Page 175 of Smooth Sailing

“No,” I answered honestly, and yes, a little breathlessly.

“Get that shit outta your head, then. Only person who needs to feel good in that dress is you. But just sayin’, you look beautiful. You always look beautiful, but you pulled out all the stops tonight.”

Well then.

Fuck it.

I got up on my toes, threw my arms around his neck, pressed close and kissed him, hot, wet and heavy.

Hugger backed me to the arm of the couch and we toppled over.

So when we finally left, we were late.

“What the fuck?” Hugger asked as we turned the corner from the hostess station at 36 Below.

I stifled a laugh, because this tiny bar in the basement of a coffee place had miniscule orange-velvet padded stools around nearly-as-miniscule tables, and green-velvet barstools around the bar. It also had screens all around showing an animated landscape of a fairy world complete with lots of toadstools, a water wheel, woodland animals skittering about and floating glitter. Further, it had people drinking out of mushroom-shaped glasses set on moss-covered slabs of bark-circled wood or lit glass lanterns dangling from fake-flower-festooned iron hooks.

Not a biker hangout in the slightest.

You had to have a reservation, and we had a close-to-miniscule table with four stools, so Hugger was only there to meet the girls and then he was going to chill upstairs, keep an eye on the entrance, and probably drink coffee.

Pulling him to where my girls were (they hadn’t all gone LBD, Bernie was in an LBD, but the “B” stood for electric blue, Mel was openly wishing for autumn in a short, bodycon, green turtleneck sweater dress, and Charlie, our hippie girl, was wearing a sleeveless, boatneck maxi dress made of cream gauze, with a high side slit and line of diminutive bells on the full skirt that I knew would jingle when she walked—she was seated, but I knew about the slit and bells because I’d been with her when she’d worn that dress before).

As we made our short way to them, they were all staring at me and Hugger with identical expressions of astonishment mixed with extreme interest.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I said when we made it to the table.

No one replied.

They were all now just staring at Hugger.

“This is Harlan,” I indicated him. “He’s dropping me, but I wanted you to meet him.”

They continued their silence and stared at Hugger.

“This is Bernie, or Bernice,” I indicated Bernie. “And Mel, or Melissa,” I went on with another flick of my hand. “And Charlie, or Charlotte,” I concluded.

“Odd woman out, you don’t got a guy’s nickname,” Hugger remarked.

“And it’s too bad Jagger and Dutch are taken, because it would seem all my girls would have been candidates,” I noted.

Hugger shot me a smile.

I heard Charlie gurgle.

I got that totally: his smile with his white teeth in that multi-colored beard was the best.

“Leave you women to it,” he said, then angled his head and bent to kiss my neck. When he caught my eyes after that awesome maneuver, he bid, “Have fun.” He turned to my friends. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Bernie choked.

“You too,” Mel breathed.

Charlie just waved at him.

Hugger strolled through the small space like he owned it and disappeared around the wall to the stairs.

I nearly tumbled off my high-heeled black sandals as Charlie yanked on my wrist. Fortunately, against all the odds, my ass landed on a miniscule orange-velvet padded stool.

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