A Cursed Moon
Page 14
“I’m not stupid, Bren. I know Misha’s out for Misha.” Celia wouldn’t look at me when she spoke; instead she stared off into the crowd of sweat-soaked and dancing bodies. “But he’s not so bad. He does have a heart.”
I swore in my head, not crazy about her growing endearment toward the idiot. I hated her living with Misha. Hell, I hated her talking to him, but I knew better than to push. Unlike most others I could’ve intimidated, Celia pushed back—hard. For all five feet three, she was a strong little thing.
“So why are the she-vamps dressed in those uniforms?” I asked in order to change the subject.
“They always dress like that.” She shrugged and tried to hide her smirk. “Misha says it’s because they’re good Catholics.”
I finished my bottle and reached for another when Celia jumped hard enough to slosh her beer across her dark jeans. Her eyes widened as they cut through the crowd and fixed on the steps leading down to the dance floor and, good God . . . I almost shit myself.
Dan. My roommate. My buddy. My BFF for life looked as if he’d been attacked by a mob of John Travoltas.
He took in the sea of bodies below him and bounced his head—off beat mind you—to some Maroon Five remix as if gathering his courage. And hell, he needed it to survive the catastrophic getup hugging his skinny ass and scrawny form.
Celia blinked, watching Dan’s head bop and zigzag on his shoulders like a rooster in midstride. “Is that . . . is that a leisure suit he’s wearing?” she managed to spit out. I nodded like a dumbass, still mesmerized by the amount of polyester covering his body. “Are ”—she swallowed hard—“are the seventies, like, back?”
She wasn’t asking me. She was begging me to tell her yes. “If they are, I’m going to track the ass**le who brought ’em back and beat his ass.”
Dan adjusted the extra wide lapels of his baby blue suit and smoothed the collar of his matching silk shirt. Jesus, he even had a paisley hanky shoved into his breast pocket.
And because the look didn’t scream “I’ve never had my cherry popped and never will” enough, Dan had attempted to slick back the Brillo pad of curls he called hair.
The hair flattened out on the sides but only partially on top. Fantastic. All he’d managed to do was mullet his ass. His face lit up and he waved when he saw us.
Celia clasped her hand over her mouth in horror. “You can’t do this to him, Bren. You can’t have him try to get laid in this . . . ensemble.”
Humor drove through the stupefied repulsion Dan’s suit had caused and fired its way onto my face. “Heh, heh.” My shoulders shook. “Heh, heh, heh.” Celia elbowed me hard as Dan drew closer. The dancers paused mid-shimmy just to gape and point—and laughed out loud when he almost tripped over the helm of his bell-bottoms.
“Heh, heh, heh, heh.”
“Don’t laugh, Bren,” Celia insisted. “Whatever you do, do not laugh at— Oh hey, Danny!”
I busted out laughing; no man should ever wear that many dyed chemicals on his skin. Hell, I could almost see him getting cancer.
Dan stopped short and pushed his sliding glasses back up his nose. “What’s so funny?”
“You, man. It looks like Sonny Bono threw up on you.” I took another swig of my beer and almost choked on his puzzled reaction. “Shit, Dan, how the hell are you going to get some ass in this monstrosity?”
“It’s not about the clothes, it’s about the attention they’ll bring me.” He shoved the hanky further into his pocket. “Research shows getting noticed is the first step to meeting someone, and that more flashy attire keeps attention focused on you. Besides, it’s a nice suit. I paid a lot of money for it.”
Celia forced a smile. “The blue does bring out your olive skin and brown eyes.”
I nodded in agreement. “It also screams ‘I’m a virgin and will blow you for fashion advice.’ ” I handed him a Corona. “I’ll tell you what, Dan. You get laid tonight, in that suit, and I’ll throw in next month’s rent.” I pointed at him. “And to sweeten the deal, I’m not even holding ‘hot chick’ as a requirement. Semi-attractive and non-blind is good enough.”
Just then, a semi-attractive, non-blind redhead in a striped tube top snaked her way to the bar and ordered some girly drink in a pineapple. Here’s your chance, I mouthed to Dan.
Dan and his suit leaned against the bar. “Here, let me buy you a drink.”
The gal’s lids flickered, probably temporarily blinded by the color of Dan’s attire. But then she shocked the hell out of me when her lips parted into a smile. “How about two?”
Dan smiled back at her and motioned to the bartender . . . and while he paid for the drinks the chick walked away with her drink and his. She hurried her way back to where some idiot waited, and handed him Dan’s drink. He smiled and waved after Tube Top said something to him and motioned our way.
Dan cleared his throat. “Um, looks like she’s with someone.”
I slung around him. “Don’t worry, Dan. You did a good thing. That poor bastard was probably thirsty.”
As the night went on, Dan struck out left and right. Celia asked him to dance twice. Both times he turned her down. She walked away shaking her head and made her way back to me. My hands slipped around her waist and I pulled her onto my lap just as one of Misha’s vampires passed by. The vamp narrowed her gaze through her tiny librarian glasses and hissed. I swatted at the air as if batting a fly. “Don’t you have someone to eat? Go away.”
“Agnes Concepcion, please. I told you he’s just a friend. Go back to the others.” Celia watched her until she disappeared into the growing numbers taking up the dance floor. We were already at capacity, the bouncers on duty letting too many clubbers in. “It’s getting too crowded and my tigress is on edge. Do you want to call it a night?”
“Nah. I need to keep an eye on Dan. What was his excuse for not dancing with you? It might have worked to his advantage to be seen with a cutie like you.”
She gave me a small smile. “He said he’s afraid that if he dances with me, it’ll ruin his chance to hook up.”
“Did you tell him his suit has already done that for him?”
She laughed. “No, I didn’t want to hurt—”
I swore in my head, not crazy about her growing endearment toward the idiot. I hated her living with Misha. Hell, I hated her talking to him, but I knew better than to push. Unlike most others I could’ve intimidated, Celia pushed back—hard. For all five feet three, she was a strong little thing.
“So why are the she-vamps dressed in those uniforms?” I asked in order to change the subject.
“They always dress like that.” She shrugged and tried to hide her smirk. “Misha says it’s because they’re good Catholics.”
I finished my bottle and reached for another when Celia jumped hard enough to slosh her beer across her dark jeans. Her eyes widened as they cut through the crowd and fixed on the steps leading down to the dance floor and, good God . . . I almost shit myself.
Dan. My roommate. My buddy. My BFF for life looked as if he’d been attacked by a mob of John Travoltas.
He took in the sea of bodies below him and bounced his head—off beat mind you—to some Maroon Five remix as if gathering his courage. And hell, he needed it to survive the catastrophic getup hugging his skinny ass and scrawny form.
Celia blinked, watching Dan’s head bop and zigzag on his shoulders like a rooster in midstride. “Is that . . . is that a leisure suit he’s wearing?” she managed to spit out. I nodded like a dumbass, still mesmerized by the amount of polyester covering his body. “Are ”—she swallowed hard—“are the seventies, like, back?”
She wasn’t asking me. She was begging me to tell her yes. “If they are, I’m going to track the ass**le who brought ’em back and beat his ass.”
Dan adjusted the extra wide lapels of his baby blue suit and smoothed the collar of his matching silk shirt. Jesus, he even had a paisley hanky shoved into his breast pocket.
And because the look didn’t scream “I’ve never had my cherry popped and never will” enough, Dan had attempted to slick back the Brillo pad of curls he called hair.
The hair flattened out on the sides but only partially on top. Fantastic. All he’d managed to do was mullet his ass. His face lit up and he waved when he saw us.
Celia clasped her hand over her mouth in horror. “You can’t do this to him, Bren. You can’t have him try to get laid in this . . . ensemble.”
Humor drove through the stupefied repulsion Dan’s suit had caused and fired its way onto my face. “Heh, heh.” My shoulders shook. “Heh, heh, heh.” Celia elbowed me hard as Dan drew closer. The dancers paused mid-shimmy just to gape and point—and laughed out loud when he almost tripped over the helm of his bell-bottoms.
“Heh, heh, heh, heh.”
“Don’t laugh, Bren,” Celia insisted. “Whatever you do, do not laugh at— Oh hey, Danny!”
I busted out laughing; no man should ever wear that many dyed chemicals on his skin. Hell, I could almost see him getting cancer.
Dan stopped short and pushed his sliding glasses back up his nose. “What’s so funny?”
“You, man. It looks like Sonny Bono threw up on you.” I took another swig of my beer and almost choked on his puzzled reaction. “Shit, Dan, how the hell are you going to get some ass in this monstrosity?”
“It’s not about the clothes, it’s about the attention they’ll bring me.” He shoved the hanky further into his pocket. “Research shows getting noticed is the first step to meeting someone, and that more flashy attire keeps attention focused on you. Besides, it’s a nice suit. I paid a lot of money for it.”
Celia forced a smile. “The blue does bring out your olive skin and brown eyes.”
I nodded in agreement. “It also screams ‘I’m a virgin and will blow you for fashion advice.’ ” I handed him a Corona. “I’ll tell you what, Dan. You get laid tonight, in that suit, and I’ll throw in next month’s rent.” I pointed at him. “And to sweeten the deal, I’m not even holding ‘hot chick’ as a requirement. Semi-attractive and non-blind is good enough.”
Just then, a semi-attractive, non-blind redhead in a striped tube top snaked her way to the bar and ordered some girly drink in a pineapple. Here’s your chance, I mouthed to Dan.
Dan and his suit leaned against the bar. “Here, let me buy you a drink.”
The gal’s lids flickered, probably temporarily blinded by the color of Dan’s attire. But then she shocked the hell out of me when her lips parted into a smile. “How about two?”
Dan smiled back at her and motioned to the bartender . . . and while he paid for the drinks the chick walked away with her drink and his. She hurried her way back to where some idiot waited, and handed him Dan’s drink. He smiled and waved after Tube Top said something to him and motioned our way.
Dan cleared his throat. “Um, looks like she’s with someone.”
I slung around him. “Don’t worry, Dan. You did a good thing. That poor bastard was probably thirsty.”
As the night went on, Dan struck out left and right. Celia asked him to dance twice. Both times he turned her down. She walked away shaking her head and made her way back to me. My hands slipped around her waist and I pulled her onto my lap just as one of Misha’s vampires passed by. The vamp narrowed her gaze through her tiny librarian glasses and hissed. I swatted at the air as if batting a fly. “Don’t you have someone to eat? Go away.”
“Agnes Concepcion, please. I told you he’s just a friend. Go back to the others.” Celia watched her until she disappeared into the growing numbers taking up the dance floor. We were already at capacity, the bouncers on duty letting too many clubbers in. “It’s getting too crowded and my tigress is on edge. Do you want to call it a night?”
“Nah. I need to keep an eye on Dan. What was his excuse for not dancing with you? It might have worked to his advantage to be seen with a cutie like you.”
She gave me a small smile. “He said he’s afraid that if he dances with me, it’ll ruin his chance to hook up.”
“Did you tell him his suit has already done that for him?”
She laughed. “No, I didn’t want to hurt—”
