toys when that got boring. From there, it went to go-karts, then four-wheelers. The last stunt we pulled, Sunny decided enough was enough.

So because I put my trust in Sunny, and lost, I am stuck in a fucking Elsa costume for Jett's birthday party… and I'm not happy at all about it. Mainly because Prez wouldn't let me rent a reindeer and snow machine to really get into character. We are in Georgia, and there is never the possibility of snow, and I’m supposed to be Elsa! I can't pull this Elsa shit off without the snow. What a fucking disappointment. I mean, come on, Jett would have loved the full experience.

The other reason I’m pissed is because I'm stuck in a fucking dress… for a whole day. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those pussies that believe men should never be seen in a dress. Personally, I could give two fucks what you wear as long as you don't fuck my day up. No, what I have a problem with is the fact that this fucker thinks I'm going to get underneath a car with this damn thing on. I can't do my job in this shit.

I tap my foot and cross my arms, staring daggers at the fucker heading for his woman. Jade is trying not to laugh at my current state, and Grim turns to look at what she finds so funny. When his eyes meet mine, I reach down for my gun to aim it at his boisterous, loud, laughing ass-face. Just to realize I can't get to my gun. Want to take a guess about why? Yup! You guessed it! THIS FUCKING ELSA DRESS!!!

“Oh, it's so much better than I imagined,” he barely gets out through his laughter.

“You better just be happy I love my nieces and nephews. If not, I would stab you straight through the fucking eye socket,” I say, growling at him.

“With what? Your icicles? Or you gonna have Olaf do it for you with that big carrot nose he’s got,” Rome interjects.

With that, the entire room erupts into laughter. The women are crossing their legs, which I’ve been told is so they don't pee themselves since they've all had kids, and Grim, Trip, and even Alex are nearly in tears. The fuckers. I’ll have to put a bunny rabbit in his car again before he goes to work. I get up to walk out, flipping my white braid and my middle finger at the room. All I can say is payback is a bitch.

Four hours and a million pictures later, I’m standing on the platform where the pool tables are usually moved for the party. I clear my throat, getting ready for my performance. With my club brothers, their old ladies, and all their children as witnesses, I belt out ‘Let it go.’

I’m right on key, the beat is strong, and I’m just getting into my routine when I hear a small voice from the crowd.

“You’re singing it wrong,” Paisley says from the front row. I continue as if I wasn't interrupted during my debut, but another voice is louder this time.

“Yo Unk Grease. My girl said you’re singing it wrong. That means start over and do it right!” Rome hollers, and with that, I stomp my motorcycle boot and dress-wearing ass over to my club President, bend down from my stage, and throw my hands in the air,

“I can't work under these conditions!”

****

I yelled at my president, upset Paisley, and nearly ran after, and strangled, Rome after his “Well, at least you’ve got the Queen role down perfectly. Drama Queen, that is,” comment. So, I was banished to the garage and forced to slave away here for the rest of the day.

Well, that works for me because I have two cars, one truck, and two motorcycles to work on, and not one damn person criticizing my work.

I pull up my fucking skirts and lay flat on the roll cart, tinkering around under the car, replacing the drive shaft, then rolling back out. I move around the car, sit in the driver's seat, and give it a go. Just when I think I’ve got this thing fixed, the fucker backfires. Loudly. So loud my ears are ringing.

“Fuck, I need to check the spark plugs,” I say aloud, working my jaw and trying to relieve some of the ringing in my ears. I really wanted to be done with this piece of junk. Doesn't help that I’m in this fucking dress… still. So, the spark plugs might be faulty. If it's not that, then it could be the fuel. Just add another thing to the list of shit going wrong around here. I hate this shit. I usually love my job. I can spend all day and night at the shop. But not in this fucking dress.

As my hearing returns, I lower my brows when I think I hear a whimper coming from somewhere nearby. I stick my finger in my ears and wiggle them around, thinking I must be hearing things. I get out of the driver's seat, and when I do, my eyes lock on the figure standing in the doorway. Not just any figure. Becky, and she looks absolutely terrified. I see the signs a moment before she goes down and lunge for her, knowing there's no way in hell I can get to her in time.

I watch in horror as she hits the hard ground before curling into a ball.

“NO!”