Page 3 of Every Reason to Stay

I clinked a glass with Amanda and Patrick in a boisterous salute. It wasn’t enough to pay homage to Mimi’s lineage—we had to do it with flair. I chugged the beer, managing halfway before coming up for air. Amanda, of course, drained hers and slammed the pint glass on the bar top.

“Gah,” she gasped. “I don’t need a reason, but was she really into the mythology thing?”

I laughed. “Not even a little.”

A Tuesday night at Spectrum meant terrible music, half-priced beer, and a DJ testing his latest country-techno album. The only saving grace was the drag queens rehearsing for their weekend shows. It didn’t matter that the club had a dozen patrons—they performed like it wasthe Super Bowl halftime show. Knowing them, they probably broke out the same moves at the grocery store, too.

“So…” Amanda spun on her stool, poking me in the shoulder. “We just broke the law and gave her a Viking funeral as a prank?”

My grandmother never said no to an adventure. It didn’t matter how mundane—she’d turn the most boring activity into a lively fantasy. She hated sweeping the house but loved herding “dust bunnies” before they attacked. Even grocery shopping became a mission to prepare for the apocalypse. No one had a more radical outlook on life.

“Not a prank,” I said. “Another adventure.”

“She sounds like a hell of a woman,” Patrick said. Without asking, he refilled Amanda’s glass and slid it in front of her.

“We’re going to get into so much trouble this summer.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You can cause all the trouble you want. I have to go through eighty-two years of stuff. It’s going to take me forever.”

“I’ll help.” Amanda’s tone said otherwise.She'd make the experience less daunting, but her “help” would definitely make cleaning the house take twice as long. “Stop whatever you’re thinking, mister. I’ll behave.”

“That’s a lie if I ever heard one.”

Mabel leaned on the bar, giving Amanda a knowing look. Tonight, she sported blue eyeshadow and a starburst of diamonds at the corners of her eyes. “Girl, I know trouble when I see it. If it’s got a pixie cut and an eyebrow piercing, you’re like a?—”

“I’m not that bad!”

Patrick scoffed as he walked away. Mabel let out a snort. Amanda’s reputation at Spectrum was no secret. If a cute woman walked through the door, Amanda was on the prowl. Her perfect mix of charisma and confidence was like an aphrodisiac for women. If only she used her powers for good.

“You keep telling yourself that.” I shot her a wink.

Patrick handed Mabel a martini as blue as her eyeshadow. She knew how to make a statement, and it wasn’t just the sequined dress with the plunging neckline showing everything but nipples—mostly.

“Darling, you keep rocking those women’s worlds. This one, however…” She put a hand on my cheek, her nail dragging down until it poked beneath my chin. She forced me to meet her gaze. “If you weren’t blind, you’d see there’s a rugged plate of scrumptious that’s been checking you out.”

“Really?”

I tried turning, but she pushed my face back toward the bar. “Sweet cheeks, do you have no game?” No. Amanda stole it years ago. “Do you need Mabel to teach you how to get a man? I offer courses.”

“No,” I said. “Well… maybe.”

Mabel licked her lips, ending in a devilish smile. “Slow turn, honey.”

I turned casually, pretending to keep my focus on Mabel. Her dress couldn’t have been tighter without bursting, and those heels doubled as weapons. She might havebeen the fiercest drag queen in the land. Maybe I should reconsider her course.

My foot caught on the barstool, and I nearly toppled face-first. I grabbed the counter before busting my nose. Hopping back to my feet, I straightened out my shirt. I was about to comment that nobody saw, but both Mabel's and Amanda’s eyes were wide in disbelief. Jon Olsen and graceful never belonged in the same sentence.

After making a scene, I might as well steal a glance while mounting my stool. “Damn,” I whispered.

When I turned back, Mabel’s tongue stretched out of the corner of her mouth. Did she want to devour him ordevourhim? I liked my men thick, and this fine gentleman wore a t-shirt that hugged his biceps and showed a chest that stretched for miles. Muscles were nice—to a degree. I didn’t want to cuddle with rock-hard abs. I needed a little beef and plenty of squish. A man who could throw me against the wall and then make for a good pillow.

Mabel adjusted her stance, angling so I could fake looking at her while stealing glances at my mystery man.

“Patrick. Martini. Dirty. Very dirty. Put it on Jon’s bill.”

Money well spent. The mystery man held a pint glass, taking slow sips. I couldn’t make out his midsection, but he promised to be the perfect man. Brawn, beard, and belly. His beard wasn’t long, brown with hints of burgundy, but I bet it would tickle in all the right places. I’d put it to work.

“Shit.” Eye contact. I nearly dropped my beer. If I made any more of a scene, the queens would throw me out for stealing the show.

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