“Shall we?” she echoed in a tone that pitched with excitement.
“Fuckyes,we should!” Vivi exclaimed.
Lydia squealed through her nose. “Let’s do it!”
“I’m so fucking in.” I held up my glass. “Vegas, here we come!”
CHAPTERFIVE
Dante
I’d worn my newly-single status for just over a week. It was a skin that fitted like any other, yet clung a little tight around my chest. Like a wet t-shirt, but made of the feelings I turned off and shut out. It was a coping mechanism that most of the guys had. Becoming void of emotion was how we got through shit without it destroying us from the inside out.
“Another?” Jenny’s question broke my thoughts, and he thrust a fresh beer at me.
We (Jenny, Forrest, Doughboy, Pittsy, Tucker, and I) were on our way to Nashville Airport to fly out to Vegas for the night.
I twisted off the cap and flicked it across the backseat of the van. It caught him on the corner of his mouth, and I laughed my ass off while he fingered the tiny spot of welling blood.
“You’re lucky I’m not looking to hook up this weekend, asshole.”
I scoffed at Jenny’s indignant expression. “Chicks love guys a little roughed up. Mei will love it. You’ll be calling to thank me.”
“She’ll be calling to sass you out about breaking this beautiful face,” he deadpanned.
I shifted in my seat, trying to reposition the seatbelt to a more comfortable location.
“That,I can handle. What I can’t handle is my bladder threatening to burst. Yo, Fucker, we need to stop for a piss. It’s almost time to break the seal.”
Tuck’s eyes flicked from the road to connect with mine through the rearview mirror. “There’s enough empty bottles back there, Lote. Get inventive.”
Easy for him to say. He’d been sober for four years now, hence him sober driving. Truth was, Freddy Tucker—who we affectionately called either Tuck or Fucker—was on his second marriage after the previous one ended. Alcoholism had not only cost him his wife, but almost his career as a Green Beret. After going through rehabilitation, he pulled his life back together: new woman, new outlook, and no alcohol.
“I ain’t cleaning up your piss if you miss the bottle, though,” he added.
It was only an hour trip from Fort Campbell to Nashville, but the guys and I had cracked our first beers soon after breakfast, well before we hit the road. Normally, I could hold more than a fucking camel, but that was when I was sweating out what I was putting in. That, and I also blamed Tuck’s driving.
“Your driving is leaving a lot to be fucking desired, brother.”
Tuck didn’t say anything, but as soon as I lifted the bottle to my lips and was mid-drink, he slammed on the brakes and had me spitting beer down my front.
“The fuck, Fucker!”
The guys roared with laughter, all of them as drunk as I was and spurred on by the promises of a sinful weekend on the strip.
I had one mission and one alone: get fucked up until I couldn’t remember my own name.
Thankfully, Sadie had vanished from the house by the time I got home from the bar last week, taking most of her shit with her. She did, however, leave me with heartburn, a bad-ass attitude, and a nice fucking dent in the door panel of my Chevy Tahoe. While her cheating made me furious, the damage to my Chevy made me irate. From there, realization dawned. I actually cared more about the massive boot mark in the side of my ride than I did about kicking her ass to the curb.
Although my ego was still bruised, the breakup actually simplified my entire life. No woman meant no tearful goodbyes before a deployment. She wouldn’t constantly be in the back of my mind, knowing that if I didn’t make it through, she’d be left to pick up the pieces. It also meant my wallet would be a fuckton heavier.
“One bottle ain’t gonna cut it. There’s no way I can cut off mid-stream.”
While I couldn’t see his mouth in the mirror, Fucker’s eyes crinkled at the corners. Cheeky fuck was grinning his ass off at my predicament.
“Hold it. We all know you can go for hours.”
“Hours when I’m sweating as much fluid as I drink. All of this is going straight to my bladder,” I bitched, holding up the beer.