Page 65 of Castaway Whirlwind
Layla throws an arm around me from behind, leaning against my back, almost dumping her drink on me with her unsteady grip. “You’re a good man, Russell. Love you so much. So, so, so much.” She gives me a loud, wet kiss on my cheek.
I turn and snatch Layla’s waist, scooting back on the bench to make room for her on my lap, which isn’t easy at my size. “Two drinks in and you’re already tipsy?”
She giggles. “Shouldn’t have let me out of your sight, Daddy. This is my third. We’re celebratin’,” she says with a drawl, her tongue loose from the alcohol. She takes another sip, then licks her bottom lip and hums.
“Daddy?” The corners of Max’s lips turn down, his beer freezing halfway toward his mouth.
Ignoring him and the answering looks of amusement on Wyatt and Davis’s faces, I tell Layla, “Didn’t take my eyes off you for a second.”
Cora hops up to take a seat on the edge of the table with one leg crossed over the other. She sets her drink beside her and leans on a hip to pull the bar’s business card from her back pocket. With plenty of sass in her voice, she passes the card to Max and says, “You won’t have to worry about me being a burden much longer. They’re hiring, and I’m a shoo-in.”
Max crumples the card in a ball and throws it to the side. “You are not working at a bar wearingthataround a bunch of men,” he says, pointing to a waitress carrying a tray of shotsto another table.
Cora smirks. “Oh, yes, I am. I’ll take care of Gauge during the day, then you can pick him up for overnights so we won’t have to pay for childcare. It would be perfect.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Picking him up? How much have you had to drink?” He waves to her margarita.
“Zero,” she says, straightening her spine and crossing her arms. “It’s non-alcoholic.”
Before Max can say anything, his face darkening, several lifted trucks—the kind you’d need a ladder to reach the doors—pull into the lot, blaring some new type of country music that sure doesn’t sound like the kind I grew up with, competing with the band playing inside. Forgetting the tension building or perhaps trying to distract us from it, Faye and Violet start bumping hips as they dance, dragging Dolly into their circle. Layla wiggles in time with the music, and my dick spits precum in my boxer briefs when I slide her up my lap.
“I’m gonna cum in my jeans if you keep wiggling like that,” I say hoarsely in her ear, yanking her hips back and forth to encourage her to do it again, then sliding a hand up her thigh beneath her dress, losing myself completely in the moment as if we’re the only two people at this bar. “And we both know that’s not where it belongs.”
Layla whimpers, dropping her head back.
Paul makes a fake retching sound. “The music isn’t that loud, Dad.”
I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut briefly after removing my roving hand, mumbling an apology to a few guffaws.
Max’s face relaxes when the trucks cut their engines, and thus the music, the girls laughing as they fan their faces in theheat and humidity. Trace and his buddies who work at BT do a running jump over the low wooden fence separating the patio from the parking lot.
Two light-haired girls who had been riding with one of the boys, wearing matching denim skirts too short to jump over the fence without flashing everyone, huff and walk around to use the gate. They’re closer to Dolly and Goldie’s age, one of which looks like she could be Trace’s little sister. There’s something about the other that strikes me as familiar, though I can’t place her. Both turn their noses up and walk away when Layla kindly but loudly tries to invite them over.
Max claps hands and slaps backs with the boys as if they hadn’t seen each other the day before, certainly more friendly with them than he is with his own girlfriend.
“Hey, boss.” Trace tips his bucket hat at me, but then something captures his attention, his amber-brown eyes widening. He clutches his chest over his heart and staggers forward on his boots, crashing to his knees. “Good golly, Miss Molly, who are you, princess?” We’d be able to hear a pin drop if the band were to stop playing when Trace walks forward on his knees, stopping before Cora, her mouth dropped open with shock.
If I squint real hard, I can see what has Trace all tied up in knots. Cora is a sweetheart with a face to match, big hair with short pieces framing her face like Layla’s, and curves to complement Trace’s skinny frame.
Testing my resolve to wait until tomorrow to kick Max’s butt to kingdom come, Max thumps his hand on Cora’s shoulder hard enough to make her flinch. Through pinched lips, he says, “This is—”
“Hey!” Dolly and Wyatt snap at the same time, waving atMax’s hand. “Don’t do that to her again,” Dolly demands.
Cora gives a sharp shake of her head when Elliott rises from his seat, and he reluctantly only drops back down when Max removes his hand after a beat.
Max finishes as if he wasn’t interrupted. “She’s my woman and Gauge’s mom.”
Trace reacts as if he’s been struck, and he starts, “Motherf—”
“Watch it,” I warn both Trace and Max.
Trace gains his feet, wiping the dirt off the stiff front creases of his jeans. With everyone’s eyes on him, he quickly regains composure, slipping on an easygoing smile. “I knew that. Just messing with you.” He chucks Max on his upper arm, but I’m not buying it.
Neither is Davis, who looks across the table, rubbing his chest. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
I nod. Another whirlwind, which meanstrouble.
“Where’s Freddy and Pete when you need ‘em?” Wyatt mumbles, a corner of his lips twitching up.
