Page 110 of Headstrong Like Us

23

FARROW KEENE

4 weeks until the wedding

I take a drag from a cigarette,popular remixed songs beating throughout a massive Key West club. Neon strobe lights sweep our leather couches and table in a roped-off VIP section. Safely keeping camera-wielding fans at bay.

I don’t blame them for wanting pictures of my bachelor party. All of SFO is here, and we’ve always been the hottest fuckers in security.

“Groom’s turn,” Banks nods to me.

I blow smoke up in the air and pry a Jenga block from the tower. Black marker bleeds into the wooden piece. I read the words, “Maximoff Motherfucking Hale.” I stare blankly at the best man who put this drinking game together. “How many ‘Maximoff’ blocks are there?”

Donnelly smirks. “Coulda put more in there.”

I’ve already picked four out.

“Consider it a gift, Redford. We know you love pulling his wood,” Oscar quips, unfurling a piece of paper. About to ask me a question pertaining to my groom.

I flip him off and stick my cigarette back between my lips. “What do you have for me, boys.” I unpocket my cellphone.

“No cheating.” Thatcher reaches over to take my phone.

I retract and give him a look. “You planning to take the Cobalt name because you sure as hell act like one?”

He almost rolls his eyes, and Banks shoves a bottle of champagne in his twin brother’s chest.

Oscar passes the paper to Akara. Our boss has been switching between his cellphone, the champagne, back to his cellphone all night. He swigs from the bottle Thatcher gives him, then reads a question to me, “Did Maximoff Hale tell a cameraman that he really likes whipped cream and strawberries?”

I tilt my head back and forth. “Fuck.” They picked the most obscure shit that I’d never know. And they have the luxury of Google-searching random facts about my groom. That’s what I get for falling in love with an American prince.

“Is that the final answer?” Quinn asks.

“No, and no, Maximoff didn’t say that.” I can’t see why he would.

“Wrong.” Akara smiles. “He said it when he was six.”

I clap for them, cigarette between my lips. “You all really went dumpster diving for these questions.” They look pleased with themselves—because they know it’s funny as hell. Amusement has been the theme of tonight, but it’s also been accompanied by vigilance and restlessness.

SFO has joked that we’re the “grown-up” bachelor party since Maximoff has underage teens attending his, and they’re at a campy beach-themed bar.

The reality: we’re all away from our clients, and while temp bodyguards are watching them, it’s set most of us on edge. We oscillate between laughing and glancing towards entrances, exits. As though the people we live to protect will show up, or we’ll need to rush to them.

Donnelly uncaps a marker and draws the fifth “x” on my cheekbone. They wanted the punishment to be more than “chug a beer” and to last all night.

Jack Highland’s turn.

He scoots nearer to the Jenga tower. He’s been sitting really close to Oscar at the nightclub, and Donnelly caps the marker, watching their interactions with me.

“You’ve been pretty good at Jenga tonight,” Jack says to Oscar with a bright mega-watt smile. “Which would you suggest? Top or bottom?” He points between a top and bottom block.

Okay, I’m not even sure if Highland knows what he’s saying.

Donnelly mouths to me,straight.I suck on my cigarette, casual and not too worried. I’m not going to interfere with whatever the hell that is. But if Oscar catches feelings for a straight boy, we’ll both be here to pick up the pieces. Always are.

Oscar leans back and narrows his eyes at Jack. “Are you asking for sex advice, Long Beach?”

Jack laughs. “I wasn’t. But if I were, I would go to you—I’m sure you do well in that department.” Before Oscar can reply, Jack rotates back to the game and says quickly, “I’m serious about the blocks though. Top or bottom?”