Cut the Deck (Lesbian Story)

Mad due to a diss

After meticulously assembling my entire look, I had no time to waste. I couldn't ask Nyla for another date in person because I had to rush off immediately. By the time I returned from my practice run-through, she had vanished.
I texted her soon after, but there was no response. I didn't want to seem too eager, so I resisted the urge to send another message.
It's been three days since I last saw or heard from Nyla. I didn't dwell on it too much; I just assumed she had lost interest.

Kaleb: Where are you!? We're waiting!
Me: I'm on my way, got held up.

I was heading to meet up with Lip, Johnny, Ollie, and Kaleb—the rowdy bunch I occasionally hang out with. We were grabbing a few beers, a rare chance to catch up amidst our hectic lives. As I arrived at the bar, I struggled to find a parking spot. Why was it so crowded on a Thursday night?

"And her stiletto broke, and she toppled right onto that old man!" The group erupted into laughter as Ollie playfully slapped their arms.

"I paid almost $250 for those! They were my first pair of designer shoes!" she growled, while the boys continued to chuckle.

"Look who finally decided to show up," Ollie shouted, her dirty blonde waves framing her bright blue eyes. She pulled out the stool next to her and gestured for me to sit.

"I kinda forgot about this," I admitted, waving the bartender over. Lip scrutinized me, his eyes following my every move. I ordered a beer and turned back to face the group.

"So..." they all chimed in, eyes fixed on me. I met each of their gazes.

"So what?" I snapped, already feeling irritated.
"How's life?" Johnny asked, despite having spoken to me just last week. I gave him a blank
stare.

"How the hell is it supposed to be, Johnny?" I retorted.

"Why so hostile?" Kaleb remarked nonchalantly, taking a swig from his beer and rolling his eyes.

"She's pissed because she got dissed by a girl," Lip slurred, clearly a bit drunk. I had expected as much—this was typical Lip at a bar.

"Where's your kid?" I spit like acid.

"With a goddamn babysitter," he snaps as the bartender slides my beer across the counter. I took a long pull, the bitterness matching my mood. 

"Okkkkay," Ollie drawled, slicing through the tension like a knife.

"Guess what, assholes?" Her grin turned wicked as she thrust out her left hand. A rock the size of a glacier glittered under the bar lights—flawless diamond, crusted with crystals that threw rainbows across the table. That shit actually *pinged* when she moved it. 

"Chris proposed," she announced. 

Johnny shrieked like a tea kettle, clapping his hands over his mouth. Dude was either closeted or brain-damaged—his outbursts always made me question which. 

"Hell yeah!" Kaleb toasted her with his bottle while Lip let out a low whistle. Our table erupted in noise, drawing stares from nearby patrons. 

"Congrats, Ollie," I forced out, faking enthusiasm. Her cheeks flushed pink as she beamed. 

"Bad news? You're all invited," she deadpanned. We gasped in mock horror. 

"Who's your maid of honor?" Johnny leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Pick me! I'll help you try on linger—"

"Over my dead body," Ollie cut him off.

"Since when do men do bridesmaid shit?"

Johnny launched into a rant about gender roles, but we tuned him out. After five minutes of verbal diarrhea, he finally shut his trap. 

"Fine. I'll be your best man then," he declared, puffing his chest. "Clearly I'm the best man here."

Kaleb barked a laugh. "Dude, you get manicures and watch 'Bridezillas. Your man card's revoked."

"Actually..." Ollie's gaze landed on me. She batted her lashes like a cartoon villain. "I want Deck as my maid of honor."

I choked on my beer.

"The fuck?" My voice cracked. Last time I'd been near wedding drama, I'd been balls-deep in some bridesmaid who wouldn't shut up about centerpieces. (Worth it—her and her friend both gave championship-level head.) 

Before I could protest, Lip's phone rang. He bolted outside. 

"Whatever," I muttered, chasing him. Time to pay him back for that Nyla bullshit earlier. 

I caught him mid-convo, his face tight with worry.

"You guys okay?" he asked the caller. A pause. "Just a stomach ache? Alright... Heading there now, Nyla."

Nyla.

I saw red. 

My fist connected with his gut before he could react. His phone clattered to the pavement as I followed up with a right hook to his eye. 

"The fuck, Deck?!" he wheezed, clutching his ribs. 

"You're talking to Nyla?? Really? Again Lip?" I snarled. 

"She's babysitting River, you psycho!" Lip shoved me back hard.

"Not everything's about your pathetic crush!"

"Then why'd you hide it?"

*"Because you're a walking grenade lately!" He jabbed a finger at my chest. "Get your shit together."

A smoker by the wall watched us like we were his evening entertainment. I flipped him off. 

"Fuck you!" Lip spat, cradling his swelling eye. Then, like nothing happened:

"Give me a ride home."

"Call a Uber, dickbag." I turned to leave. 

"Nyla's at my place," he called after me. "Might be your last chance to talk to her."

I froze. Goddamn him for knowing exactly how to play me. 

"Backseat," I growled, jamming my key in the ignition. He went for the passenger door—I hit the locks. "I said backseat, princess."

He muttered "psycho bitch" but climbed in. Two minutes later, he was snoring like a chainsaw.