Page 70 of The Christmas Arrangement
“You’re in a motorcycle gang?” I sputter.
“It’s more of a club,” Titus clarifies. “Dancing Ladies is their headquarters.”
“Why do I know that name?”
“It’s the strip club where Titus bartends,” Jack answers.
“They’re exotic dancers, not strippers,” Nick corrects.
“No.” I grip the back of Nick’s headrest. “No, no, no. I cannot be photographed visiting a strip club that’s frequented by a bike gang. I’m trying to clean up my image, remember?”
“Nobody’s going to let photographers through the doors at Dancing Ladies,” Titus reassures me.
Brody will kill me. No, he won’t have the chance because my mother will kill me and dump my body in a snowbank.
Sweat beads on my upper lip. “Guys, I really appreciate the gesture, but?—”
The car erupts with laughter. Nick’s cackling and snorting to the point that I’m afraid he’s going to drive us into a ditch. Beside me, Titus shakes with laughter. Finally, Jack wipes his eyes and regains the power of speech.
“You should have seen your face,” he tells me. “We’re not taking you to Dancing Ladies, don’t worry.”
“We were just having some fun with you, son. We’re going to the fishing cabin. There’s a case of Frosty in the fridge. We’re gonna listen to music and pontificate. Might even play some cards. A very G-rated evening to take your mind off your troubles.”
I exhale, relief washing over me, and lean back against the headrest. It hits me that they’re not treating me like Dash Pine. They’re treating me like any other guy who just had his heart stomped on by a girl in stiletto boots—which is exactly what I am.
Ivy
* * *
“I’ll be the designated driver. We won’t even have to call a Sober Sleigh,” Holly cajoles.
“No.” My voice is muffled because my head rests on my arms, facedown on the table.
“Remember how you all forced me to go to the Singles Jingle Mingle last year when Jack and I had that blowup?” She tries a new tack.
“Yes,” I answer into the table.
“The peppermint espresso martinis, while tasty, didn’t really help. But dancing with my sisters and my friends did, Ivy. And we’re not even talking about the Mingle. It’s just dancing. In the valley. It’ll be dead. You’ll feel better if we go dancing.”
“I don’t want to feel better,” I wail.
I hear whispering.
Then, “Ivy Victoria Jolly, sit up.”
I do. Mainly because I’ve never heard Noelle use a mom voice before. I wipe my eyes and stare at her.
She rubs my shoulder. “Go wash your face. Put on your favorite pair of jeans and a flannel shirt and go with Holly and Merry to the Stoneridge Saloon and get your two-step on. Or go to Finnegan’s Pub and jig your troubles away.”
I purse my lips and consider. “I’ll go out on two conditions. One, we go to 80s Night at Sk8phoria Roller Rink. And two, you come with us.”
Noelle’s face drains of color. “You want me to go roller skating with you?”
Merry’s clapping. “It’s more like roller dancing, Noelle.”
“Especially on 80s night. Or at least that was the case fifteen ago, which is the last time I set foot in Sk8phoria,” Holly chimes in.
After a moment, Noelle pushes herself up from the table. “I guess I better dig out my off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and leg warmers.”