Kris
“For you, Travolta.” Mitty, my smart—ass bartender, smirks, pushing a hurricane glass with what looks like a slushed whiskey sour poured through it.
“Shut it,” I grumble, still trying to get the fucking glitter off of me. Fucking Cliff. He sabotaged the damn balloons, knowing I couldn't resist popping a few, so I set those time bombs free. Of course, I was strong-armed into letting Cliff use my space. I told Nikki that I had emergency cash, this place is what generates that, and hey, it’s nice to have the keys to a bar when you run out at home.
I down the drink only to get an instant brain freeze. “Shit—cock sucker.” I grab the bridge of my nose while Mitty chuckles, and I hear a squeal that makes that damn headache even worse. Looking up, I see that Nikki has been hoisted up on the shoulder of a young—ish man. He’s not very tall, but his salmon-colored suit is a perfect contrast to his dark skin and box braids.
If he drops her, I’m gonna laugh and then kick this dude's ass. She laughs as he puts her down, and I get a decent look at the boy. Yeah, he’s probably like twenty—five, and for fuck’s sake, it’s T—date. An up—and—coming R&B Rapper that did the background vocals for Nikki’s Double Shot single Kickback. My eyes narrow as he leans into her. He’s not got the most sparkling of reputations.
My phone chimes and I look at it a bit bleary-eyed. What am I supposed to do in a bar besides drink?
Cliff: BFF power card activated—go dance with the b-day girl.
Me: Not a chance.
Cliff: If you want her rep intact, you’ll fucking save the girl who don’t know better than to save herself.
Me: I said—
My phone sails out of my hand as I’m shoved onto the dance floor. For fuck’s sake. Looking back, I see Cliff finger wave me toward them. Now that I’m on the floor, I got little choice.
Shaking my head and still brushing off glitter, I approach. As I get closer, I can see she’s actually looking pretty flustered, and her mouth is turned in a grimace.
Tapping T—Date, I clear my throat. “May I cut in?”
“Nah, dog, I got this tied up.” He shrugs me off.
“Yeah, I don’t know exactly what you got, but I can tell ya you’re crusin’ for a brusin’ if ya don’t let up on the lady now.” I squeeze his shoulder, and he rolls on me.
“I said I got i—” He stops cold, looking up at me. He can’t be more than five-seven, I’m just over six foot, but I’m sure I’m not who he’s looking at.
“Need a hand, boss?” A deep Texas twang punches through. That would be Jonesy, my bouncer. Six feet four and a half inches of cold obsidian who just loves his job.
“See that our guest here gets a painkiller on the house.” I knock past the dumbfounded wannabe and put my hand out to Nikki. “Should we?”
She bites her lip, taking my hand. “Thank you.” The ass shaker song changes over to Boot Scootin’ Boogie as she speaks.
I grin. “Do you?”
“Can you keep up? You are old and all.”
“Child—” I groan, grabbing her and twisting her around. She chuckles as the room seems to divide. The locals love it, her friends—not so much. The floor clears to a degree, but I could give a shit. Seeing her smile reminds me of Claudette, and for the moment, I want that memory in my head. We’re one-upping each other until the song ends, and then I hear him, George Strait. The slow melody of I Cross My Heart fills the room. I swallow, Do. Not. Get. Emotional. She swallows, and I shrug, grabbing her little waist with my left hand and palming her right. It’s a little stiff and filled with the awkwardness of siblings being forced to dance for the cameras at the overly decorated family wedding.
“This is weird, right?” I look down at her with a short clearing of my throat. Before she can answer me, I hear Cliff.
Thank Christ.
“Guys, Lorraine Montgomery from channel nine is here. She wants an interview.”
“Wh—why?” I pull her into me instinctively, her hand landing on my chest and her foot crunching mine.
“I may have mentioned you were going to be producing her new album debut as Nicolette Barrett.” He shrinks a bit as I glare.
“You—” I look past him, and there she is, the channel nine mouthpiece. Cross her, and your career is over before it begins. I hate this bitch, but she used to give pretty good head, if I remember. I can feel Nikki trying to climb into my shirt. I gently pry her off of me. “Look, all you gotta do is renounce all that you were. Tell her what she wants to hear.” I whisper as I pull her, dragging her feet away from Cliff.
“What if I fuck it up?” I hear her but ignore it. She stops dead. “KRIS!” She grits out, and I turn toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders. She looks up at me with those big shining hazel eyes.
“So long as you’re honest, she won’t eat you or me alive. Control the conversation, and if you can’t let me.”
She drops her head back. “I really hate Pierce right now. Like this week hasn’t been fucked enough.”
“Yeah, Cliff can be an ass, but Cliff means well.” This Pierce shit is so dumb. “Come on.” We walk toward Lorraine, and I screw on my smile as I spray some Binaca into my mouth.
“Kris King.” She smirks, putting out her hand as I motion Nikki into the booth. “You look about as well as expected.” Her drawl is not nearly as thick as she makes it out to be, just like her hair isn’t actually blonde, and her eyes aren’t blue. To tell the truth, her parents are from Flushing, Queens. So take that how you like.
I kiss her knuckles and see the four-carat rock on her finger. “Seems you snagged a winner, Lori.” I’m getting a fucking toothache for the saccharine taste of my words.
She looks at Nikki and extends that same hand though turning to shake. “Loraine Montgomery, channel nine. Thanks for agreeing to a chitty chat.”