Restraint is Useless Here

Chapter Two

     "Long Beach, we're here to get fucked up!"

     Anna looked up from the MGD she was pouring for Tony—his seventh, for those keeping count—just in time to take in the sight of the sweatiest, most colorful behemoth of a human she'd ever seen.

     Being 11pm, the dimly lit bar buzzed with conversation competing against the pulsing upbeat music, the dance floor densely packed with waves of bodies swaying rhythmically, but this Goliath's battle cry carried over it all. He must have been six-and-a-half feet tall, limbs as long as a gorilla's. His dark brown hair, chin-length and choppy in front, adhered to his face as if he'd just walked a mile in a downpour. Whorls of color painted his inked arms and his upper torso—okay, yes, that was his bare torso in this public establishment—while his fingers drummed the air idly to the beat of the music. Anna knew a man with these features combined should've given off a air of foreboding, but there was a playful glint in this giant's eyes. Still...no shirt, no service.

     Anna smiled at Tony as she passed his draft beer—the perfect ratio of drink-to-foam, thank you very much—and excused herself. She narrowed her eyes at the newcomer, clearing her throat and preparing her best managerial voice. This guy was vulgar and shirtless and, as likely as it was that he would gladly drink enough to chop her tuition debt in half, she preferred if she could talk him down before security got involved. The last thing she needed was chaos on such a busy night.

     Weaving through the throngs of guests with a courteous yet serious smile on her face, Anna's eyes met his. He grinned wolfishly as she approached.

     "Well, hello there. Are you my personal welcoming gif—" the man was interrupted by a whirlwind of blonde hair, winged eyeliner, and red lips crashing through the door. If Anna didn't know any better, she'd have guessed the Tasmanian Devil had donned a blonde wig and dressed in drag. Unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face, she'd know that whirlwind anywhere: Val.

     "Jimmy. Jesus. I told you to wait!" Val scolded, thrusting a white cotton t-shirt into Jimmy's hand and smacking his arm. "Decency. Have you none?"

     Jimmy cackled at the suggestion, but obligingly threw the shirt on over his head. "Lost the last shred of it when I tripped balls at Disneyland. Those little people in that tunnel fucked me up, man. Fucked the decency right out of me." He looked down at the blank shirt and let his arms fall slack at his sides, dejected. "This isn't my Sunday best."

     "It's Friday, Jim," Val said, but no longer paid him any mind, her eyes finding Anna's and filling with tears of joy. "Anna Sinclair, where have you been all my life?"

     Anna opened her arms just as Valary crashed into her, knocking her backward. The two girls were a tangle of flailing arms and contrasting hair as they tried to regain their footing, but Val's taller stature provided the wrong kind of leverage and she landed on top of Anna, pinning her to the floor.

     "Oh my God, yes. This is exactly what I came for," remarked a voice from the entrance. A stout man walked in, rubbing his hands together as if beholding a feast after a famine, and walked toward Jimmy. What he lacked in height, he made up for in Mohawk; the tallest, blackest Mohawk Anna had ever seen. Despite the vertical supplementation from his hair, he didn't even reach Jimmy's chin. He was cute in the way that a pit bull puppy was cute; mischievous and scrappy, but a complete teddy bear otherwise.

     Jimmy shoved him in response. "Don't be a shithead, Christ. There are ladies in need." Jimmy reached both hands down and pulled the girls to their feet in one fell swoop. Jimmy's grip lingered as he knelt stoically before Anna, lightly pressing his lips to the back of her hand. She felt the cool metal of a labret piercing against her skin. "My lady."