The Right Stud by Ilsa Madden-Mills & Tia Louise

Author:Ilsa Madden-Mills & Tia Louise [Madden-Mills, Ilsa & Louise, Tia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ilsa-Louise Books
Published: 2018-05-31T05:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Seven

Ashton

Lying in my bed, the sun shines across my ceiling, and I stretch my arms over my head, remembering last night at the Smoky Siren. It all comes flooding back in a wave of triumph, and I cover my mouth as a satisfied smile lifts my cheeks.

Am I actually smiling? How long has it been since that happened? More importantly, how did this happen?

Well, I’ll tell you…

We’d walked into that bar looking fierce, if I do say so myself. (I refuse to believe it’s the prosecco remembering.) Even Mrs. C was bringing her A-game.

“The first thing we need to do is get the karaoke book,” Mrs. C says, holding the door as I follow Lulu into the semi-crowded bar. “I read if you tip the DJ, they’ll call your name faster.”

“I’m not singing karaoke.” Lulu slides a smooth lock of red hair behind her shoulder. “No amount of alcohol would make me sing in front of who knows who’s listening.”

“Oh, what are you worried about?” I grumble. “Ben’s keeping the bed warm for you back at his place.”

My best friend’s jaw drops, but I shake my head. “Don’t even bother—Mrs. C called it a week ago. She knows.”

She looks from Mona to me, but I’m feeling my sparkling wine. I push through the growing crowd to the bar and place my palm on the glossy wood.

The tall bartender looms over me, and I announce with gusto, “I’ll have a martini! No ice, two olives.”

His dark brow lowers. “Dirty?”

“You know it,” I wink, no longer intimidated by his glower.

“Goodness,” Mrs. C murmurs behind me. “Somebody’s going to be barfing in the morning.”

I watch as the man prepares the semi-complicated drink, and when he pours it into the tumbler, I hand it to the old lady behind me. “For you!”

Mrs. C’s eyebrows shoot up as she takes it. “I haven’t had one of these in, well, I can’t even remember when.”

A thin layer of ice floats on the top, and she takes a slow sip of the gin and vermouth concoction.

“Oh!” Her nose wrinkles as she passes it back to me. “I remember why it’s been so long since I’ve had one of these—Christmas trees.”

The music grows louder, a dance tune somewhere between Motown and David Guetta. I take a long sip of Christmas and toss my hands in the air. It’s the first time I haven’t felt like a boulder was squashing my heart in three days, and I want to dance.

We’re out on the floor, bodies bouncing off us as we twist and sway to the music. Lulu is right beside me, twisting her hips with her eyes closed. Her hair swishes behind her in a silky curtain. Mrs. C is with us doing some sort of robot-style interpretive dance. The smoke machine goes off and lights streak through the bodies in thick bands. I close my eyes and forget everything as I’m swept up higher and higher…

Three songs later, we’re at a high-top table, sweaty and ordering more drinks. Mrs.

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