Next to him, V lit up a fat hand-rolled. “Is it. You like the idea of Marissa looking at some other male’s junk?”
“It’s not an X-rated—” As his voice squeaked, he cleared his throat. “I mean, it couldn’t be … no, it’s not—”
“I already checked,” Rhage muttered. “They have the DVDs—they’re probably watching the extended, uncut versions.”
“So the strippers aren’t circumcised?” Lassiter put his palms up again before the growling got even worse. “Jesus, you guys are so damn touchy.”
Butch shook his head and decided the angel was on his own. “So, yeah, I mean, a little gyrating—a pec pump or two. It’s nothing to get worked up over. Fritz, can I have a refill over here again?”
The butler hustled over to pick up the empty glass. “Would any of you care for dessert? We have homemade ice cream and Petit Gâteau.”
Butch glanced at Hollywood. “What do you say there, my man?”
When Rhage just swished his ginger ale around in his glass, Butch cursed and said to Fritz, “This one here will have some even if no one else does.”
“Bring me the dessert,” Rhage spoke up.
Fritz bowed with Butch’s glass in his hand. “But of course, sire. I shall fix you a plate directly—”
“No. I want the whole dessert. All of the cake and all of the ice cream.”
Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd that was how Hollywood ended up with a morose audience of however many playing witness to his consuming fifteen small chocolate cakes and two gallons of vanilla ice cream.
It was like watching paint dry, except there was no chemical smell and the room was the same color before and after.
The good news was that the booze was doing its job, fuzzing out Butch’s mind, making his body both numb and horny. “May I have another?” he asked a passing doggen who was removing the final chocolate-smudged plate. “Thank you so much.”
When his glass came back, he pushed his chair away from the table. “I’m out. I’ve got some work to do.”
And no offense to any of them, but hanging around in their vibe was just making him more depressed. Any more of this and he was going to start braiding the noose.
Walking out, he paused in the grand foyer. Looked up the stairs. Tried to imagine his Marissa ogling some actor in his underwear.
“Really. It’s fine. Good for her.”
He took his phone out and called up their text string. Hesitating, he thought he’d just send her something, you know, to remind her that …
Wow.
In his human iteration, he would never have given a shit about something like this. Marissa wasn’t only the love of his life; she was a female of worth who would never cheat on him. And hello, it wasn’t like she’d checked into a seedy motel with the guy, for fuck’s sake. She was hanging with her friends just like he hung out with his.
This was ridiculous.
He was not the jealous type—
The sound of shitkickers approaching had him glancing over his shoulder. It was Rhage, and the brother had a frothing glass of Alka-Seltzer in his hand.
Hollywood looked up the stairs. And dollars for dipshits, he was thinking exactly what Butch was.
“I’m going up,” the guy announced.
“Now, wait, wait, wait.” Butch grabbed that huge forearm and squeezed. “It’s not like you can just burst in there.”
“Why not?”
“It’s girls’ night.”
“So I’ll put on a dress.”
“Fucking hell, Rhage. Really?”
Next out were V., John Matthew and Tohr. And everyone else, including Wrath—and even Manny, who, in spite of being a full-blown human, was right there along with the hound-faced rest of them.
“We are not going up there,” Butch announced. “We’re going to go play some pool, and get drunk, and talk about all the kills we had in the attack on Brownswick. We’re going to have a great fucking night—day, whatever the hell it is. Now pick your balls up off the floor and let’s start behaving like men.”
“He has skills. I’m just saying.”
As Doc Jane spoke up, the captivated audience that was focused on the big screen was in total, very unmuted agreement.
Payne let out another of her now-trademark wolf whistles.
Xhex cursed and threw more Milk Duds at the image, yelling, “Damn, son, you get that shit! You get it!”
Marissa just laughed again. She couldn’t decide what was more amusing, the movies or the company—probably the company. Although the humans were not hard on the eyes, she had to admit.
And then it was time for another round of hooting and hollaring.
God, she couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed this hard. There was something about being with the girls that made the jokes both worse and better at the same time, and the giggling louder, and the silliness more stupid.
All of which was a very beautiful thing, as it turned out.
It also reminded her of how great it was to be accepted for exactly who she was, no external expectations laid on her, no shortfalls she hadn’t volunteered for cutting her down. No judgment, just love.
Plus a number of naked guys who were almost as hot as her male? Not a hardship.
When the final scene was over and the credits started to roll, they clapped like the actors could hear them all the way out in California.
“Can you teach me how to whistle like that?” someone asked Payne.