I start to mention his invite to the club tomorrow night, but there’s no reason to get them all excited when the guy probably won’t even remember us tomorrow.
“Well, I’m glad you all enjoyed the evening’s entertainment. But I think it’s time for me to head to bed.”
“Aww, you’re a party pooper,” Bev says, which is ironic since she’s by far the oldest of our group and should be the most serious.
“I’m tired!” I tell them as they gather around the bar to pour out more of the fruity drink mix. “And you all have had way too much to drink tonight. I hope you don’t regret it tomorrow.”
“To no regrets,” Tessa says as she holds up her cup and the others tap it with theirs.
“We’ll see about that tomorrow,” I mutter with a shake of my head and a smile before I head off to bed.
And if anyone asked, I would totally deny that I spent the entire night dreaming about a certain tattooed biker.
The next morning, I let myself sleep in ‘til eleven before rolling out of bed and going to the kitchen to fix a big cup of coffee.
I’m not all that surprised that the house is still quiet while everyone else sleeps in.
One by one they come as I sit on the back deck, taking in the view as each woman joins me, all of them looking like they got into a cat fight and lost.
“I hate to be the one to say I told you so…” I start once everyone is awake. “But I think I told you so.”
“No regrets,” Tessa mutters while lifting her coffee mug about an inch in the air, but no one else chimes in.
“How about I fix you all a big homemade dinner tonight to cheer you up?” I offer.
“Dinner…dinner would be good,” Sydney agrees with a big gulp. “I don’t think I can eat any lunch.”
“Agreed,” Bev says. “Thanks, Charlotte.”
“It’s the least I can do since I’m the only one not hungover,” I tease them, making them all groan as I get up to go back inside to take stock of what ingredients we still have and what I’ll need to grab at the grocery store.
The rest of the day is a blur of mixing, frying and baking before everyone sits down to eat the southern comfort food I made. They’ve all had time to take another nap, get showers, and put on a change of clothes, making them look almost normal again.
“Thanks for this, Charlotte,” Tessa says as she digs into her macaroni and cheese. “It’s delicious! And exactly what my yucky stomach needed.”
“It was my pleasure,” I say with my fork poised to finally dig in. “I hope you all enjoy it so much that you’ll handle the clean-up,” I joke just as the doorbell rings.
“Who could that be?” Tessa asks.
“No idea, but I’ll get it!” I tell them. “Go ahead and eat up,” I instruct them as I hurry to the door with a feeling of déjà vu.
A small, teeny tiny sliver of hope that it’s the hot biker-stripper again bubbles up inside before I yank the side door open…and find a policeman on the other side of the screen. The disappointment pops the bubble with more force than I expected.
“Can I help you?” I ask the officer.
“We received a call,” he says with a stern face that splits into a huge grin. “A call that a bunch of wild women wanted to party tonight!”
“Huh?” I mutter when I open the screen to let him inside.
His smile falters as he strolls inside and then he whispers, “I’m the stripper you girls hired.”
“What? No way,” I say as I study his lean frame, about half the size of the previous man. “Your biker guy showed up last night. And yeah, we were surprised he was a night early, but we rolled with it.”
“What biker guy?” the man asks.
“Tall, thick, black leather vest with like a skull patch or something on the back,” I quickly describe him. “Looked very authentic and was well endowed.”
The man in the police costume blinks silently at me. “Ma’am, I’m the only person on the roster during the off-season, and I don’t have a biker costume.”
“Well, you should probably check with your boss because he sent the biker.”
Pulling his phone from his back pocket, he puts it to his ear and holds up a finger. “Yo, Ralph. How’s it going? Yeah, I’m at the Tidewater beach house, and the gal here says you sent a biker for them last night.” He grins. “Here, let me let you tell her that I’m the only man on the payroll.” When he holds the phone out toward me, I take it because now I’m incredibly confused.
“Hello?” I say to the unknown man on the phone.
“Is this Charlotte Newsom?”
“Yes.”
“Hi Charlotte. This is Ralph, the guy who set up your appointment for tonight with Duke. So you say a biker showed up last night?”
“Yes, he did.”
“A biker as in motorcycle or bicycle?”
“Motorcycle, obviously,” I mutter. “Who wants to see a bicyclist strip?”
“And this biker, he took off his clothes and danced?”
“Ah, yeah, that is what strippers usually do, right?” I remark with a roll of my eyes. Jeez, these guys are dense.
“We don’t have any biker costumes, motorcycle or bicyclist, doll. What did he look like?”
“Like I told your guy, he was tall and muscular in black leather with like a big white skull patch on the back and some smaller patches on the front, you know, just like the guys wore on the Sons of Anarchy.”
“Oh shit,” Ralph mutters. “Was the skull a bearded king by chance?”
“Bearded king skull…” I repeat as I squeeze my eyes shut to think about it. “There was a crown on its head, and yeah, I guess there was a beard, maybe some crossed scepters too.”
“Oh shit,”
