Page 25 of Someone to Tempt
Molly leans forward to sniff one of the empty shot glasses then grimaces. “It smells like you’re drinking lighter fluid.” She smiles at the waitress. “I’ll have a margarita.”
“Two margaritas,” Avah adds.
“Three margaritasandthe shots,” I insist. “Like the song. Three margaritas, Imma put it?—"
“TMI, girl.” Avah grabs my hand and squeezes hard.
“No shots,” Molly tells the waitress. “A round of waters.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.” I tug at my hand, but Avah’s got one hell of a grip for a wisp of a thing. “I’m the mayor.” At least for now.
“The mayor of Can’t Hold Your Liquor Town,” Avah says, her nails digging into my palm.
The waitress cracks a smile. “Well, Ms. Mayor, you have good friends. Three margaritas and three large waters coming up.”
“Hey, that’s not fun,” I complain to my friends as the waitress turns away. “We’re supposed to be having fun.”
Avah finally releases me. “Karaoke is the fun part, and it’s going to be a lot less fun if you’re slurring the song lyrics.”
“I think that’s the only way it’s going to be fun,” I argue. “I sing better than I dance, but it’s a low bar.”
“I can’t carry a tune to save my life.” Molly cringes. “Even the twins beg me to stop.”
“I have the voice of an angel,” Avah assures us with a grin, “but I’m just here for moral support.”
“I don’t need moral support.” I press two fingers to my temple, which is already starting to pound. Total lightweight. “I need a group. Harmonies. Camaraderie. Someone to hide behind.”
The waitress returns with our drinks. I gulp down half the water and then push away the margarita. Turns out those shots of liquid courage might have been slightly ill-advised. “I can’t go up there by myself. That’s no fun.”
Molly laughs. “It’ll be fun from here. Just getting out of the house without my kids, who I love to death, as you know, is fun for me.”
“You can’t force fun.” Avah licks the salt off her rim. “That isn’t how fun works.”
“That’s the problem,” I remind them. “I suck at fun.” I gesture to the patrons crowding the bar’s interior. “Which is why I’m adding more attempts at fun to my bucket list.”
Both women take long sips of their drinks.
“Leave it to you to be an overachiever,” Avah says after a moment.
Heat floods my cheeks. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Molly assures me. “You’re doing great, sweetie. But no more shots.”
“No more shots,” I agree. At least I’m not feeling quite as fuzzy as a few minutes ago. Nerves—mixed with a healthy dose of residual shame, guilt, and regret—are a real buzz kill.
“You’ve got this.” Avah doesn’t sound convinced, but I appreciate the words of encouragement. “Besides, alcohol can tighten your vocal cords. We want you to be loosey-goosey tonight.”
Great. Another reminder that I need to loosen up. One more thing I suck at.
“By the way.” Molly wiggles her eyebrows. “I found a company in Denver that has a mobile pole dancing?—”
“Pole dancing,” a deep voice echoes, followed by the sound of rumbly laughter. “Iris, are you two-timing your dance partner with a pole?”
I promptly spit the water I just drank across the table. Avah grabs a napkin and wipes her cheeks, her disgusted glare softened by the smile that plays at the corners of her mouth. “Was that necessary?”
“You’re legit cut off,” Molly tells me then points at Jake. “You’re trouble.”
“My reputation precedes me.” He offers my redheaded friend a lazy smile. “Tell me more about Iris and the pole.”
