to come out of the bag and the princess crown or something. Maybe a shirt pinned with condoms? I knew I wouldn’t get off with just the Zorro outfit and a vibrator glued to the hand.
My suspicions were confirmed as soon we stepped outside. I was literally grabbed by a bunch of them. I frowned, wondering what on earth was going on, until they shoved me into a dark alley, grinning at me wickedly. George dropped the bag onto the floor, unzipping it deliberately slowly, and rummaged through it teasingly before pulling out a razor and a can of shaving foam.
Instantly I knew what was coming. “Fuck!” I hissed.
I should have expected this. It was my own fault, too – I’d done this exact same thing to Ashton on his bachelor party; I should have guessed he’d want payback.
I backed up and shook my head, holding my hands up innocently. “Guys, guys, can’t we talk about this?” My voice came out a little strained as I looked around, mentally assessing my chances of keeping my pubic hair. We were in a dark alley; the walls were brick, no fire escape ladders or doors were coming to my aid. My only chance was to bowl over a couple of my friends and run, screaming, towards the street. I really didn’t like my chances of this at all.
Ashton laughed and shook his head. George was swishing the razor around playfully, giggling like a little girl. “There’s nothing to talk about. This is happening with or without your consent,” Ashton teased, stepping forward.
I groaned and put up as good a fight as I could, but there were six of them, after all. Two of them were sitting on me, and three held my arms and legs as they all pinned me to the cold, hard floor. I could feel the cool night air whipping around my thighs as they yanked my pants and boxers down.
Wow, if people could see this from the outside! I laughed at how this situation could be interpreted and misconstrued if I didn’t trust them all with my life. But the thing was, did I trust them with my dick? George was drunk. Extremely drunk. And he was the one wielding the razor. I groaned and shook my head, silently pleading with him not to do it. Christ, I really am marrying into a crazy family! This guy was supposed to be responsible, not shaving his future son-in-law’s balls. But then again, ‘responsible’ didn’t suit my dad either, considering he was the one sitting on my chest, pinning my left arm to the floor while he started a chant of, “Shave him. Shave him. Shave him.”
Bastards.
George was giggling and wiping tears from his eyes as he pulled the cap off the shaving foam. “Hope I don’t slip and really cut it off. That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” he teased, laughing harder. “Better keep still there, Nate. I’ve been drinking, after all; I already can’t see straight. This might hurt a little…” he trailed off, and I closed my eyes, shouting for them to get off but laughing hysterically at the same time.
My humiliation lasted for what felt like hours, but in reality was probably only a few minutes. They let me go, and my eyes shot down to my now clean-shaven balls. I had no idea what Rosie was going to say about this – a conversation about drunken grooming wasn’t how I envisioned my honeymoon starting.
“You did a good job there, George. Maybe you should change profession and be a manscaper?” I joked, not knowing what else to say.
They all burst out laughing, and Ashton held his hand down to me and pulled me to my feet. He grinned happily, as I pulled up my pants and shook my head at him. “Now, more drinking,” he suggested, looking all pleased with himself. “Try not to itch that tomorrow,” he stated, nodding down to my crotch, which was already starting to feel uncomfortable.
I groaned. “You’re an asshole,” I grumbled.
“Just following your lead, bud. You started that shaving tradition four years ago when I got married; I’m just keeping it going,” he replied, winking at me as he dumped the bag and shaving things into the nearby dumpster.
They were all teasing the crap out of me as we were walking down the street. Suddenly, my dad stopped walking, causing Wayne to walk into him, both of them stumbling and almost falling to the floor.
“Oh, my God, I need one!” my dad cried, pointing to his left. I followed his eyes and felt my mouth drop open in shock. He was pointing at a tattoo parlour.
“Dad, seriously? No. Come on,” I encouraged, rolling my eyes and starting to walk again.
He shook his head fiercely. “I’ve always wanted one. I’m gonna get it while I’m too wasted to feel it,” he chirped. He grabbed George’s hand and practically skipped into the door. I burst out laughing and followed him in there. This was going to be classic. My mom hated tattoos; she was seriously going to kill him tomorrow.
While he was in there talking to the guy who was covered in artwork, George was shifting from one foot to the other, looking impatient. When my dad finally stopped talking, George leant in and started speaking to the guy. The tattooist and my dad were laughing; George was nodding in confirmation. I frowned, wondering what was going on. My dad slapped him on the back, and they both disappeared behind the curtain with the guy.
“What’s George doing?” I asked, plopping down in one of the plastic chairs, taking the bottle of whiskey they were passing around. I took a swig and passed it on to Brad, wincing as I swallowed the amber burning liquid.
“Maybe he’s gonna hold your dad’s hand. What’s he getting anyway?” Brad asked.
I shrugged. I never knew my dad wanted a tattoo at all; I had no clue what he was going to come out with. “No idea.”
It took just under half an hour; obviously, they were fast workers. The curtain pulled back, and both George and my dad limped out, laughing and grinning to themselves. I sighed and raised one eyebrow expectantly. My dad grinned and turned his back on me, pulling down his Iron Man shiny red pants to show me a bandage on his butt cheek. Oh, God, do I even want to see this? Please, please, do not let my mom blame me for this! He pulled the bandage down and as soon as I saw the two little words, I burst out laughing.
‘Dawn’s Bitch’
Yep, my dad had seriously had that tattooed on his ass. He was a dead man walking.
“Show them yours!” my dad enthused, slapping George on the stomach, nodding to us excitedly. Yours? Oh, crap, he’s had one, too? George grinned and pulled down his purple velvet pimp pants, showing us a bandage on his butt cheek, too. I groaned, fully expecting to see ‘Tracy’s Bitch’ inked there. Instead, when he pulled down the bandage to show us what he’d had done, I literally fell off my chair; I laughed so hard.
My father-in-law had two words inked onto his ass, too. Not the same as my dad’s though, like I was expecting. Instead, his were encased in a red circle – a traffic sign, to be exact.
‘No Entry’
He’d had a red and white ‘no entry’ sign tattooed on his ass. Priceless.
Chapter Three
“Gosh, damn, motherfudgeing crapballs on toast!” George shouted.
I laughed and shook my head. He’d been trying to sit down for the last couple of minutes, but every time he got his freshly-tattooed butt cheek to touch the seat of the bus, he screamed like a little girl throwing a tantrum over a new dolly that she wasn’t allowed. It was fucking hilarious. My dad was grinning and bearing it, sitting there with a pained expression on his face, trying not to move as the bus bumped down the road. George, on the other hand, was being forcefully pushed into the chair by Brad and Wayne, who obviously thought that his screaming weird expletives in a high-pitched girly voice was the funniest thing they’d heard all year.
“I thought you freaking well said we’d be too drunk to feel it!” George growled at my dad, shaking his head incredulously.
My dad shrugged. “I thought we would be. Don’t worry, next bar will sort that right out,” he replied, hissing through his teeth as we hit a pothole, making him jump in his seat.
I nudged Ashton. “We so should be videotaping this. Pure awesomeness.”
He grinned and nodded, pulling out his cell phone and standing up to record it. Suddenly he gasped and his eyes widened. “STOP THE BUS!” he
shouted suddenly, making everyone jump.
I was thrown forward as the driver slammed on the brakes, my shoulder colliding with the seat in front of me. I heard George and my dad cry out in pain as their ass cheeks must have chaffed. The bus screeched to a halt, and everyone turned to look at Ashton, who was currently three rows ahead of where he was standing before the emergency stop.
“Dude, what the hell?” I cried, rubbing my shoulder.
Ashton turned to me and grinned challengingly. “Rematch.”
Rematch, what the heck is that about? “Huh?” I mumbled, pushing myself up to standing. There had to be some sort of emergency for him to just shout ‘stop’ like that. People were driving around us, horns blaring now because we were stopped in the middle of the road. My friends and father-figures were pushing themselves up, glaring at Ashton as they groaned and grumbled under their breath.
“Taylor, are you high?” I asked, shaking my head, still wondering what was going on.
“Rematch,” he repeated, raising his hand and tapping the window of the minibus. I followed the direction that he was pointing and frowned as I spotted a mini-golf course on the side of the street. “Re-freaking-match. I’m gonna kick your ass at mini-golf. This is my thing. You guys are going down!” he cried excitedly whilst already stalking off the bus with a confident strut.
I looked at his back to see if he was serious or not. A couple of months ago we’d all gone out for a round of golf. Ashton, being super competitive at all sports – but apparently useless at golf – took the whole thing way too seriously. We’d all teamed up to kick his ass. We’d even paid one of the caddies to move his ball and stuff while he wasn’t looking. We’d teased the crap out of him all day about it. I’d heard through the grapevine that he’d been getting lessons since then and was going to request a rematch at some point. I guess he’d decided that hitting a ball into a clown’s mouth was a sufficient payback for the weeks we’d called him ‘hole in none’ after that little incident.
I raised one eyebrow and followed him off the minibus, ignoring people whining behind me that they wanted to drink some more. George was begging for some more alcohol to ‘soothe the burn on his delicate little ass’.
When I got to Ashton’s side, he was frowning and pulling on the obviously locked metal gates of the mini-golf course. “Looks like you’ll always be a loser in that respect,” I joked, nudging him with my shoulder.
“Maybe I could make a call and get them to open up for us or something?” he suggested, pulling out his phone and looking around for a number to dial.
“Are you totally serious about this, Taylor? Why don’t you just let it go and admit you’ll never match up to me in anything that you do?” I teased, smirking at him.
He raised one eyebrow at that. “Batman is superior to Zorro in everything,” he answered cockily.
“Except golf and riding horses. Zorro owns horse-riding,” I joked.
He frowned and kicked the fence in frustration. I sighed and looked up to the top of the ten-foot-high chain link fence. We could easily scale it. Well, most of us could; I wasn’t sure about the tattooed versions of Iron Man and Pimp Daddy.
“Loser has to do a forfeit. No backing out, what the winner chooses goes, and it has to be done no matter what. Deal?” I offered. There was no way I was losing at any sport, even in the complete darkness and half cut.
“Is there another one near here?” he replied absentmindedly. I shook my head and didn’t bother answering as I gripped hold of the cold metal, catching my foot in one of the little diamond shapes and starting to climb it. “Nate, what are you doing? Breaking and entering? I could arrest you for that,” Ashton scolded playfully.
I smiled down at him challengingly. “Last to the top has the smaller dick,” I called, laughing as he practically jumped on the fence in a bid to get to the top first. Competitive bastard.
We were both laughing as we reached the top at the exact same time. Just as he cocked one leg over the fence, I gave him a little shove, making him slip and drop down to the ground on the other side. He landed on his feet with a thump before falling on his ass, laughing and grabbing my ankle, pulling me down, too.
“Guys, seriously, it says there’s a guard dog,” Seth said, wincing. He hated dogs.
I rolled my eyes, pushing myself up and holding down a hand to help Ashton up to his feet. “Get your ass over here, Seth. All of you. Let’s go show this loser not to play golf with the big boys,” I ordered, grabbing Ashton into a headlock. We were both laughing quietly as we play-fought and walked towards the start, trying to be quiet on account of us trespassing on private property.
By the time we got to the little storage shed where the equipment was stored, I was convinced this was a bad idea. There was a big padlock on the door; there was obviously an apartment on the grounds where the guy slept above the little store where you paid. I was pretty sure twelve guys breaking and entering and having a drunken game of mini-golf at stupid o’clock at night were going to get caught. But the more drunken part of me really wanted to see Ashton try to win. He would get that serious expression on his face, and I couldn’t resist ripping the crap out of him for it.
For some reason, Seth always carried a little Swiss army knife in his pocket, so he was immediately picking the lock of the little store so we could get our clubs and balls. I sighed and closed my eyes as they all gave him a little cheer after a couple of minutes; obviously, he’d managed to get it open.
“Guys, seriously, why don’t we just hang a steak from our pants and whistle for the dog to come and get us?” I suggested sarcastically. I laughed quietly when Seth jumped and looked around with wide eyes.
“Will you stop talking about the damn dog?” he hissed, punching me in the arm.
I shook my head at him. “They won’t have a dog. Every business in the country has a ‘beware, guard dog’ sign hanging on their fence. This is a golf course, why would they have a dog?” I mocked, pushing him into the store first. “Oh, my God, Seth, look out!” I joked, looking behind him. Ashton immediately started making a growling sound as Ryan grabbed Seth from behind, making him literally shriek like a little girl.
We all practically fell over laughing before composing ourselves and shushing each other drunkenly. Everyone found a club, and we staggered to the first hole, I waved my hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture to Ashton, but he shook his head. “Nope, I’m going last. Age before beauty,” he joked, winking at me.
I raised one eyebrow. “Pearls before swine,” I replied, smirking at him and stepping up to take my turn. As it turns out, playing mini-golf drunk and in the dark wasn’t as easy as we first thought. Luckily, we had a spare bucketful of balls because I had already lost three on my first hole. Ashton was leaning against the wall, smiling cockily at us.
“You had some lessons or something? What’s with the grin?” I asked, nodding at his confident pose.
“I might have had someone show me a thing or two,” he replied, shrugging.
I narrowed my eyes at that. Ashton was a celebrity in his own right, with a ton of money; I had a pretty good idea he would have had a lot of lessons, not just a couple. “Who?”
He shrugged dismissively and stepped up to take his turn. I watched as he settled himself on the fake grass, positioning his little red ball, holding his club properly and adjusting his feet. He had his concentration face on before he looked up at me and smiled. “Tiger Woods is a pretty good teacher,” he stated, just before he pulled back his club above his head, preparing to take a proper swing. My mouth dropped open in shock. Clearly, he’d forgotten we were playing mini-golf.
“Ashton, what the-” but I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence because he swung his arm down, whacking the ball so hard it made a resounding crack as the club made contact with it.
Everyone ducked as George cupped his mouth and cried, “Four!”
Time stood still as we watched the ball fly out of sight.
Then all hell broke loose.
&nb
sp; Glass smashed. Lights went on in the apartment. People shouted. The boys all burst out laughing. And somewhere nearby, a dog started barking – which of course made Seth scream and run like Jack Sparrow, arms flailing above his head, towards the exit.
“Well, that wasn’t meant to happen,” Ashton said, standing stock still, staring in disbelief towards the obviously-broken window of the owner’s apartment.
“No shit, Sherlock!” I laughed, throwing my club down and running without waiting for him.
I could barely move for laughing. My legs kind of refused to work as I ran for the exit. I was watching Seth as he climbed the chain-link fence in record time. I’d never seen him move so fast. That was a classic fight-or-flight reaction, and he flew pretty damn quickly!
I could hear Ashton laughing behind me; pretty much everyone had already run. I breezed past George and my dad who were half-running, half-limping towards the exit, both of them clutching their asses and laughing painfully.
By the time I made it to the fence and climbed it, the dog was in sight. It was gaining on Brad who was bringing up the rear, complaining he had a stitch as he clutched at his side. The dog was tiny; it had to be some sort of half-breed, rat-type thing. Guard dog it sure wasn’t.
I nudged Ashton as he dropped to the floor next to me a couple of seconds before my dad and George hit the ground and took off for the minibus. Half of the people were on the minibus already, which was started and ready to pull away, so we didn’t all get arrested.
I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Brad, move your ass, the dog is gaining on you!” I shouted.