Page 78 of Cold as Stone
“Tomorrow,” Ginger announces. “Millbrook. Dancing. Drinks. Debauchery.”
“I’m in,” Mercy says immediately. “God, I need to get laid. Or at least grind on someone who isn’t wearing a wedding ring.”
I look between them. “This is a terrible idea.”
“The best ones always are,” Ginger winks as she slides her phone back in her pocket. “Andi and Poppy are already confirmed. Steel will pick everyone up at seven.”
“How did you?—”
“I’m very efficient.” She heads for the door. “Wear something slutty!”
I glance at Mercy. “You know this is a terrible idea, right?”
She laughs, slapping me on the shoulder. “Can’t wait.”
At 7pm on the dot, Steel parks a large SUV in my drive. He looks like he’s heading to his own execution, while Ginger, who’s in the passenger seat, is practically bouncing with excitement.
“Get in, losers! We’re going shopping!” she yells out the window.
“That’s not how the quote goes,” Poppy says, sliding in and shuffling over. She’s glowing in a flowy blue top that accommodates her small bump.
“Just get in,” Ginger retorts.
Andi claims the back row with Mercy, who’s wearing a black dress so short I’m concerned about her getting a misdemeanour for public indecency.
“Looking to catch someone tonight?” I tease.
“Looking to catch something,” Mercy mutters. “It’s been months. MONTHS! My vagina is growing cobwebs”
“TMI,” Steel groans from the driver’s seat.
“Oh honey,” Ginger turns to him with a wicked grin. “It’s only going to get worse. Now drive! Millbrook awaits!”
The hour-long drive is chaos. Ginger controls the playlist, cycling through everything from 90s hip-hop to current pop. Mercy keeps making increasingly inappropriate comments about what she wants to do to the first hot guy she sees, while Andi and Poppy share embarrassing stories about their men.
“Did I ever tell you about the time Hawk got stuck in the playground equipment?” Andi asks.
“No!” we all scream in unison.
“He was showing off for the twins, tried to go down the slide, and his shoulders got wedged. Steel had to cut him out.”
“You didn’t tell me!” Poppy yells at him.
He hunches his shoulders, staring stubbornly out the windscreen at the road.
“Please tell me there are photos,” Ginger begs.
“Oh, there’s video.”
“I should have stayed home,” Steel mutters as we shriek with laughter.
“And miss all this female bonding?” Ginger pats his arm. “Besides, Tank specifically volunteered you.”
“Tank threw me under the bus,” Steel corrects.
The Green Room is everything Devil’s isn’t. Neon lights pulse in time with the bass, the air thick with perfume and possibility. The crowd is young, dressed to impress, and blissfully unaware of who we are.
“First round’s on me!” Ginger announces, dragging us to the bar. The bartender, a twenty-something with too much gel in his hair, openly stares at her cleavage.
