Pete & Mel - Bonus Content

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PETE
 
“Where are the girls going for the bachelorette party?” Andy asks, squinting across at me.
            “A week in Napa. I got them a villa at a vineyard. Mel is so excited. She’s calling it her week with Bartle-Bee.” I smirk at the memory of how she rewarded my offer.
            “Wait!” Artie hangs over the back of my seat. “If they’re having a week, how come we’re only having a weekend?”
            “Yeah. I could have done a week,” Parker chimes in from in front of us. Beside him, Lance in nodding eagerly. Seriously? You would never know I’m the youngest of us all. I roll my eyes, craning back to look at Artie.
            “Because my boss isn’t as nice as Andy, and I need to bank vacation time for the honeymoon.”
            Andy snorts beside me, sipping on his bottle of water. Artie wrinkles his nose.
            “I’m so telling Dad and Uncle Ken you said that.”
            “Don’t be a rat,” Jimmy laughs, his fingers closing around the back of Artie’s shirt and tugging him back into his seat.
            “Why are you taking his side? You’re my brother-in-law,” Artie whines.
Jimmy grins. “Pete’s paying for my weekend.”
Artie’s eyes narrow, whipping around to meet mine where I’m smirking through the gap in the seats.
            “You’re not paying for my weekend.”
            “You can afford it.”
            “He can afford it. Do you know what his monthly membership fees are?”
            “I’ve seen him wrestle. I want to keep him onside.”
            Jimmy grins again, flexing his large, toned biceps at Artie, who flips him off.
            “I’m regretting the day I ever signed up for your fitness class,” he mutters. Jimmy grins again. “And the day Holly invited my sister.”
            “She would have found her way to me eventually,” Jimmy boasts. “We were meant to be.”
            Andy twists around, eyeing them off. “How did you hook up with Thelma?”
            Jimmy winks while Artie clears his throat, shooting him a glare. “I sense I may be about to hear some things about my sister I never need to know. I’m going to the bathroom.”
            Parker and Lance snort, leaning over the backs of their seats to hear the story as well. Thelma was remarkably tight-lipped about how she and Jimmy met, so we’re all as intrigued as Andy is. Jimmy respectfully waits until Artie is out of earshot before grinning and regaling Andy with how he was filling in for one of the trainers at the high-class gym he owns, and Holly brought Thelma to a group session.
            “I had her number after five minutes,” he boasts, “and my hand down her yoga pants ten minutes after class ended.”
            “Then you married her.”
            “Sometimes a hookup refuses to stay that way,” Jimmy reasons. Don’t I know it.
 
The sun is setting as we touch down in New Orleans. Artie wanted Vegas, but it’s my party, so Andy backed up my choice. The twins were up for a weekend anywhere, as long as there was booze and women. New Orleans certainly has them covered on both fronts.
            We get a car to the hotel and agree to meet in the piano lounge after freshening up. I have no idea how the night will go, so I opt for a light suit, no tie. Artie and the twins are dressed similarly, with Jimmy drawing all the ladies’ eyes in his salmon pink, beautifully tailored shirt and tight cream trousers, no jacket. Andy is looking mutinous in a white button-down and dark slacks.
            “What happened to your jeans?”
            I didn’t even know the man owned slacks. He throws Artie a dark look.
            “I was overruled.”
            Chuckling, I sink into the lounge chair, accepting a glass of top-shelf whiskey from the waitress.
            “So, what’s the plan for tonight?”
            I glance at Andy, who smirks. “All your favorite things. Jazz, casino, beers at a brewery, and then Bourbon Street to get so drunk we can’t remember the name of our hotel.”
            “I’ll drink to that.”
 
Artie, Jimmy, and the twins are laughing, leaning against the side of the tattoo parlor while I argue with Andy.
            “Look, it’s your fucking fault!”
            “How do you figure that?” Andy asks, his eyes wide.
            “If you hadn’t invited your fucking army of brothers, I wouldn’t have been talked into doing it!”
            “If memory serves, you dropped your pants of your own accord.”
            “You didn’t stop me!”
            “That is not a reason for me to get my dick tattooed!”
            “You should do it, man!” Jimmy calls while the others howl with laughter. “It’ll be a bonding thing. You’re about to lose him to Mel, but this way, you’ll be brothers in arms forever.”
            Artie has sunk to the ground now, tears leaking from his eyes as he laughs so hard he’s struggling to breathe.
            Andy is very drunk, and I can see he’s close to agreeing.
            “It can be a matching one!” I suggest.
            “Do it! Do it! Do it!” The four of them start chanting. A small crowd gathers, someone helping Artie to his feet, joining in the chant. Finally, Andy snaps.
            “Fine!”
            The crowd cheers loudly, moving on as we walk into the tattoo parlor.
            “What can I get for you boys tonight?” the tattoo artist asks, looking us over.
            “I’m here to get Super Mario tattooed on the side of my dick,” Andy sighs resignedly. The guy’s eyebrows shoot up.
            “Come again now?”
            “Super Mario. Side of my dick.”
            “Yeah, you’re gonna need to sign a release form.”
            “Fine. Give it here. I’ll sign it.”
            “You sure?”
            “Yeah, this is my lawyer.” He gestures to me. I flash the guy a thumbs up. He looks suspicious but pulls out the form, handing it to Andy. I read it over his shoulder.
            “Did I sign one of these?”
            “Yeah. You insisted on reading the whole thing first,” Andy snorts. He signs the bottom handing it back. Sighing, he climbs onto the bench, tugging down his trousers.
            “Like any Super Mario?” the guy asks, snapping on his gloves.
            “Like matching,” I suggest, getting my junk out. The tattoo artist smirks, snapping a photo of my dick with his phone and placing it down so he can see it. I tuck my junk away.
            The tattoo gun buzzes.
            “Oh, mother fucking son of a god damned whore!” Andy screams. I’d like to think I handled it better, but I’ve seen the video – which I made Andy delete – by this stage, I had moved from cursing to crying.
 
Oh god. I don’t remember the last time I was this drunk. I swear, my fingers are having trouble hitting the letters on my phone as I text Mel. It’s supposed to read How’s Napa, Tinker Bell?
PETE: Hiws napa tinkerbejke?
TINKER BELL: Was that even English? Napa is fine. I’d ask how New Orleans is, but I’m worried your response would be a crime against language.
            Smirking, I start to tap a response, not looking where I’m walking.
            “Watch out!”
            The words process too late, and I look up, trying to do the most ungrateful ballet-style spin to get out of the way of a guy trying to carry too much band equipment out of a bar at the same time.
            Fuck. My foot lands awkwardly on a crack in the pavement. All I can think of is that I need to save my phone because it has Mel’s number in it. My arms windmill, still clutching my phone tightly as I fall.
            I’m saved from eating pavement by a white car, my hand gripping the side mirror. Unfortunately, I go down hard, and the fucking mirror comes with me. I wince as the bite of pain radiates through me, starting at my ass and rattling my teeth.
Sitting on the ground, clutching my phone in one hand and the detached mirror in the other, glaring up at the guys, who are howling with laughter.
            Andy reaches down, taking the mirror off me as Jimmy hauls me to my feet.
            “They need to make stronger mirrors,” I comment, turning to see if I should leave a note. My eyes widen as I take in the NOPD markings. Fucking hell. “I can’t get arrested at my bachelor party. Mel would never agree to marry me.”
            “Drop it and run?” Lance suggests.
            “He can’t do that. He’s a lawyer,” Parker protests. Yeah, I’m torn between both options right now.
            “What’s happening here?”
            Fuck. It’s too late to run. The cop approaches us, his eyes darting between the place on his car where the mirror used to be and Andy, who is still holding the fucking thing.
            “Drop it, son, and put your hands behind your back.”
            Shit. “No. There’s been a misunderstanding.”
            “I’m sure there has, son. Out of the way.”
            “I slipped and grabbed it to break my fall,” Andy pipes up. What the fuck is he doing? “I’m sorry, officer.”
            “Sorry isn’t going to buy you a pass out of the holding cells. Put down the mirror and face the car, hands behind your back.”
            Jimmy and Parker grab me, dragging me back as Andy complies. Jesus.
            He’s cuffed, and the cop turns him to put him in the car. Andy’s eyes lock with mine.
            “Go back to the hotel. Sober up, and then come and get me the fuck out of there so we can go home.”
            The cop slams the door, and I scrub my face. There’s nothing to sober you up quite like your best friend getting arrested for something you stupidly did.
            “What’s the charge, officer?” I call over as the guy moves to get in the car.
            “What’s it to you?”
            “I’m his lawyer.”
            “Criminal damage.”
            Shit. He gets in the car and drives off, taking Andy with him. Jimmy and the twins drag me back to the hotel, Artie already on his phone trying to work out a space with the hotel we can work from tomorrow. I don’t need an office space. I’ll do my arguing at the NOPD precinct.
Waving the boys off, I step into my room, where I shower, collapsing onto my bed. I need to get sober and get a night of good sleep. Then I need to figure out how the fuck to get Andy out of jail without indicting myself.
            At least it will be a memorable weekend.

THE END

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