Page 82 of The Holiday Clause
The anchors and vintage fishing gear adorning the walls were draped in flashing red lights, giving the usually tasteful establishment a more sinful, red-light district appearance. A runway stage made from a glossy wooden dock platform, complete with string lights and garland, protruded into the main lounge. Jocelyn’s books were displayed throughout, along with naughty toys from Lola’s adult store, The Perfect Package.
She grinned, thinking of how great it would be if they forced Soren to strut his stuff down that catwalk. He was going to beat the crap out of Logan for setting him up like this.
Red velvet curtains tied back with gold rope created a lush backdrop that shimmered under stage lights like liquid sin. A large, hand-painted sign read,“Raiders of the Lost Heart Fundraiser: A Holiday Hero Auction Benefitting the Hideaway Harbor Public Library!”
“Oh, this is too good.” Rather than find Soren, Wren sat down at the bar. The place was packed, so there weren’t many options for seats close to the stage.
Her eyes widened when she realized the ornaments on the Christmas tree by the bar displayed anatomically correct molds of genitals—clitorises to be exact. There also hung crab claws, wine corks, and bottles, and such, but once one saw a set of dangling Christmas balls—not the Hobby Lobby sort—it became a bit difficult to notice anything else.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, having to shout over the boisterous crowd.
Wren glanced at the signature cocktail menu for the night. “I’ll take a spiced cider.”
“Rum or whiskey?”
“Um, rum, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Cranberries, pine sprigs, and floating tea lights added some tasteful holiday charm to the lounge, but nothing could distract from the potent essence of female hormones in the air.
“You came!” Jocelyn tackled her with a clumsy hug that reeked of rum and victory and nearly knocked Wren off her stool.
“Phew.” She fanned a hand in front of her face. “Good God, Joce. You smell flammable.” Wren did quick math. “ I left you more than eight hours ago. Have you had any water or food?”
She waved away her concern. “I’m the host. I had to sample a little of everything.”
“Why would you do that when you know you have to emcee?
She shrugged. “My Vikings weren’t cooperating. And you know my motto: when life gives you writer’s block, make martinis.”
“Does that actually help?”
“No, but I don’t care about the writer’s block anymore.” She reached for a program on the bar. “Can you believe this crowd? I never expected this great of a turnout.”
Wren scanned the women. She only recognized a few from Hideaway Harbor. These ladies weren’t town locals. “Where did they come from?”
“They’re Viking lovers like me! Some are fellow authors, others are readers, and a few are just single women looking for a good time.” She grinned and hooted when the handsome, young barback walked by with a case of beer on his shoulder.
Several women catcalled and whistled.
“These are my people!” Jocelyn reached for a program that shamelessly advertised her newest release,The Viking’s Heart. “Have you seen this lineup?”
“That’s sort of why I’m here. Soren called me in a panic.”
Jocelyn laughed. “How very territorial of you to come to his rescue. Careful, Wren, do anything public and by tomorrow, the town will think you’re in love.”
Wren’s face went slack, and Jocelyn, despite her intoxication, read her like a book.
“Oh, my God.” Jocelyn grabbed her by the arms and shook her like a rag doll. “There have been new developments. Tell me!”
Wren disentangled from her grip. “Shh!”
“You saw Grey.” Her eyes grew wild with curiosity. “What happened?”
Where did she even begin? “That’s a story for sober Jocelyn.”
“Oh, come on. She’s the lamest of all my personalities. Just give me the CliffsNotes. Did you fuck him?”
