Page 22 of Snowed Under

“Ha-ha.” She shoves me in the shoulder. “Go get ‘em tiger.”

“You’re gonna cover for me?”

“Yup. Last thing we want is Drake wrangling his way back in. Not that I think he has a chance in Hell after the stunt he pulled.”

“He will wish he opted out tonight.” I rub my chin. My knuckles don’t disagree that I could use his face as a punching bag if the timing was right. I don’t usually resort to violence, but sometimes a good punch in the face might be good for both parties.

I glance at Charli who’s assessing me with a smirk I know only too well spells trouble. “Or else what?”

“Or else me and him are gonna have a chat, man to man.”

She shoves me again. “So go already! I have a bunch of kids heading this way and you’re cluttering up the place!”

I chuckle. “Remind me to tell Jakey-boy to give your ass a whoopin’ next time I see him.”

“Jacob whoops my ass any chancehe gets!” she hollers after me.

I chuckle as I turn and quickly scan across the room. The school gymnasium brings back a flurry of memories, not all of them good, but not all bad, either. I wasn’t quite the jock, or the popular kid, but somewhere in between. Indie meets clown jester. Or something like that. I didn’t like school all that much. I’ve always been good at making stuff, so woodwork and metal shop were my favorite subjects, I knew from early on that I wanted to build houses, or whatever I could get my hands on.

I also love gardening and have a decent vegetable patch growing in the back at home.

As I glance around the busy space milling with kids, it takes me back to when I was in school. I'm pretty sure this is the same floor that Cassie Simmerton dumped me on because she thought I was seeing another girl at the same time. God, to be eight years old again and going to my first dance. It’s kinda cute to see the little kids getting into it. Some dressed up as their favorite superhero, and some in formal attire that makes me smile.

The kids all helped with decorating, too. So it looks like a cross between a frat house and a flamingo throwing up in here. Streamers hang down from every available space, along with balloons, hand made posters with stickers and glitter, plus paper mache pinatas that I really hope the kids aren’t going to beat to death later.

When I spot the drinks station, I see Ainsley by herself. With a racing heart and sweaty palms sweating, I head her way. She’s wearing a black button up blouse and a hot pink tutu that just grazes her knees. I roll my lips. I didn’t expect that. Her hair is also straight, which throws me for a half a second because I’ve only ever seen her with curly hair. She’s also wearing a little makeup and her eyes are different. I think she outlined them. When her blue eyes find mine, her face softens and shoulders relax. That action alone makes me feel good. I don’t need to be a genius to work out she’s on the lookout for that dickhead ex.

“Well hello, little lady.” I tip my non-existent cowboy hat and stop in front of her table. “You on the heavy stuff?”

She laughs. “If you can call pink lemonade and Shirley Temple’s the heavy stuff, then yes.”

There’s a large punch bowl with fruit floating around in it, along with little umbrellas that sit around the edges. There’s probably enough sugar in there to sink a battleship. That’s probably why most of the kids here tonight are bouncing off the walls.

“Need a hand?”

“Sure.”

I make my way around the back of the table as Ainsley restocks the little plastic cups. Two kids approach, and she smiles, asking what they’d like. Pouring a cup each of the pink punch, they skip off happily.

“You look nice,” I tell her. “Though I didn’t pick you for a pink tutu kinda girl.”

She glances down at herself, her hands rising to her cheeks. “You can blame Molly. She insisted I come as a fairy princess. So I had no choice but to roll the tutu over my leggings.”

“Ah, the good old-fashioned guilt trip, huh? Well, I was gonna wear mine, but I thought it’d be too much.”

A little laugh bubbles from her throat and I like the sound. I like it a lot when Ainsley’s smiling and happy. “Darn it. We could’ve been twinsies.”

I grin at the thought, stacking some more cups and stirring the punch bowl so the fruit floats back up to the top.“How’s my cat been treatin’ you?”

“Good. He’s warmed up to me ever since I got the catnip he likes.”

“Told ya.”

“Though, I will say, demanding I get out of bed early in the morning to feed him is getting a little rude.”

I wince. “I’m sorry about that, he’s always been an early riser. Cats are nocturnal by nature, but I never let him out at night because of the birds and other little animals. I’ve no doubt he’d bring home a prize. Now he thinks as soon as I open the cat flap, he’s free to do whatever he pleases, like annoy my neighbors.”

“He’s really no trouble. I’m just teasing.”

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