Brodie Steele and the Outrageous
“The pink Hummer!” The whole entourage squealed.
Of fuckin’ course.
I scanned Nicky Love’s groupies as they headed toward the Pepto-Abysmal pink Hum-V. They were all dolled up in Lycra, Victorian
Goth dresses, and extreme amounts bare flesh. Some of the chicks were hot—in a stalker foxy kinda way. I’d give Nick that. But that was about it.
Save my sis and her boyfriend from the demon-bitch fanclub? I’d do that.
Other shit? Not so much.
I opened the door of their ride and counted off the chicks like they were sheep as they got in. One, two, three, and ten more. Jesus.
Ducking my head inside the door after them, I smirked. “Just so you know, I’m not gonna fuck any of y’all. No offense, but I don’t do
“We’re not crazy!” The woman decked out in slutty Elvira gear exclaimed.
I merely raised an eyebrow.
The one called Pandora peered at me. “A little touched, perhaps.”
“I am, however, gonna take you for drinks.”
Their screeches of excitement hit ear-ringing decibel levels.
“We’re headed to the Acme Cantina on Isle of Palms. Just follow me, if you can keep up.” I shut the door with a wink.
Roaring down 17 North on my Harley with an enormous pink Hummer limo behind me, I almost felt like I was in the Macy’s
Thanksgiving Day Parade.
But I could think of worse things, like getting pulled over by Officer Ashe Kingston. Now that was one broad I didn’t want to cross paths with.
By the time we swung into the parking lot of the Acme Cantina, I was ready for a beer or two or three. I escorted the ladies into the bar—counting them off in my head again. I wanted to make sure none of them escaped. Josh and Leelee didn’t need the shady ladies wrecking their reception, and Nicky and Cat deserved to have a freak-free date.
Once I got everyone nice and settled with drinks—lots of fruity cocktails, natch—I ordered myself a beer and a shot. “Oh, by the way, I’m Brodie Steele.”
I heard “swoon”, “sexy”, “hawt”, and then a hiss, “The brother of Nicky’s girlfriend.”
“In the flesh.” I slammed my shot to their “sighs”. “And I love my sis, so we’re not going to have anymore hysterics or repeat performances of what when down at Josh’s wedding, right?”
There were mumbles of agreement and only one or two grumbles. No matter. I’d just keep plying the drinks. They weren’t going anywhere on my watch.
“Why don’t you tell me your names? Loosen up a little, huh?”
I listened as they filled me in with their perfectly normal names, aside from Pandora . . . names I forgot the second after they said them. Just because I was buying them drinks didn’t mean I had an obligation to remember that shit.
The women got chatty after that, which meant I could tune them out. I only half listened as they went on about some romance convention on their road trip itinerary.
A cute, curvy brunette perched on the stool next to me. Aside from the fact she wore a huge pair of devil horns on her head, she could’ve been my type. I might’ve even considered banging her, but I didn’t do leftovers.
“What’s Pandora’s deal?” I asked the she-devil.
“Oh, she’s just really really into the fan thing,” Erica whispered. I thought it was Erica. Might’ve been Erin? Whatever. “We don’t even know her real name. She’s at what we call the Uber Level of Fandom.”
Uber level of fucked-in-the-head, perhaps.
Waving my bottle of beer at their outrageous get-ups—the women had created quite a stir among the regulars—I asked, “Is this kinda thing normal for y’all?”
“Lord, no. I’m a pediatrician,” Erin/Erica answered.
Another chick chimed in, “Divorce lawyer here.”
“Stay at home mom to three adorable boys,” a girl in a floor-length red velvet gown said.
I rubbed a hand along my goatee. “So let me get this straight. You all have completely normal jobs, and live mostly normal lives?
Apart from . . .”
“Yep. What’d you think? We were escapees from a mental institution?” Pandora simpered.
Come to think of it, yeah.
“And all this—the outfits, the ‘pilgrimage’, the fan thing—it’s because what?”
“Have you even read any of Nicky’s books?” Erica/Erin asked as if my question was a no-brainer.
“I may have borrowed a few of my sister’s books, but I read ’em for the sex.” Rapping my knuckledusters on the bar, I grinned at the ladies.
“Swoon”, “gasp”, “oh my”.
“Not that I need any pointers,” I added.
“Oh. My. GOD.”
Yeah. Let them chew on that for a bit.
“I read Nicky’s books. Got all of them, hardback, signed, naturally.” A loud baritone boomed across the bar.
As the women parted, Frankie the Tailor strolled into view.
“Z’up?” I said as I clasped the big Italian’s hand.
The women had started fanning themselves with beer coasters.
“What’s up? What’s usually up when I see a hot piece of action like you, Brodie Steele? I mean I told Nicky not to rock the Kurt Cobain look, but fuggin’ A. I wouldn’t mind gettin’ a real close look at all your tats, and your sexy blond hair’s the perfect fist-hold for riding hard. M’I right, ladies?”
They watched the exchange with mouths open wide, finally speechless.
Frankie adjusted himself then shoved a stogie between his lips. “Guess that means I’m right. That’s good, ’cause I got a thing about being wrong, know what I mean?”
He slapped me on the back.
“Oh. So you’re gay? Like real gay, not fake?” One of the women asked Frankie.
“Queer as they come, dames.” He ran his fingers through his coiffed hair and sent me a sidelong glance. “But not Brodie here, so you’re still in with a chance.”
Hell no to that. Thanks to Frankie, I overheard stifled conversations about who got first dibs on me. “Reception over?” I muttered to him.
“Done and dusted.”
“Awesome. I’m outta here.” Time for me to make my escape. I paid the tab and drained my beer.
“Hey, you gonna just leave me with the Cosplay Crazies?”
“They’re not crazy,” I said. “Just a little touched.”
“Fuggin’ A. Well, drink up, ladies. Your outfits are making my eyes bleed. I need to get you to my shop and fix that shit up. Can’t have
you gallivanting around Charleston looking like something that crawled out of the Devil’s asshole. I ain’t Frankie the Tailor for nuthin’. M’I right?”
Ducking out of the bar while the getting was good, I just hoped playing dress-up was all Frankie had in mind and not playing hide-the-corpse. Maybe the mob rumors weren’t true. Then again, what did I care?
I shook my head with a grin as I put on my helmet. I almost wanted to stick around to hear Frankie’s off-color comments about the hideous pink Hummer.
Ride is coming on January 8th! Jase and Avery’s full, New Adult story from inside Stone, At Your Service. Link below!
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STONE ON AMAZON
RIDE ON AMAZON