Page 89 of The Idiot

Later? He said he’s leaving. When islater?

“Murph, no wait.”

Oh, my gosh. He hung up.

Crap! How am I supposed to grand-gesture and make him listen if he’s fleeing the county? I need an army to close all the exit points and subdue him. I need…

Wait a minute.

I do have an army.

A small one. An unconventional one, but, hey, you make do with what you have.

Bringing up my contacts, I hit thecallbutton, pacing past myRock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robotsin my old bedroom. They’re the inspiration I need. Love is a battlefield, and I’m prepared to do battle for the man I love.

“Hey, Cheri? Yeah. I need your help.”

CHAPTER 32

Murphy

I’m not going to think about where this ball gag has been or how Auggie chose the giant beef bone that Alexis and Cheri gave him instead of protecting me. Note to self—never underestimate the strength and agility of two tiny women armed with fuzzy pink handcuffs.

So help me, if someone walks into The Dew Drop right now and sees me like this, I’m moving out of the country. What the fuck is going on?

“Are you comfortable?” Cheri asks, dabbing at the drool running down my chin with a cocktail napkin.

Grunting, I try to flash her a stern look, but she seems unfazed. Smiling at me, she pats my cheek.

“It’ll be just a few more minutes. Don’t go anywhere. Okay?”

Don’tgoanywhere? Is she freaking kidding me?

They tied my feet to this chair as soon as I sat down. I never should have gotten in their car, but in my defense, the stocking hat they pulled down over my eyes prevented me from knowing exactly where I was. I used to like her.Used to.

A microphone squeals, making me flinch. Alexis’ voice booms over the room from the overhead speakers.

“And now, in his debut performance at The Dew Drop, with the exception of one failed attempt at Amateur Night a few years back—for one night, and one night only—the tantalizing Jesse Carver!”

I knew Jesse probably had something to do with this, but this is not what I expected. Is he going to freaking perform? How is that going to repair our fucked-up friendship?

Music filters through the speakers and every muscle in my body locks up. ‘S.O.S.’ by ABBA. He’s playing ABBA for this screwed up peace-keeping offer or whatever it is?

It’s official. I’m going to kill him for ruining my favorite band for me. At least I still have Elton.

The sparkly silver stage backdrop curtain rustles, and he fumbles out through it. I gape. Or at least, I try to. My damn mouth is already pried open by this stupid ball gag.

Decked out in silver, sequin-covered short-shorts that must belong to one of the girls, the only other article of clothing he’s wearing are suspenders. Unless you count the body shimmer smeared across his chest and abs.

Is this some kind of joke to him? I tell him I love him, and his answer is to further tease me with his body? Something is wrong with him. Seriously wrong.

His eyes go wide when he focuses on me through the brazen overhead lights. Am I supposed to believe that the kidnapper grandmaster didn’t know his minions gagged me? I glare back to let him know how I feel about his blundered instructions, but he schools his features.

Game face on, he actually looks a bit nervous as he does a runway-style walk up to one of the dancing poles. He should be nervous. Ass beating of a lifetime coming your way, Carver!

Mouthing the words to the song as he circles sullenly around the pole, I’m shocked to see that he actually knows the lyrics. Is this supposed to be some melodramatic interpretation of our relationship? Because it’s not funny. It’s not funny since I was the only one of us who was dumb enough to fall in love.

Alexis and Cheri dart out from behind the curtain, waltzing in time to the impending chorus up to Jesse. Matching shorts—adorable. The song climbs to its crescendo, and I stiffen at what I suspect is coming. Head down, arms held high like he’s some kind of god, Jesse stands like a statue. And, oh my Lord.

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