Page 41 of Going Deep
“You danced at your wedding,” Lola reminded her.
“Doesn’t count. That was respectable married lady dancing. Remember how we used to go dancing, Lo?”
“Yeah, in our wild and single days.”
Ginger lay back on the floor and closed her eyes. “Yeah, you’re so staid now. Every weekend it’s floggings and needles and butt plugs and bondage. Same old, same old.”
“Don’t say needles,” Anna begged.
“Sorry.” Ginger opened her eyes. “You were saying?”
“Was I?” Anna frowned, looking befuddled, and Ginger made a mental note to cut her off. “Oh, right. Dancing! We should all go out dancing.”
“Now?” Lola mumbled around her third brownie.
“No, I suppose not.” Anna sighed with disappointment, then brightened. “We can dance here!”
Ginger pushed herself up on her elbows as Anna flew out of the room, Henry racing and woofing after her. She turned to look at Lola. “Is she serious?”
Lola polished off her brownie. “Probably.”
“Got it!” Anna came running back into the room, her phone in hand, Henry hot on her heels. “Come on, dance with me!”
Ginger groaned and stayed where she was. “Dance with Henry, I’m too full.”
“Party pooper.” As the opening bars of TEXAS HOLD ‘EM flowed out of the phone, Anna began to bounce around the room. Henry, delighted with the game, bounced with her.
Ginger looked at Lola. “She’s drunk, right?”
“Yep.”
Ginger watched Anna groove enthusiastically to the beat and grinned. “At least she’s a happy drunk.”
And the song was a fun one. Ginger pushed herself up to sit on the sofa, singing along as she watched her friend dance with abandon. When the song came to an end, she clapped and cheered.
“Thank you, thank you.” Anna dropped into a deep curtsey, fell over, and almost hit her head on the floor.
Lola shook her head and went to help Anna. “Come on, Graceful.”
Anna staggered to a chair. Henry immediately tried to climb into her lap. “You’re just jealous because I’m a better dancer.”
“I am very not jealous of your drunken flailing,” Lola said with a snort. “But I might be jealous of Ginger. Those are some pipes you’ve got there, sister.”
With the wine swimming pleasantly in her head, Ginger smiled. “Thanks.”
“What? What’d I miss?” Anna looked at Ginger. “You can sing?”
“I like to sing.”
“Do you perform?” Lola asked.
“Oh, God no.” Ginger made a face at the thought. “Anxiety, remember? My mother tried to get me on stage, but I hated it so much she gave up. I just sing for fun.”
“Sing for us now,” Anna urged.
“Oh, no,” Ginger said automatically.
“Why not?” Lola wanted to know. “It’s not like we’re strangers, or even much of an audience. Hell, Anna’s so loaded she probably won’t even remember.”
