Page 90 of Merry Me
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself whiplash, but fine. The man had a point. Team MadNat—or Eastalie, depending on which of our classmates had crafted fanfic about us in their high school notebooks—did have a long and storied legacy of competitive glory.
And an even longer history of questionable judgment.
We joined the circle, which had grown into a chaos spiral of veil-wearing bridesmaids, flannel-clad groomsmen, and at least one elderly relative who looked like they’d been dared onto the rink and were now deeply regretting every life choice that had led them to this moment.
Paige, glorious and slightly wobbly in her bride-to-be glow, wore a sparkly white veil taped to the top of a hockey helmet. Honestly? Genius. Wouldn’t be ideal for the bride to suffer a pre-wedding concussion. Maybe I needed one of those, too.
Across the ice, MeMaw sipped aggressively from a bedazzled thermos and hollered “Let’s GOOOOOO!” like she was pregaming a football game instead of a wedding skate night, while another guest nearly collided with the DJ booth attempting a pirouette that definitely exceeded their skill level and alcohol tolerance.
“All right!” shouted Jordan—or maybe it was Tommy, it was hard to tell with the puffer jacket and beer scarf combo—as he skated to the center with a megaphone he definitely wasn’t qualified to use. “Here are the rules. I’ll call out a challenge. If you fail, your team drinks. If you succeed, you pick another team to drink. Ifanyonefalls while drinking,everyonedrinks. And by drink, I mean chug. From your designated flask. Got it?”
Silence.
Then:DEAFENING CHEERS.
I clapped my hand to my forehead. “This feels like that time Bobby Joe thought he could rollerblade with the leaf blower strapped to his back.”
“Ah,” Easton sighed dreamily. “The golden age.”
“The age of bad decisions.”
“Details,” he said, brushing my comment off as he towed me to the starting line like this was the NHL and we were about to win the Stanley Cup.
“First challenge!” Jordan bellowed…And yes, I’d committed to calling him Jordan for now. “Couples Skate Relay. You and your partner must skate from this cone to that cone”—he gestured to two traffic pylons that looked suspiciously like they’d been stolen from the parking lot—“without letting go of each other’s hands. If you do, or if you fall, you drink. If you win, you choose which team drinks.”
I turned to Easton with narrowed eyes. “You’ve got Olympic ankles. I’m out here like a baby moose on rollerblades. This will end badly.”
“Then hold on tight, Trouble,” he said, offering his hand with a wink. “I’ve got you.”
We lined up at the start. To our left, Paige was being steadied by Levi. To our right, Ellie and her partner were already arguing over who had better balance while their skates drifted in opposite directions.
“Three! Two! One—GO!”
Easton launched.
I…did not.
Or rather, Ilaunchedin the way one might when yanked behind a speedboat against their will.
“Easton!” I yelped, holding his hand with both of mine now. “Slow down! I’m clinging to life and dignity.”
“You’re doing amazing!” he called cheerfully, gliding backward while pulling me forward. “Channel your inner Elsa!”
“Elsa hadmagic powers, you maniac.”
We skidded around the cone in what could generously be called a controlled spiral and started the return lap. My feet were doing something that felt vaguely illegal, but somehow, by someactual miracle, we crossed the finish line upright and—more importantly—still holding hands.
Jordan blew his whistle. “WINNERS: Easton and Natalie! Choose a team to drink!”
Easton looked at me, smugness radiating off him. “Your call, partner.”
I grinned evilly and pointed at Ellie. “You giggled when I fell during warm-ups. Justice is served.”
Ellie bowed with a flourish and took her shot like a champ. Her partner followed…though definitely not as champ-like.
“Next round!” Jordan bellowed, his cheeks flushed from cold and cider. “Drunken Charades: Ice Edition! One partner acts it out. The other guesses. Failure equals chug. Extra failure equals double chug.”
“What exactly qualifies as an ‘extra’ failure?” I asked…because evidently, I was incapable of learning.
