Ah, but this is true.
Fucking cures everything.
Do I get the good fuck that I need, though? Nope. Our party splits. Chaz ensures that I get fed while Bae and Zane take all my new goodies to the condo and pick up all my pageant stuff.
By the time Chaz and I are done eating and arrive at The Crowbar and Grill for round two of the pageant, Zane is there, and Brodi has replaced Bae, I assume since Brodi has to be here to judge, even if Chaz never actually answered when I asked earlier.
The photoshoots go well enough. Find someone willing to drop some dough, get a little slutty, take a picture. Rinse and repeat.
Unlike last night, Hell for Leather is more sparse, and those who are in attendance are even more attuned to their surroundings. On edge, waiting for some kind of shit to be slung.
Kio must have sent out a morse code after our little chat. That, or one of the other officers’ hairs stood up on the back of their necks. Rather than anticipate a move on any one location, my guess is that they decided to anticipate a move on all main locations. Even the street racing scene peeps are nowhere to be seen here.
Except for Remi. She showed up shortly after we arrived and said she was given strict instructions to stick with me at all costs, giving Chaz and Zane a little more freedom to watch everything else. Though she did make sure I knew there was no way in hell she was getting up on stage, so I would be on my own up there. She stuck nearby, as instructed. All business. Watchful. Assessing. I have never seen her in this mode, but it comes naturally for her.
As soon as I have a free moment, I sneak away — well, as much as is possible with Remi following me — to pay Brodi a quick visit at the judges’ booth before this thing well and truly kicks off. Seeing him when we got here reminded me that Bae had a wound, something I had managed to completely and totally forget about when he was blowing my mind earlier.
“Hey,” I greet. He barely meets my eyes, giving me a distant, echoed “Hey” in return. “Is Bae okay? I thought he was coming back here after stopping by the condo. Did you see him in passing?” I ask.
Sweet, yet psycho, Brodi tosses the question right back at me, fingers tapping against the plastic judging table, his little lightning bolt tattoo peeking out from the cuff of his jacket. “How about you tell me if you’re okay, instead.”
I shift from foot to foot, feeling incredibly chastised by the second newest Hell for Leather member. Brodi narrows me with a glare.
“Sorry,” I admit with pure honesty. “Really.” When his glare still remains hard and cold, I try again. “A moment of weakness, you know?”
A flicker of… something… passes across his features; part of him wants to soften, but right now a bigger part of him has something else to say about it. “Would you have pulled that shit with Kal? Coty? Hm?”
My anxious worry turns into amusement at his expense, but in this sensitive moment I need to be careful with how to approach this. I do not answer right away, if for no other reason than I need to put myself in the moment the way I need to be. Hitting on him right now will only make him angrier. Laughing will, too.
But I have never seen this type of vulnerability — this adorable childlike need for recognition — in any of these men before. I want to bottle it up, because it will likely never happen again.
I let my shoulders droop and eyes go downcast, showing him a very rare submissiveness before answering with an air of defeat. “Yes. Because I was that bad off at that moment. Seriously. Ask either of them. My killer personality does not discriminate. In fact, Kal was witness to the destruction I made after taking pills earlier in the day. Badass motorcycle club president or not, I did not care right then and there.”
His hard expression drops, and he gives me an abrupt nod and says, “Bae is fine.”
“Sorry I put that stress on you. Not sorry that I took them, though. But I think out of all of you, you understand this best.”
“I do. But I don’t wish that weakness on anyone. Especially you. Do better, Lace.”
Oh fuck. That hit me out of nowhere and everywhere all at once. All I can do is nod and hold back the tears. A couple other judges approach the table to get set up, and Brodi turns to chat with them, leaving me alone in my moment of chastisement.
Almost. Remi steps up and dips her head down to catch my eyes. Then she chucks me under the chin. The move is so awkward that we both laugh. But then her smile fades, and she states, “Keeping our chins up is what women like us do best.” She is so right. “Oh and they’re calling for contestants to start getting ready.”
“Groan.”
Remi holds up her hands. “Your issue, not mine.”
“This year,” I huff, starting toward the contestant tent.
“Any year,” she laughs. “You’ll get to know me soon enough.”
“Looking forward to it.” I toss her a sexy wink over my shoulder as I step inside right before I can no longer see her.
The pot of toxic femininity I am dumped into is a stark difference to the badass, snarky, sexy energy Remi puts off. Whatever conversation the little birdies I am competing against were having, stops instantly. The gossip is palpable, though. The fact it was about me even moreso.
The entire time I get ready, the room is dead silent. Only when I go to put on the amazing swimsuit Chaz picked do I realize why: someone had taken my bottoms, bleached the crotch, and left a note:
Better get that acidic, overused pussy juice looked at. Looks like an infection to me.