Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

Half an hour later, she sat on the edge of her bed with tears streaming down her face. Why on earth did she let these dogs get to her so much?

Because you feel a kinship to them.

Just like she’d confessed to Curly a few nights ago. He’d been such a focused listener while she’d spewed her entire life story to him. God, how embarrassing. She couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol because two beers did nothing to her. But, for some reason, she’d lost her mind for a bit and told the poor man more information than he bargained for. And afterward, she’d felt…good in a strange way. Lighter.

Suddenly she had the insane urge to talk to him again.

Thankfully, her phone chirped with a text before she could do something stupid like calling him.

Nancy: Bet you’re crying right now. I’ll be over in half hour to distract you with an afternoon at the pool. Your pool.

She laughed. Leave it to Nancy to cheer her up. She and David didn’t have a pool and had a standing invitation to use Brooke’s anytime at all.

Brooke: You should be my wife.

Nancy: You couldn’t handle all this.

True story. Nancy was a force. But already, Brooke smiled and felt sunnier.

“Excuse me,” Nancy said an hour later. Revulsion dripped from her voice. “What the hell is this?”

Brooke glanced over her shoulder from where she was digging through a drawer for the sarong she’d sworn she’d stuffed in there. “It’s a bathing suit.”

“Are you sure? Because it looks more like a potato sack.”

Straightening, Brooke barked out a laugh. “Shut up. It does not. It’s a normal one-piece bathing suit.”

“With a skirt.” Nancy held it by the strap with two fingers as though it were a dead rat rather than a floral bathing suit.”

“Yes, with a skirt. What’s wrong with that? I’m forty-one.”

“Ugh, exactly!” Nancy tossed the bathing suit on the floor between them. “You’re forty-one, not ninety-one. You are not wearing this. I won’t allow it.”

Brooke bent to retrieve the perfectly appropriate bathing suit with a laugh, but Nancy kicked it out of reach.

“Oh, it’s on, bitch.” She dove for her friend.

Nancy danced out of reach as she cracked up. “Wait! Don’t attack. I come bearing gifts.” She had her long blond hair pulled up in a high ponytail that made her look youthful and fun. When paired with her trendy swim coverup and designer sandals, Nance could be on the cover of a swimwear magazine.

“Gifts?” Brooke asked as she stopped the attack. “What gifts?”

After a quick rummage through her pool bag, Nancy pulled out something small and teal. “I’m tired of looking at your geriatric bathing suits, so I bought you…this!” She held up two scraps of material. “It’s a bathing suit.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “Is it for a toddler?”

With a roll of her eyes, Nancy asked, “Judgmental much? No! It’s for you. Two pieces like someone with a hot bod should be wearing.”

“Are you crazy?” Brooke lifted her hands and took a step back. “Oh, hell, no. There is no way I’m wearing that unless I have at least two layers of clothing over it. Did you not just hear me say I was forty-one?”

Nancy stared at the ceiling as though looking for strength. “Girlfriend, you are insane. Who the hell ever said a gorgeous forty-whatever-year-old with a banging body couldn’t wear a bikini? I wear them all the time. And don’t you tell me your husband would never have let you wear something like this because we both know he was a stupid fucknugget, and you can’t believe a damn thing he said.”

Well, it was true. Evan would have flipped his shit if she’d worn something so skimpy. Even in the privacy of their yard. He’d have had plenty of choice words about sluts and whores.

But if that were the only issue, she’d have jumped into the suit just to spite that asshole. “Um, I’m gonna give David a call and ask him to take you for a vision exam. There is something seriously wrong with your eyeballs. And you are thirty-two. That’s nine fewer years of gravity dragging things down. And nine fewer years of collagen loss shriveling things up. And nine fewer years of donuts making things jiggle.” When Nancy opened her mouth, Brooke held up a hand. “The wrong things.”

Nancy’s arms dropped to her side, and her mouth took on a disapproving frown. “Brooklynn Paige Williams, you will put this bathing suit on, or I will body slam you to the ground, strip you down, and put it on for you. Do you understand me?”

It took all her strength not to laugh at Nancy’s fierce exasperation. If it were anyone else, she’d sigh then put on the one-piece, but Nancy was crazy enough to do as she threatened. “Yes, ma’am,” Brooke said, though it came out as more of a garbled chuckle.