Page 153 of The Vacation Mix-Up
Giggling, Riles bites her fingernail. “I like your mom already.”
A warm sense of relief washes over me, because I know Mom will like Riles as well. In fact, she’ll more than likely love her. Roni and Poppy too.
“Okay, Riverdancers.” Paul skips up a few steps onto a circular landing at the base of the grand staircase, upbeat Irish-style music playing through the speakers. “Gather around and form multiple lines on the dancefloor.”
“Let’s go!” Riles snags my hand and drags me to the front, her back straight, her game face firmly set.
I swallow.Shit! Not that look again.
“Just friends!” Paul calls out.
My blood runs cold, regret locking my two left feet into place as I raise my eyes to his. If he thinks I’m going up there, he can fuck right off to Leprechaun land.
Not. A. Chance. In. Hell.
He points his microphone at us and winks. “Good to see you again.”
Riles waves, and I secure her animated fingers to prevent her from drawing extra attention to us. “I think we should stand at the back.”
“Nonsense. You’ll see better from here.”
“No, really. The back is perfect. I’m tall. I’ll see just fine.”
“Riley Wilson,” she drawls, turning to face me. “Was it not you who just said to me moments ago that it’s okay to let go every once in a while and dance like a freak?”
Annoyed with myself for saying stupid shit, I scratch my beard and grumble, “I meant you, not me.”
She raises one solitary eyebrow. “Perhaps you should take your own advice.”
Knowing I’ve dug my own grave, I twist around and look at the flock of passengers lined up behind me. “This isn’t my idea of fun, Riles. I’m only doing it because I have to.”
“Ease up.”
Damn it!
“Relax. It’s not a competition.” She clasps my hand and tugs me to face forward again, which is when a glimmer of gold catches my eye as Paul produces a ship trophy and waves it about.
“Who likes prizes?” he singsongs.
My stomach plummets.
I side-eye Riles.
“Relax,” she repeats. “I already have one.”
Exhaling, because hopefully she won’t turn into Muhammad Riley again, I loosen my shoulders and crack my neck as Paul welcomes a woman to stand beside him.
“Have you all met Michelle?” he asks, holding out his arms as if presenting her on a game show. “She’s one of our fabulous entertainment crewmembers and our resident Irish Dancing Queen. She’ll be teaching you all a basic jig.” Michelle crisscrosses her legs, jumps, and then curtseys. “At the end of your lesson, we’ll choose our best participant.”
The crowd gives Michelle a round of applause, and she reciprocates. “Hello, everyone. Thank you for joining me today. Are you ready to have some fun?”
The atrium roars with cheers; I groan.
“Now, before we get into the steps, I want you all to familiarize yourself with the beat of the music by bouncing on the spot, like this.” She proceeds to jump like a pogo stick, encouraging us all to copy.
What the fuck?
I have half a mind to bounce the hell out of here. I’ll tell Mom the dancing classes were fully booked, or that I had temporary paralysis or some shit. She won’t believe me, of course, but I’ll come up with something and then ply her with duty-free gifts, which may work. At least, at first.
