Nice Girls Don't Bite Their Neighbors (26 page)

I giggled, sniffing as I helped Jolene up. I held the hanger up for her inspection. “It’s my dress!”

“I know,” Andrea said, grinning. “I helped with some of the basting.”

“You knew?”

“We didn’t want to get your hopes up, just in case it didn’t come out.”

“Can I try it on now?”

“Actually, my mama’s going to do a fitting with you on Monday. In fact, Zeb is taking the dress to a safe, undisclosed location across town, so certain scissor-happy ghosts don’t get their bitchy mitts all over it.” Jolene yelled the last bit, just in case Grandma Ruthie was listening. “We’ve already called Iris to tell her to call off the dress search.”

“Does
everyone
know my wedding planner’s cell number?” I wondered.

“I think she sees you as a special case,” Jolene told me. “She needs all the help she can get.”

“What’s the second surprise?” I asked. “Did you get ’N Sync back together so they could play the reception?”

“No, I think we can agree that it’s for the greater good that they stay separated,” Andrea retorted, patting my head. “The surprise is that we’re going out tonight. It’s your bachelorette party. We are going to distract you from the chaos of your everyday life by dragging you to several bars, getting you blind, stinking drunk, and making a public spectacle of you. There may also be an obscene lollipop bouquet involved.”

“You’re going to take me to the Meat Market, aren’t you?” I groaned, thinking of the only all-male, nearly nude revue in the tristate area, where we’d subjected Jolene to similar premarital humiliation. Once again, this confirmed my theory that bachelorette parties were less about celebrating the end of a girl’s single days and more about friends getting revenge for what the bride put them through during the planning process.

Jolene threw her head back and laughed. “And Jenny’s waitin’ downstairs. Surprise.”

I went to the mirror to give my hair a quick brush and slap on a little lip gloss. “Is my mama downstairs, too? Because that would really ramp up the yikes factor.”

Andrea shook her head. “No. I thought about it, but I’d like to be able to look your mama in the eye again.”

This was my own fault, really. I’d insisted on having the bachelorette party long before the wedding. Because I’d gone on girls’ nights with Jolene and Andrea before, and I didn’t want to start my married life feeling like something recently scraped off Lindsay Lohan’s shoe. Gabriel was not happy with the idea of us going out alone. In fact, he’d done his best to talk Andrea and Jolene out of any bachelorette shenanigans. But they’d convinced him that it was wrong to stop living our lives, just because some crazy redneck had turned my car into barbecue. They wanted to give me the full bridal experience, they said, which made me think that they were still holding grudges about their own bachelorette soirees. I have to learn to practice restraint when it comes to bachelorette accessories. Making Andrea wear the penis tiara all over town was probably going a bit too far, but she had made me tie perfectly square bows on more than fifty lawn chairs for her outdoor ceremony. It felt justified at the time.

I sighed and slipped on some black kitten heels. “Let my bachelorette quote-unquote fun begin.”

“Aren’t you going to change?” Andrea asked.

I looked down at the little black dress I was wearing. “What’s wrong with this?”

“Jane, you are not wearing that dress,” Andrea told me. “You do not make good decisions in that dress. Remember Jolene’s first girls’ night out after the babies? You tried to get a tattoo, but your skin kept healing up.”

“That tattoo would have been really cute,” I insisted.

“It was a full back piece composed of flaming skulls!” Andrea exclaimed.

“Which is why I don’t drink tequila anymore.”

Thank God she didn’t know that this dress was also a contributing factor in the engagement-party parking-lot incident.

“A little help here?” Andrea begged Jolene.

“Don’t look at me,” Jolene said. “I love that dress. Bad Decision Jane is a hoot.”

“You suck,” Andrea countered.

“Well, you’re the vampire, so that means
you
suck.”

“I’m leaving now,” I told them, grabbing my purse.

Andrea and Jolene bickered as we descended the stairs to find Zeb and Dick helping Jamie set up some sort of
Call of Duty
mega-tournament.

True to Jolene’s word, Jenny was waiting downstairs in the living room. She was wearing black skinny jeans and a slinky red beaded top, a far cry from her usual twin sets. As I rounded the corner into the living room, I could see her twisting her hands in her lap, a clear Jenny sign of discomfort. Jamie was on the end of the couch, fiddling with a controller and chugging a Faux Type O. Jenny
was sitting as far away from him as possible, eyeing him warily. Gabriel was sitting close by, pretending to read the newspaper but keeping a close watch on our charge for signs of bloodlust.

“Ready to go, Jen?”

“Yep!” she cried, her voice cracking as she sprang to her feet and practically ran across the room. I rolled my eyes as she fluffed my hair. “You look nice. Doesn’t she look nice, Gabriel?” Jenny tittered in a high, panicked pitch.

Gabriel put his paper down. “Yes, I love that dress. I have very fond memories attached to that dress.”

Jolene whispered, “I told you so,” and realization dawned on Gabriel’s face.

“I don’t think I want you wearing that if I’m not going with you,” he said.

“It will be fine,” I told him.

“Do you need a cardigan?” he asked. “Those bars can get rather chilly. Maybe a parka or a snow suit?”

“Aw, come on, Gabe, she looks hot,” Jamie protested.

I crossed the room to kiss Gabriel. “Thank you, Jamie.”

“Pretty maids all in a row,” Dick said with a grin, giving us a wink. “Well, not quite maids—”

“Watch it,” we chorused.

“Zeb, don’t you think Jolene would be much more comfortable with an overcoat?” Gabriel asked, motioning to the blue-jeans miniskirt that exposed a good deal of Jolene’s leg.

Zeb shrugged. “What do I have to worry about? Wolves mate for life.”

Jenny’s eyebrows arched. “What does that mean?”

Whoops.
This was the danger of mixing new, nonsupernaturals into the group. This was the first solo outing my sister had ever taken with me and my supernatural friends. I was interested to see how it would pan out. I don’t think Jenny was completely comfortable around Andrea yet. And since werewolves were still very much a secret from the human world, she had no idea what to think about Jolene, a gorgeous semi-feral-looking girl who’d just had twins, ate like a horse, and never gained weight.

“It’s just an expression,” I told her as Jolene nudged him in the ribs and informed him that mating for life only counted if the male wasn’t smothered in his sleep.

“You have your pepper spray?” Gabriel asked me. I nodded. “And your silver spray?”

Jamie scoffed. “I don’t get it. If you’re that worried about her, why not just give her a gun?”

Everyone in the room stopped and stared at Jamie in horror, even Jenny.

“Do you really think releasing an armed Jane into the public is a good idea?” Zeb asked.

Jamie frowned, mulling it over. “Good point.”

“And on that note, having had my own childe turn on me, we’re leaving,” I muttered.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Jamie called as we walked toward the front door. Over my shoulder, I heard him say, “Don’t worry, Gabe. My cousin Marnie had a great time at her bachelorette party, and she came home perfectly safe. Of course, she was pregnant by a stripper
dude who called himself Marcus the Matador, but she was perfectly safe.”

“Jamie,” Gabriel groaned.

“The wedding was called off,” Jamie added.

Dick chided, “Not helping, Junior.”

We piled into Jolene’s SUV. Our gal werewolf was serving as the designated driver, since she was still nursing. I turned to Jenny, who was trying to swat several stuffed sheep into the twins’ car seats so she could buckle her seatbelt.

“You know you don’t really have to be nervous about Jamie, right? He’s never fed on a human. He’s been on bottled or donor blood since he was turned. He won’t hurt you . . . probably.”

“That’s not what I was nervous about,” Jenny insisted. “It’s just—I mean, have you seen him? I mean, he was cute when he was a kid, but now it’s just—I mean, it’s not fair! For him to have sexy vampire charm on top of being so good-looking . . . And now I feel like a sex offender for even saying that out loud.”

I patted her shoulder. “Oh, Jen, it’s not a big deal. I had those same thoughts after I turned him, and that doesn’t make me the biggest pervert in the world.”

She sighed. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re the biggest pervert in the world, because you’re three years older than me, and that makes you just a tiny bit sicker than me,” I said, grinning evilly.

She groaned, covering her face with her palm. “Thank you, Jane.”

Jolene snickered as she turned her land yacht toward town. “Aw, hell, Jenny, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, those feelings of shame and guilt generally melt away after the second cocktail,” Andrea added. “Add to that, watching your sister carry this around all night, I predict you’ll be feeling just fine in about an hour.”

With a flourish, she whipped out a bouquet made of Tootsie Roll Pops with a long, obscenely pink ribbon stamped with “Last Chance for a Suck!” in bold black letters.

I shook my head. “I knew the penis tiara was going too far.”

She handed me the bouquet. “And I told you I’d get back at you.”

We argued about the various pranks and humiliations of our bachelorette parties and how they might influence the level of havoc played out that night. We argued and giggled and accused, while Jenny listened. And I felt a little bad that Jenny probably felt left out of the conversation.

“You know, I’m kinda glad this is the last weddin’ our group is going to have,” Jolene said. “I’m not sure if our friendships will survive too many more of these.”

“Aww, you’re having our last wedding, Jane!” Andrea exclaimed, her eyes welling up.

“If you start to cry, I will slap you,” I warned. “We will not make it through this thing if you cry when you’re sober.”

“Nobody likes a girl with streaks of blood down her face,” Jenny said, gently patting Andrea’s arm. “Think happy thoughts, like how much fun it will be making Jane stick singles down a couple of the dancers’ banana hammocks.”

“B-banana—Where did you even learn the expression ‘banana hammock’?” I demanded.

Jolene cackled as we pulled into the parking lot of the Meat Market. “Jane, I have a feeling you’re going to learn a whole lot about your sister once we get a couple of drinks into her.”

I groaned. “Jolene, we have got to get you out of the house more often. Ever since the twins were born and your life became sex-free, you’ve gotten all aggressive with your girls’ nights out.”

“Zeb and I have sex all the time,” she protested. “We had sex right before we left the house tonight.”

I arched an eyebrow at her. “So, I have a teenager in my house, and I’m lucky to get a handshake. But you have infant twins, and your house is a den of desire?”

She nodded. “The women in my, um, family tend to bounce back into our sex lives pretty quickly. Hell, four weeks after the twins were born, Zeb was cuddling me and kissing my neck and telling me how proud he was of me and how I was handling the kids. And next thing you know . . .”

Jenny made the “bow-chicka-wow-wow” music.

Jolene chuckled. “I’ve never been inhibited or anything, but once Zeb saw me give birth and lived through it, there wasn’t much about my body that could gross him out. I didn’t worry so much and just enjoyed myself. Basically, the twins were the start of our own sexual revolution.”

“That really doesn’t help me, because I’m never . . .
ever giving birth. But Gabriel has seen my body do other weird stuff. Third-degree burns. Gunshot wounds. That sort of thing.”

“It’s comparable,” Jolene promised me.

“Ugh, this would be so reassuring if I wasn’t thinking about you having sex with my best friend right now.”

Oh, the butt-cheek bacchanalia of the Meat Market. How I had missed it. Jenny watched bug-eyed as three men in strangely ill-fitting sailor uniforms shook it to “In the Navy.” Andrea had a roll of singles the size of a softball and kept waving them around so the dancers would constantly circle our table. Jolene, having suffered through her own phallic-themed bachelorette saga, was kind enough not to make the whole night about humiliating me. She limited herself to exclusively ordering me drinks with extremely sexual names. I don’t even want to know what goes into a “Screaming Sex with a Bartender.” I just know said bartender was really happy to even hear her say the words aloud.

And then I realized that I had had sex with the other bartender on duty. I’d dated Joe Tilden in that regrettable summer after my sophomore year of college when I discovered low self-esteem and tequila. Joe had gotten my hair caught in his watchband mid-thrust and mistook my yowls for cries of pleasure and continued toward an unremarkable end. Of my handful of partners, he was memorable but not for a good reason. I turned on my heel, directing my body entirely away from the bar, and
prayed that the strobe lights had damaged Joe’s eyesight over the years.

“Oh, my gosh, is that Joe Tilden?” Jenny whispered, her face flushed and red. I prepared an elaborate justification for her staying in her seat and not embarrassing me in the interests of sisterly love and devotion. But Jenny ducked behind my chair and hid her face in my shoulder.

“You OK, Jen?”

“Don’t let him see me!” she whimpered. “Oh, my gosh, I’m so embarrassed!”

“Jennifer, what is going on?” I demanded.

Jenny’s blush stained her cheeks even brighter. She relaxed as Joe turned his back and began working the opposite side of the room. “Well, you remember before Kent and I got engaged, he went on a spring-break trip with a few of his friends from chiropractic school, and I got upset? We had that huge argument about his goals and where I fit in on his five-year plan?”