Page 18 of Exclusive

“Well, uh, those three,” he sputters, shakily pointing with the same finger he used to push his bifocals back up his nose. “I mean, not with me, but our, our group, I guess.”

Jesus, Junior, sometime today please.“Close enough.” I bend Pretty Boy’s arm behind his back to stop his squirming, and the protest he opened his mouth to give. “You mind escorting them outta here for me, get ‘em home safe?” I ask Poindexter and he readily nods, doing his best to puff out what chest he has and commandeering the too drunk to be sexy, too clueless to say no, girls toward the exit.

“Hey, where the hell you running off to with my woman, Bradley?” the shitsack I’ve got a hold on screams after them, his bark turning to a squeak as I cinch his arm up higher and tighter.

“He’s seeing them home, safe, and you’re either gonna settle the fuck down and I’ll walk ya outside to an Uber, or keep up your bullshit and I’ll beat your ass then toss ya in an Uber. What’s it gonna be?”

“Fine, dude, whatever. Can I get my boys first?”

Roman drags the two schmucks he’s detained over. “These your boys?” Pretty Boy nods, none of them saying shit else, and like prisoners of war, they keep perfect, seemingly sobered, time as we march them to the door. “One month, better not see none of y’all’s asses in here,” Roman snarls, tossing his two on the sidewalk. “Stick their dumb asses in an Uber,” he says to Terry, tonight’s doorman, our work here now done.

“What was all that about?” I ask Roman as we head back inside.

He shrugs. “Fuck if I care. Not long ‘til last call, hoping we make it ‘til then without any more such bullshit.”

“I hear that. Alright then, I’m heading back to my section; try to stay outta trouble.” Weaving through the jumble of bodies, most of which are drunkenly attached to another body, I post up against my usual beam and dig out my phone. It’s been vibrating in rapid succession since I put it away, and I can hardly wait to read the no doubt agonized over, OCD chronicles of Presley Picks A Movie. Yep, this oughta be fun. She’s a lil’ insane, somewhat quirky… but totally fascinating. That “bored jar” I made her and only for her — I could never grow bored with Presley in my life.

Because of things just like thisI laugh through the thought, scrolling way, way back on her messages to find where the ramble started.

Hot Shot: A list of how many? We talking Top 10 or…?

Hot Shot: Hello? I’m not even gonna start until I know how many. I mean, if it’s 3, I don’t need a pen and paper, I’ll whittle down in my head. But Top 10 or more will take some doing.

Hot Shot: Okay, I’m guessing you got busy, busting up fights like a big ol’ badass, so I’m making the call – Top 5 it is. Please stand by.

Hot Shot: OMG, this is hard! You try it!

Another wave of laughter hits me… I couldn’t name five romantic movies if I tried. Unless Band of Brothers counts; there’s at least five in that box set, and they loved each other, their country.

Hot Shot: Your dog just stole my paper, now I’m winging it. I want a new assignment, this one sucks.

Except it doesn’t suck at all. She’s loving it, adrenaline pumping through her, mind reeling with serious deliberation. And Castello probably got ahold of one of her “rough drafts” wadded up and tossed aside, but the moment’s long gone to ask, so I keep reading.

Hot Shot: Okay, here you go. 1. Sommersby. 2. Lady and the Tramp. 3. Love and Basketball. 4. The Princess Bride. 5. Just Like Heaven.

I’ve only ever heard of number two — which, pretty surprised that of all the movies to choose from, that made the list — so of course, I tap out my follow-up question/reply.

Me: Sorry, babe, had to toss a couple jackasses. I’m caught up on our dissertation now, and have some bonus questions for you. Ready?

Three little dots appear, so I glance up and around, making sure the club I’m paid to watch isn’t on fire while she types. Suddenly, a new, better idea hits me, so I start hoping her response takes a while, and conjuring up a different angle/reply in interest of my grand new plan. Better yet, I’ll go ahead and cut her off at this pass.

Me: Sorry babe, gotta go, more shit to squash. I’ll be over as soon as I get off. Can’t wait to see you.

Little white lie never hurt anybody, and I have every intention of making it up to her.

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