Page 83 of Castaway Whirlwind
The band finishes a song and announces they’re taking a break, so I’m able to speak at a normal volume when I tell her, “Never apologize for almost killing me with your sweet little pussy.”
She giggles, laying her head on my chest while I caress the soft, naked skin of her upper back. “I’m going to ask Faye to iron that onto a pillow above ‘Russell’s famous last words’ or something.”
“I can do that,” a small voice says from the far corner.
Layla squeaks, turning on her side, both of us lifting our heads to search the dark, finding Harold facing away from us. Faye’s ankles are locked around his lower back, his forehead pressed to the wall over her shoulder, both of them naked as the day they were born.
“Why didn’t you make some kind of noise?” Layla asks. “We would have stopped if we knew you were in here.”
Harold sounds like he’s a hair’s breadth away from dying of a heart attack when he says, “We did. You couldn’t hear us.”
I help Layla onto her feet, shielding her as she pulls her thong back up and resituates her dress. Tucking my top back into my pants and buckling my belt with my ears about to melt off my head with as hot as they burn, I ask, “Then why didn’t you leave?” I jab a hand toward the second exit door nearer them, none too pleased with the idea that we had an audience.
“Y’all were kinda having sex on our clothes, so we thought it was best to wait it out so we wouldn’t get arrested for public indecency,” Faye answers.
Layla and I search the floor. Harold’s pants and Faye’s dress are a flattened heap where I had been lying. Layla bends to pick up the clothing, shaking them out, and steps forward as if to hand the clothes directly to them.
“No, that’s ok,” Faye says quickly. “You can leave them there. We’re not quite finished.”
“Oh, sure.” Layla looks around for something to drape them over, but it’s mostly just cords and a few small amps back here with all the instruments on stage. “Oh!” she exclaims, her eyes widening further in the dark. “You’re not finished.” She drops the clothes and turns her back. “You’re literally having sex right now? Like, now, now?”
“Mmhmm,” Faye confirms while Harold’s knees buckle with a mortified groan. “So if y’all could hurry up and leave, that would be great.”
When I whip open the door to usher Layla out ahead of me, I have to catch her around the waist and yank her out of harm’s way to avoid being flattened like Faye and Harold’s clothing when Wyatt falls backward into the room, catching Dolly in the air before she can land on top of him.
Popping my head out into the hallway, I’m met with Sheriff and his wife, Sheila, making out like teenagers. They spin on a heel when they spot me grinning just before they get to the door.
“Guess everyone had the same idea,” Dolly says with a giggle, wiping away a smudge of lipstick on her chin while Wyatt rolls to get up, zipping up his pants and adjusting his dick.
“Hey, I don’t mean to be rude, but please, we really, really need y’all to leave.”
“Is that Faye?” Dolly asks, peering deeper into the room.
“Please, please,” Faye starts, but then she moans, her tone changing when she repeats, “Please, please, yes!”
Dolly grabs Layla’s hand as they leave the room, and Wyatt practically slams the door closed behind us.
Wyatt and I are twisting about, trying to dust our suits off, when Layla says in a strained whisper ahead, “Russell. Russell!”
I look up, freezing when I see that we’ve captured at least half of our guests’ unwavering attention.
Old Freddy sticks his hands out to the sides, palms up, and Pete and Mickey slap some cash down. “Easy money, my friends. Easy money.”
“No way! Now? Are you sure?” Jared jumps up and down with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on a man’s face before sweeping Violet into a hug and smothering her with a kiss. The bar swings their attention to the couple and goes wild when Jared shouts, “She’s in labor! We’re having a baby!”
Trace looks back and forth between us and the overjoyed couple making their way toward the exit a few times, checking to see if we’re upset by Violet and Jaredstealing our thunderbefore he announces loudly, “Well, in that case…” Trace takes Gauge and passes him to Paul, drags Cora into the middle of the dance floor, kneels, and produces a pink diamond ring so large that I can see it sparkle from halfway across the room. “Cora, Princess, Little Mama, will you do me the honor of being my passenger princess for life and filling our trucks—I’ll buy you one to match—and hearts with more babies and more love and more happiness and more…everything?”
“Wow, he really has a way with words,” Layla whispers, trying not to laugh, even as she wipes a tear trailing down her cheek.
Cora, on the other hand, is at a complete loss for words, nodding furiously while trying not to bawl as Trace slides the ring onto her finger and kisses it, gazing up at her with complete and utter devotion. A second later, he jumps up and locks lips with Cora, the two clawing at each other’s clothes as they stumble toward the backstage area just as Faye and Harold are leaving with their clothes dusty and wrinkled to hell and back.
Pete carefully climbs onto the stage with a chuckle, standing at the edge with his notebook and pencil. “Alright,” he says into the standing microphone. “Place your bets now.” Our older guests surge toward him as fast as they can, waving cashin the air.
Mickey yells, “Ten on Joel!”
“He’s been married going on twenty years, Mick,” Pete says, crossing something out in his notebook. “Seriously, go to the doctor.”
“Hold on, hold on,” Freddy says, jogging up the stage steps. He grabs the microphone and puts a hand over his eyes, squinting at the crowd. “Now, who all is still single?”
