Into You Series: The Complete Collection

28. Ian

CHAPTER 28

IAN

I should have known the bachelorette party would be more of a mess than our bachelor party. Every one of those girls has the ability to strike a match and light a torch for the others to follow. My sister, the wild child; the bride, the feisty redhead; Corinne, the bandwagon partier; and, Nia, the irresistible, stubborn, beautiful woman.

God save the man who tries to mess with their party tonight.

“Go fish,” Cameron grunts. We’re sitting in the hotel restaurant at a large round table in the corner. There are couples sitting at the bar ordering drinks and even a gaggle of girls flirting with the bartender and his long hair. I’m dipping chips into our spinach artichoke bowl and trying not to think about the girls and their possible mishaps.

Nia sent her last text an hour ago. My muscles have been tense ever since then.

“How do we even play this game?” Grant’s knuckles smash against his cheek. He looks tired, and I wonder if he’s suffering from withdrawal. He’s gotten grumpier in the past day, and I can’t help but notice the copious amount of sweat rolling down his forehead, though maybe that’s just how he normally looks.

“You’ve played Go Fish before,” Harry says, throwing in a card and taking one out.

“I don’t think you’re playing it right,” Wes says, scratching his head before running both hands through his floppy hair.

“ You’re not getting it.” Grant’s voice is muffled through his fist.

“You put in a card then take one back out,” Harry says with a laugh. “What is there to get?”

“Let’s just play Uno,” I say. “In that game, you don’t even have to mess with the whole picking one back up deal.”

“Fuck you,” Grant snaps, slamming his hands on the table and throwing his chair back. He’s charging toward the exit, and Harry is already huffing.

“Sorry guys,” he apologizes, scooting his chair back. “We’ll probably head up for the night. Let me know how things go and if you need any help.”

He’s referring to the girls, because it’s been an unspoken understanding all night as to why we’re sitting in a bar playing a game meant for children, and it’s not because we’re passionate about Go Fish. Even the grandma on the back of the cards is grinning up at me with her dentures. Lady, I don’t need your looks.

“You bet,” I say.

We’re all silent, throwing cards in, picking them out—honestly, I’m not sure any of us do know the rules—then a phone buzzes. The three of us flip our phones over on the table to check whose it is. I desperately want it to be Nia. Maybe she was bold enough to send a nude. Not sure how she would manage, but a man can dream.

“Hey, Ray,” Wes says. I jerk my head to him. He blinks, nodding, then chuckles after a couple seconds, looking around the table at each of us as if saying, Are you hearing this shit? Except, no, no we cannot, and my anxiety is growing by the second. “A strip club? Really?” His eyes widen but a grin is plastered on his face, stretching from cheek to cheek. “A female strip club? How did you end up there?”

Ramona took them to a female strip club. I can’t help but bark out laughter at the thought of how uncomfortable Nia probably is at a place like that. That explains her text from earlier.

“I can’t understand you, dear. It’s a bit loud,” Wes continues, pressing his finger into the opposite ear.

Then we hear a slurring voice yell through the phone, “I SAID, COME PICK US UP.”

And with that, we’re all up and out the door.

I claim the driver’s seat, much to Cameron’s chagrin, stating, “You wanna get there fast? I’m taking the wheel,” before double-checking we’re all buckled, putting that sucker into drive, and skidding out of the parking lot. I’m accustomed to my sports vehicle beast, and this hulking Jeep doesn’t do much for someone in a hurry. Even as I’m barreling down the road following the GPS suspended from the windshield, Wes is in the back seat laughing into the phone. I’m unsure how serious the situation may be, but with Wes still having a good time, I guess I shouldn’t be too concerned.

“Is that so?” A laugh. A shake of his head is seen in the rearview mirror. I’m swinging the car around every twist and turn.

What am I doing? I shouldn’t be worrying. Nia is a woman with a good head on her shoulders. I’m sure she’s the sober one and Ramona’s call is just a false alarm because she wants to see her husband. Those two can’t be away from each other more than twelve hours.

But Wes will still rush to her side. There’s a reason all of us sat in the hotel playing a boring card game. At the end of the day, we just want our women safe.

Sure, Nia may not be my woman, but I did have my mouth to her pussy less than twenty-four hours ago, so yeah, I’d say even if you disregard the nine years of wanting her, on some level, she might be my woman.

The GPS says I’ve arrived at the location and it’s on my left. I crank the wheel over and jump the curb into the parking lot.

“Jesus!” Wes yells from the back seat.

“If you’re going to drive a Jeep, you’re practically obligated to jump curbs,” I say.

“Honey, are you meeting us outside?” Wes asks into the phone, clutching the ‘oh shit’ handlebar up top.

I’m unbuckling, putting the car in park, and stepping out. My eyes scan the parking lot and I see none of the women we’re looking for.

Until I do.

There she is with white-blonde hair tied into a top knot, dress riding up her thighs, and one leg out of the driver’s seat in Ramona’s car. She’s laughing, both hands on the wheel at ten and two like the good, responsible girl she is. I’m wondering why we were called if Nia is sober enough to drive, but when I get closer, my stomach sinks.

With the smell of alcohol drifting off of her, it would be far-fetched to think she’s anywhere near sober.

She doesn’t notice us yet. She’s play-revving the engine like the wheel is motorcycle handles and her mouth is open, a smile upon her face showing pure elation. Heat rises up from my chest. One of my fists is clenched by my side, and the headlights from the car are less blinding than the headache growing in my temples.

And then, I don’t see her anymore. I’m blinking my eyes open. I’m in a bed. My legs are covered with a quilt. I see an empty chair in the corner, a purse leaning against its legs, a blanket draped over the back. A door is open. The linoleum is almost as stark white as the lights shining above me. It’s difficult to make out the rest of the room, but there’s ringing in my ears followed by the feeling that something must be very wrong.

I’m being told my best friend passed. Wreck. Not my fault. Of course not my fault, they say, but I know better, and I don’t want to be told otherwise.

“Nia! Nia, drive! You said you’d be our DD!” a voice yells from the passenger seat, breaking me from my memories. I walk closer to the car and bend down to see Corinne sitting beside her. Nia is laughing, cranking the wheel in a mocking revving motion again.

The words bust out of me before I can consider anything else.

“What the fuck is going on?” I ask. I reach my arm in and turn the headlights off. My headache should lessen, but I’m only getting more heated by the second. “Where are the keys?”

Nia’s head twists toward the open door, eyes glazed over. Is she even sober enough to recognize it’s me? Then her eyes widen, her eyebrows rise to her hairline, and a wide grin replaces the light-hearted smile from earlier. Her cheeks are full, flushed, and beautiful, but she’s still in the driver’s seat, reeking of alcohol, and my heart is still pounding. I can’t stop it.

“Ian!” she yells, pulling one hand off the wheel.

“Ian!” Corinne echoes, opening the passenger door and clomping her heels across the pavement and around the car.

“What are you thinking?” I ask Nia, and her brows furrow inward.

“What?” she mumbles. I see the keys resting in her lap, and I take them.

“Ian!” Corinne’s voice rings again as she draws me into a hug. Her height is comparable to mine, and I’m not used to women hugging around my shoulders rather than my waist. I instinctually pat her back, but my eye contact with Nia does not break, her confusion clear.

“Ian, Ian, this is a female strip club!” Corinne says, bouncing on the heels of her stilettos.

“Congratulations,” I deadpan, eliciting a small giggle from her.

“Ian!” Wes’s voice calls across the parking lot.

Oh my god, if I hear my name called one more time…

I jerk around to see Ramona’s arm slung over his shoulders as she stumbles forward, laughing like a hyena. The strap of her dress is hanging off her shoulder and she walks barefoot with both heels in her hands.

Fantastic.

“Give me a second!” I yell back.

The doors to the club are thrown open and Grace walks out, striding forward in a straight line, unmistakably sober as can be. Cameron follows behind her, one hand on the small of her back.

“What the hell, Grace?” he says.

“Give me a second to gather my bridesmaids, Cameron,” she shoots to him. Her mouth is in a straight line as she points to Wes and Ramona. “Will you help him, please?”

“I need to pee,” Nia whines from below me. Her eyebrows pull tighter in the middle.

“I’ll go with you!” Corinne says, holding out her hand for Nia to take.

With a jerk of her other leg, Nia stumbles out of the car. I bend to grab her other arm. As she’s lifted out with both our efforts, she groans a little. Her skin is soft, but with every breath, it seems like the alcohol smells stronger. My head swims.

Nia was going to drive. She knows better than that. She knows how I feel about that.

“Oh, are you guys going?” Ramona yells, seeing Nia and Corinne trot back toward the black doors of the club. “I need to go too!”

“We’re ten minutes from the hotel.” Wes laughs. “Can you guys not wait?”

“Bye!” Ramona yells back over her shoulder. Wes tosses her a wave she cannot see then all three women disappear through the doors.

Wes, Cameron, and I look to Grace, who stands with her hands on her hips.

“What?” she snaps, and all three of us jump. There’s nothing like an angry bride.

“Nothing,” Cameron says, hands in the air.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Wes asks. “Figured you would be the worst.”

“Over your wife?” she shoots back.

“Well, she’s a given.”

Not even a moment later, Ramona is stumbling back out through the doors. Wes and Grace run—at least, Grace runs as well as someone can with heels—and catch her before she falls.

“Where are Nia and Corinne?” I call out. She shakes her head with a laugh, knees bending as if she can’t contain the hilarity of it all.

“Corinne is just doing Corinne things.” She giggles. I don’t have time to register what that could possibly mean before Ramona is yelling over to Grace.

“Why didn’t you drive?” she asks, squinting at her as if she can barely see her best friend.

“You called Wes, remember?” Grace says, her tone clipped. “I told you not to. I said I could drive.”

“That’s right!” Ramona yells, attempting to snap her fingers in realization, but she’s forgotten how to, which I wasn’t sure was possible. “Protecting that baby bun!”

Fuck.

“What?!” Cameron bellows from behind me.

Double fuck.

I don’t have time for this.

I storm toward the entrance, swinging the doors open like I’m barreling into a saloon, and I see Corinne locking lips with some woman, hands roaming up the stranger’s thighs.

“Where is Nia?” I ask.

Her head jerks away from the woman, who seemed to be having a fairly decent time. I recognize her instantly—the black-haired beauty with the big tits from the hotel bar.

Go you, Corinne.

“Bathroom,” Corinne says breathlessly, and I throw a salute her way.

“At ease, women.”

My feet carry me to the women’s bathroom. There’s a call from behind me, maybe the bouncer or the ticket guy asking why I haven’t shelled out the obscene amount of money required to gain entrance. Either way, I slam the women’s bathroom door open and, thankfully—or, thankfully for the other women in the club—the only sight I see is Nia against the wall, knees curled to her chest, giving me a shy wave.

I inhale sharply. I’m too exhausted to fight. I can’t bring myself to argue with the fragile woman in front of me. I just want to wrap her up in my arms and carry her home.

“Let’s go, Polly.”

Nia is the woman with a solid head on her shoulders. She’s the woman with control and responsibility. She’s the woman I need, not just the woman I want, but with the memory of her cackling in that front seat, I now wonder if maybe I had the wrong impression.

Maybe she’s isn’t the one for me, and that realization hurts like a bitch.