Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) by Kirsty Dallas Page B

new cast; it’s very bright,” he continued with a smile.
    “If Casey and Lionel had anything to do with it, it will be bright pink.”
    “Hmmm,” Floyd said with a small smile. “She seemed a little down in the dumps on her arrival back. I hope she is well.”
    I turned to ask Floyd what he meant, but we had already reached my floor and the doors slid open. That wouldn’t have stopped me from continuing to talk, but the hands that suddenly dragged me out of the elevator certainly did.
    “Have a good evening, Sir.”
    The elevator doors closed, and the sight that stood in front of me brought my world to a sharp, grinding halt.
    “What the fuck are you wearing?” I snapped, my eyes taking in Casey from head to toe and back again.
    He shoved a bag into my arms. “No time to talk. Get dressed.”
    I glanced down at my suit, to the bag in my arms, and then back to him. Bewilderment had turned me into a speechless mute. “Why are you dressed like that?” I finally asked.
    He was in a costume, and if my memory served me correct, I believe he was dressed as He-Man. With a blond bob wig, skin colored muscle suit with a silver sash that crossed at the chest and met at a red cross like symbol in the middle. Around his hips, he wore a fir loin cloth, and I silently prayed he wore underwear beneath it. God, I hope his junk was tucked away. His feet were covered in matching fur boots, and a plastic sword was strapped to his back.
    “Wiska isn’t doing so good, and it’s Fancy Dress Friday. I took the liberty of getting you a costume, so quick, put it on before we go inside.”
    I shook my head as I tried to decipher the foreign language he was speaking. “What is Fancy Dress Friday, and what’s wrong with Wiska?”
    “Dammit, Bradley! You ask too many questions. Wiska is having a pity party; she’s homesick, her wrist hurts, and after everything that’s happened over the last two months, her pride has taken a massive hit. Back in the US, Wiska and her friends, that would be us and a few of the Ryder Harder team . . . oh, and sometimes Andi and Decker, would get together for drinks on a Friday night, and we’d always dress up. It was a hoot, and Lionel and I thought it might help cheer her up, so . . .” he snapped his fingers in front of my face, “make like a dump truck and haul ass.”
    “I’m going out. I have plans.”
    Casey gave me an exasperated sigh. “Bradley, Wiska is really struggling. She is always the happiest person in the room, she is loving, kind, generous, everyone adores her, and the only reason she is in her current predicament is because she trusted her heart to a flea infested bunghole!” His use of the word bunghole made me want to smile.
    “Everyone, at one time or another, has trusted their heart with someone who drove them crazy. That’s life, Casey. Maybe Wiska just needs a good night’s sleep and some Tylenol.” I tried to hand him back the bag of clothes, but I was ruthlessly forced against the wall, pinned there by the formidable homosexual mass that was Casey, dressed as He-Man.
    “Listen here, Bradley. This crazy was the bad kind of crazy, the kind that takes a beautiful girl’s trust, spits on it, shits on it, passes it around for the entire world to shit on it, then sits back and watches with big, puppy dog eyes that echo Bart Simpson’s wise and unforgotten words: ‘I didn’t do it.’ Wiska’s kind of crazy should have his genitals deep fried; instead, he’s celebrating with his wife and children in the Maldives, while Wiska hides out here in your sorry-ass excuse of a home. She’s homesick, she misses her apartment, she misses her friends, and she misses her parents who haven’t spoken to her since it all happened. Now, put the damn costume on, or I will use my sword.”
    I wasn’t used to violence; I may have worked for a violent man in a violent organization, but I was a pencil pusher. Casey’s sudden use of strength caught me by surprise, but his words made