Page 118 of Promise Me Sunshine

“Let’s go inside before Miles gets pneumonia,” Rica suggests.

Miles and Jericho go first, followed by Jeffy, but Rica tugs at my hand and we fall back. “Tell me exactly what happened between you two. Leave no stone unturned.”

Miles is glancing back at me and I’m glancing at him, but I tell her the whole story out of the corner of my mouth. By the end of it she looks like she gets what I clearly don’t.

She pats my shoulder. “You got yourself a good one, Lenny. Don’t worry about it too much. Enjoy the ride.”

I open my mouth to further inquire, but she narrows her eyes and I find myself at the receiving end of a perfectly gorgeous nail with a gemstone glued on. “That’s an order,” she says.

I’m really good at taking orders, turns out. “Enjoy the ride,” I repeat with a shrug. “Okay.”

We sweep inside and it’s got the lights, the mirrors, a long curving bar with upholstered barstools, and—I squint—amotorcycle suspended from the ceiling of the dance floor, neon-style flames spewing from the exhaust pipe.

Jeffy secures a high-top table for us and we divest ourselves of our coats (except for Miles). Jeffy’s in sweats (no pockets, of course), and this earns him a frown from Jericho. Rica’s in what can only be described as an Oscars dress the color of Ariel’s tail, and this earns her a thumbs-up from Jericho. I pull off my coat and get a “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He strips off his coat and, oh, boy, we’re both in purple jumpsuits. He laughs and we hug and Rica takes a bunch of photos of us.

Miles leaves and comes back with a tray of prescribed drinks and then quickly agrees to pilot the table while we test-drive the dance floor.

I’ve barely spoken to him tonight but I can feel his eyes all over me and by all over me, I mean that I think he might like the jumpsuit.

I saw Jericho’s confident dance moves at the concert, so they don’t surprise me. He melts toward the middle of the dance floor. Jeffy’s dance moves consist of jumping up and down and a halfway committed air guitar. Rica, however, takes one step onto the dance floor and is immediately confronted by a man with two long French braids down his back and a Yankees cap on. “You,” he says, taking off the cap and holding it over his heart. “You are the one I’ve been waiting for.”

She’s gaping at him, clearly never having met him before, but then she does a long, lazy appraisal and shrugs. “Sure,” she says. “Why not?”

She holds out one hand and he twirls her away.

“Aaaand,” Jeffy says, “that’s the last we’ll see of Jericho or Rica tonight.”

“Really?” I ask, accidentally bumping him.

“Oh, yeah.” He offers his hand as a slower song comes on and I immediately take it. “She and Jericho tend to get swept away by suitors pretty early on.”

“Got it. And you?” I ask, clasping my hands around his neck and feeling very charmed by his extremely light touch against my waist as we step to one side and back, one side and back.

“Oh, I’ve learned to make friends with bartenders.”

We chuckle. “You can always call me when you’re lonely,” I promise. “I keep odd hours. I’ll swoop in and save you from drinking beer by yourself.”

He cocks his head and smiles, a real smile. I feel, for a moment, almost overwhelmed with luck. Then he glances to the side and does a double take. “Should we go sit with Miles?”

I glance over as well and burst out laughing at the expression on Miles’s face as he watches Jeffy and me dance.

We make our way over to him and take a stool on either side of him. “Why were you laughing at me?” he asks.

“Your glower,” I say, still laughing. “You look like Satan’s hot little brother.”

He immediately frowns. “I can never tell if you’re flirting with me or heckling me.”

“Ican tell,” Jeffy says, and leans in and clinks Miles’s beer glass on the table. “And on that note, I’m going to go see what the bartender’s favorite Marvel movie is.”

He’s gone before I can insist he stay behind, and Miles and I sit and watch the dance floor. “So.”

He turns to me. “Hm?”

I take a hand and gesture to my boobs, point at my ass, sweep up and down my entire visage. “So, eat your heart out.”

He stifles a grin, shakes his head, and casts his gaze back to the dance floor, taking a sip of beer. “Lenny, I’m eatingmy heart out even when you’re in your Morty’s Car Wash T-shirt.”

I nearly inhale half my drink up nose and he gives me a few helpful thwacks.

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