“Yes!” Olivia yells, pumping a fist in the air. “Cam wasn’t sure if you’d want to go, but I knew Ty could convince you.”
“I don’t think there was any convincing involved. I believe his exact words were, ‘You’re going out with us tonight and you’re not going to be a baby about it. Go get changed.’”
Grace tosses her head back in a laugh. “I love that man. I’m so glad we get to keep him.”
“Cheers to that.” I raise my hard cider before taking a sip. Gone are the days when we’d get ready and pregame with thumping music and a mission to get drunk before we leave, knocking back shot after shot in a dingy dorm room or someone’s apartment. Apparently, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, my version of a pregame is sipping on a cider while I soberly paint my nails.
“I just wanted to let you know I’ll be out with these guys tonight,” Declan says. “You ladies have fun.”
“Wait,” Noah calls out. “Don’t forget about –”
“Oh shit, thank you,” Declan cuts him off. “Elsie, check the front pocket of your purse. First round is on me tonight.”
Gail, who’s sitting closest to my purse on the bed, grabs the small bag and unzips the front pocket. She pulls out a fifty-dollar bill and waves it overhead.
“How did that even get in there?” I ask.
“Declan had me put it there for him this afternoon,” Noah says proudly.
“God, that’s hot,” Grace says, taking a sip of her drink, some kind of canned cocktail. “Got any single friends?”
“Quit being so thirsty,” a familiar voice calls out. One I haven’t heard since Christmas, when he last came back to Port Myles for a visit.
“Ethan,” Gail scolds, her mom voice in full force. “Quit starting trouble.”
“That’s all he knows how to do,” Grace scoffs. She and Ethan, Olivia’s older brother, have been butting heads since long before I moved to Port Myles. Since they were young kids, the way Olivia describes it. They get along about twenty percent of the time, and the rest is usually bickering and calling each other names.
“Love you too, Gracie.” He can’t see her raise her middle finger to the phone as she sips her drink, but it makes the rest of us laugh.
“Thanks for the drinks,” I tell Declan, trying to steer this conversation back on track. “That was sweet of you.”
“It was nothing,” Declan says, and I can practically hear his shrug.
“Have fun with the guys tonight.”
“We’ll send pics so you can see how hot your Olivia Newton John is,” Grace promises him. We’re all dressing as different leading ladiesfrom Olivia’s favorite movies. I’m still not sure how it happened – I think Grace is to blame – but I’m going to be dressed as Sandy from “Grease.” End-of-the-movie Sandy, with the painted-on faux leather and sky-high red heels.
“You’d better,” Declan warns.
“Bye, ladies,” Cam chimes in. “Take care of my girl tonight.”
“We will,” I promise. After another round of goodbyes, we hang up.
“Alright,” Olivia says, clapping her hands. “We’ve got less than twenty minutes. Let’s go, girls.”
Forty-five minutes later, we’re locking the door behind us and piling into Gail’s car. She had insisted on being designated driver for the night, despite Grace begging her to drink with us.
“If I have even a sip of alcohol tonight, I’ll be hungover until after the wedding,” she’d said. I’m guaranteed to have some regrets in the morning when I have to wake up with the sun and start assembling flowers, but that’s a problem for future Elsie to deal with.
Tonight, we have a bride to celebrate.
All of the bars in town are within walking distance of each other, so we decided to start at our favorite one and see where the night takes us. Lucky Jo’s is nestled at the end of Harbor Lane, just off Main Street toward the water. They have a deck to sit on and watch the boats go by during the day, but it also turns into a favorite party spot at night. With a big dance floor and a digital jukebox or band, depending on the night, it’s the place to go when you want to drink and dance and have a good time.
The twangy notes of a country song filter out the open doors toward us as we make our way down the sidewalk.
“Country night,” Olivia says, nudging my arm. I’m the only country music fan among us, but weallenjoy a good country night at the bar. You won’t catch Grace and Olivia turning on a countrystation in the car, but throw on some Shania Twain or Brooks and Dunn at Lucky Jo’s and they’ll “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” their way across that dance floor with the best of them.
“Oh, I love this song,” Gail says, clapping her hands to the cover of “Wagon Wheel” as she struts down the sidewalk in her low heels. She throws in a little hip shimmy, prompting a catcall from Grace.
