The light in front of us turned red as she opened her window, and I leaned toward her. “I’m sure the thoughts of us keep you awake at night. I’m up in your head. Nobody can be what we were.”
“You’re so wrong. Brandon is like amazing. Not only because he’s as hot as a movie star, but he’s honest and trusting.”
I shrugged. “Looks a little vanilla to me.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, you know what they say about vanilla.”
“No, I don’t. What do they say?” Why was her angry face causing me so much enjoyment?
“Well, uh, they say vanilla is smooth and light.”
“And that pertains to jackass how?”
In a dramatic move, she pulled her hood over her head. “This conversation is over.”
We parked on the street near The Saloon, a legendary gay bar with bumpin’ music, DJs and drinks. It’s known for the celebrities stopping by when they were in town.
“Let’s go into the Brit’s Pub first.” We walked down the sidewalk when she stopped. “Oh shit.”
I looked over.
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m in my pajama shorts. I can’t go in there.”
“May I?”
She nodded as I took her pajama top and tied it up at her waist. My knuckle grazed her bare stomach, and I swear to God there was a literal spark. I looked down to see her inhale sharply, knowing she felt it too. “Do you have two hair ties?”
She nodded and grabbed them from her purse. My face was inches from hers as I pulled one side at a time into two low ponytails just below her ears, and then took a strand of hair and wrapped it to cover the bands and tucked the end in. My hand slid through her silky hair, and her eyes looked frightened as they looked up at me.
“How do you know how to do ponytails?”
“I used to babysit for neighbors growing up. I can do ponytails, fishtail braids, and killer buns.”
“Hmm.”
I stepped back. “You look like a clubber.” I pointed to the mirrored window in front of us, and her mouth dropped open.
“OMG, look what you did. You made jammies Loop worthy.”
“I have many talents, Fern Ethel.”
The words lingered while her eyes softened for a moment, and her head tilted. A smile started to sneak across her pink lips, but then she caught it and quickly shook her head as if reminding herself to despise me.
While she slipped back into I hate you mode, I’d seen a crack in the armor so it was possible. “Fern, I have to say something?—”
Her hand shot in front of my face. “Nope, we aren’t talking. We’re finding my cousin.”
She turned on her heel and headed inside with me on her tail. As we weaved through the crowd, I got some high-fives and Minnesota Wild talk.
“Gabe, you look around, and I’ll check the bathroom. Got it?”
She disappeared before I could answer. I walked toward the bar and was ambushed by a divorce party of women who’d clearly drank their weight in alcohol, all sporting shirts reading, “Divorce is final. Buy us a drink.”
A blonde slurring woman put her arm around me. “You’re the hockey player!”
“I am.” I looked around her but saw no Tawnee. Probably a good idea to keep her as far away from the divorce gang as possible.
Her brunette gal pal put her arm around my other shoulder. “We need a pic!”
