Me: No.
E.G.: Go to the front of the line and give them your name.
Me: Is this a trick?
E.G.: No. I’m being nice. Again.
Me: Is this the impact of all that extra cardio?
E.G.: Geezus, Flowers. JUST GO TO THE FRONT OF THE LINE!
“What’s he texting you about at this hour?” Claire asked. “Is he making you work? Holy shit, what a jerk.”
“Not exactly a jerk,” I said and grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going? We’re going to lose our place in line!”
“What difference does that make if the line never moves?” I told her, even as I pushed my way up through the throng of people who were pressed tight against a rope line, waiting for the door to open again.
I stood in front of the bouncer and smiled.
“Can I help you?”
He was big, bald and shiny, like our delivery guy.
“Is my name on the list?”
I could hear Clair half cough, half laugh behind me.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Anna Flowers.”
His blonde bushy eyebrows, the only hair left on his head, lifted in a way that suggested I was putting him on with my name.
“Just look,” I insisted.
Sure enough, he blinked and then got up from his stool and walked over to open the door.
“Have fun,” he said.
I smiled and grabbed Claire’s hand, pulling her behind me.
We were in.
The music was blasting. The place was packed. My eyes sought the dance floor and I had to agree with E.G. It looked like a lot of jumping and thrusting. And what the heck were those women doing with their butts?
I was one hundred percent certain my butt did not do that.
“Ahh! OMG! I can’t believe we’re in. I’m going to dance,” Claire squealed, and immediately tried to take off for the dance floor. Quickly, I grabbed her hand.
“Hey, we’re supposed to stick together.”
She looked confused. “Who says?”
“E.G. He thought it would be safer if we stuck together.”
“Safer? It’s a club. And why is your boss telling you what to do on your day off?”
