R. Griffin - Seamless

“Let me show you.” He threw her over his shoulder and took her to their bed.

* * *

Later that night, he drove his motorcycle to the bar. He missed his bike; it felt good to have the cold air rush past him, even if it was only for a few miles. George was exhausted, but he wanted to put eyes on Finnegan’s while he was home to make sure everything was running smoothly. He’d also wanted to put eyes on Stella, make sure she was okay, and thank her properly for the tattoo on her ring finger. They talked regularly, but he heard the distance in her voice at times. She may not be able to handle him being away so often; they may need to talk about it and how to deal with the distance. Based on the tattoo on her bicep, she was feeling overwhelmed with Jamie being around, too. She’d assured him she was working with the FBI and that everything was going to work out, but he wasn’t so sure.

He pushed open the door to the bar and felt at home, at ease. He smiled at Hazel and Owen behind the bar and the line of people around it. It was a little after ten and the bar was packed. The tables were full of jubilant people drinking and listening to a folk band on the stage. George’s face turned up just being in Finnegan’s. He walked behind the bar and hugged Hazel and Owen.

“I didn’t know you’d be in tonight,” Owen said.

“Well, I didn’t know if I’d be able to get an earlier flight until a few hours ago.”

Hazel went back to pouring drinks. There were a ton of younger faces at the bar, much more than when he left.

“I just thought I’d pop by to see how it’s going. I’m heading back to Iowa on Sunday and have a wedding tomorrow.”

“Things are really great, Will.” Owen poured two whiskeys and put them on the counter, starting a tab.

“This band is good. Did you find them?” George asked.

Owen nodded, smiling as he worked. “If you’re behind the bar, you need to help, boss.”

George grinned and went to the end of the bar to start taking drink orders. The regulars were still there, but there were a ton of new patrons. He worked for hours, his back wet from sweat. He missed this just a little; the people, the drinks, the laughs and even the smell. The band took a break and he pulled out his phone. He’d told El he’d only be gone for an hour, it was 11:59. Shit. He heard a hip hop beat blaring from the speakers and everyone started to stand up.

Owen grinned as the majority of the young people in the bar started yelling with the lyrics. George poured Guinness and tried to listen.

“Fuck the London Guard!” It seemed like the whole bar yelled together.

He looked over to Hazel and she was yelling too. They all appeared to know the song and held up their pint glasses when the song directed, “lift your glass to the sky.” A buzz sounded with the song as everyone started humming. He shook his head. It was very cool and he was impressed.

Owen came to stand near him. “Hope you don’t mind the Irish Celebration.”

“Of course not; that was awesome. Who sings it?”

“Macklemore.” Owen laughed and walked off.

“Are you serious?” He was so out of the loop. Things were changing. Life was changing and he wasn’t around. He felt it with Stella too. He was missing things with her and he didn’t like it.

Stella walked out of the bathroom and grabbed her clutch, hoping she didn’t make them late. Senator Ashby’s daughter was getting married at Mount Vernon and George was invited for press purposes. Stella was excited to learn that Millie was invited too, due to her work with the Senator on the educational legislation. She tugged at the hem of her very short, very tight, cocktail dress. It was a Hervé Léger bandage dress with seven different shades of blue. It only covered one shoulder and was so tight there was no hiding her curves. Her silver shoes were peep-toed six inch heels with crystals all over them. Her intention in buying this particular dress this week was to make sure George’s eyes never left her. When she rounded the corner from the stairs, she heard him curse.

“Holy shit.” George blew out a breath. “You can’t wear that,” he said, looking at his watch, “you have to change.”

Stella stopped in her tracks. “What? Why?” She looked down. She’d even asked the saleslady to help her with the dress for the wedding and she’d said it was completely appropriate.

“Because you can’t upstage the bride, El.” He raised his eyes to meet hers and his dimples made her stomach flip. “She’s going to be pissed.”

“Oh, really?” she teased and walked up to him slowly, obviously giving him a once-over; he was wearing a tuxedo with a pink bowtie and he took her breath away. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” she said appreciatively.

He put his hand up her skirt and grabbed her ass. “You’re not wearing underwear,” he growled.

“Hey!” She swatted his hand away. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish!”

“Oh, I can finish it,” he snarled and picked her up, sitting her on the kitchen counter and spreading her legs so they were on either side of his hips. His hands roamed all over her, his jaw clenched. “You’re not wearing underwear.”

“You said that already.” She laughed. “Have you seen this dress? No underwear would fit under it.”

They heard a car horn from outside.

“Fuck,” George muttered as he helped her down. He rearranged himself in his pants. “I’m going to be in a perpetual state of arousal tonight.”

Perfect. That’s exactly what she was going for.

“Wait. Where’s your cast?” George demanded. He’d been so distracted by her dress, he just noticed that she was missing her cast.

“I cut it off.” She busied herself grabbing her clutch and making her way to the front door, knowing he was going to be irritated with her. She shrugged. “It didn’t go with my dress.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It took you ten minutes to notice.”

“El, weren’t you supposed to go back to the doctor to get that off?”

“See, killed two birds with one stone. I look hot in my dress and I don’t have to pay for the doctor to do exactly what I just did.”

“But what if it hasn’t fully healed?”

They heard another beep.

Stella grinned and did a couple of break dancing moves from the 80s that included moving her hands all around him. “See?”

“Fuck, you’re…”

“Awesome? Hot in this dress? Have the moves of a D-list celebrity?” she finished for him. “Come on, Patrick will get all pissy if he has to beep again.”

“Ridonkulous,” George said. He pulled on a long wool coat and handed her a gray cashmere trench that she’d draped over the back of the barstool.

She laughed and she grabbed his hand to leave. “I’ll show you what else my hand can do later.”

“Tease.”

“It’s not a tease,” she whispered in his ear as they walked down the stairs to the driveway.

Patrick and Millie smiled at them from Patrick’s Audi. George opened the back door so Stella could sit with Millie, who started talking a mile a minute as soon as Stella sat down.

The couple getting married was truly a political power couple. The uniting of political forces was sort of scary. Senator Ashby’s daughter was marrying Parker Harding, the son of a northern Virginia Congressman. They were getting married on the lawn at Mount Vernon and then the reception was in an enormous tent on the lawn overlooking the Potomac. It’d been in all the DC magazines as the wedding of the season.

“You’re looking really hot tonight,” Millie giggled. “Where did you get those shoes? They look like Cinderella slippers.”

“Jimmy Choo.” Stella kicked her foot up and put it on the armrest.

Patrick grimaced. “I know you’re not putting your shoe on my console.”

“I sure am. I plan on putting them higher later.” She laughed and nudged George with her shoe.

George smiled and raised his eyebrows at Stella.

“Fuck,” Patrick muttered under his breath and then elbowed her foot down.

“Do not touch these works of art!” Millie exclaimed.

“They cost enough to be works of art,” Stella murmured, admiring them.

“How high are those?” Millie asked, holding up her simple, black peep-toed heel in comparison.

“Almost six inches, I think.”

“I couldn’t even pretend to walk in those.” Millie shook her head. “I love your dress too. You look like a celebrity.”

“I feel like one. I need to be wearing Spanx, but I just didn’t feel like it. I plan on eating and drinking a lot so…the Spanx were a no go.”

“You don’t need Spanx,” Millie comforted.

“What the fuck are Spanx?” Patrick asked from the front seat.

“You don’t worry about us talking back here,” Millie retorted. “They’re a friend of women, that’s all you ever need to know.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to a wedding at Mount Vernon! This is crazy,” Stella said, hoping to change the topic.

“I know!” Millie gushed. “And so high profile! We’ll probably be the only people who don’t arrive in a limo.”

“Sorry, babe,” Patrick put in. “I’ll open the door for you, if it makes you feel better.”

“Aw, thanks, honey,” Millie replied sarcastically. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

Stella’s phone beeped; she had a text message.

wednesday 7:30

It was from Jamie. She smiled to herself. It was a date.

fine

She responded and then forwarded it to Patrick, whose phone dinged. He pulled it out to check it.

“I know you’re not texting and driving,” Millie chided.

“No, I’m reading my text and driving.”

“Hey, fucker, you’ve got precious cargo in here,” Stella chimed in.

“Whatever,” Patrick responded.

“What crawled in your undies and died today?” Stella asked.

Patrick’s jaw clenched. Stella looked at Millie, her eyebrows raised. George was silent.

“Asshole,” Millie mouthed at Stella.

Stella tried to hold in her laughter, but it ended up sounding like a dying animal, which caused George and Millie to laugh at her.

Patrick was stone-faced.

“I’ll be designated driver if drinking will help take that rod out of his ass,” Stella offered.

“No worries. I got a car to take us home later,” George piped up.

"Awesome!” Millie cried, high-fiving Stella. “Now it’s a real party!"

After the long drive, Patrick finally pulled into Mount Vernon. They got out of their car at the valet and Patrick and Millie walked ahead of Stella and George. Millie pulled out her invitation and handed it to the host placed at the door. George pulled his out of the inside pocket of his coat.

“Glad you brought your invitation,” Stella whispered. She’d never been to a wedding where you had to bring proof you were invited, but she understood this was a safety precaution.

George grabbed her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of her wrist. Stella leaned into him and inhaled his mint scent.

Once they got to where the service was going to be, both couples sat on the bride’s side. Millie leaned into Stella and whispered, “Everyone is looking at you.”

“No, they aren’t,” Stella hissed.

“I heard her dress cost $18,000.”

Stella’s head whipped around toward Millie. “$18,000?! Holy shit!”

“Shhhh.” Millie giggled.

George put his hand on Stella’s thigh and squeezed.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Are you serious? This dress cost $2,000 and I thought I was going to shit myself when I bought it.”

"Then why did you buy it?” Millie asked.

"Because I wanted George to think about fucking me every second he looked at me.” Stella put on a new fake smile she was trying out, a broad, genuine smile meant to convey amusement.

Millie looked at Stella, then leaned forward and looked at George. “Things okay?” she mouthed.

Stella shrugged. She’d told Millie about the whole “Jessica situation,” but Millie didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Stella felt like they were okay, but she didn’t want to take any chances; she wanted him thinking about her every second.

Millie grabbed her hand and patted it compassionately.

They stood when the bride walked down the aisle, positively glowing on her father’s arm. Stella thought the dress was gorgeous, if frightfully expensive. It was silk and tight on the bodice and then the skirt was gathered in different areas and reminded her of meringue on a coconut crème pie. The bride looked amazing.