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I could lose this.
Clearing my throat, I make the rounds, hugging and promising to see everyone bright and early. Mel’s parents stay in the guest room on Christmas Eve, another tradition. In the morning, Tim will make chocolate chip pancakes, and Vicky will rope Abby into dropping off cookies at the soup kitchen downtown once presents have been opened.
And then we spend the day watching movies, eating food, napping, and putting together all of Abby’s toys for her to bounce around between until she crashes from all the sugar and excitement.
It won’t always be like this…you have to savor it…
The drive across town takes twenty minutes.
It’s started to snow—just flurries—and with the added multi-colored lights and foot of snow that hasn’t melted from last week’s storm, it’s a picture-perfect Christmas Eve.
Lola’s is dark, save for the single red LEDOPENsign posted in the window. Skyler said while technically they’re closed tonight as far as the regular entertainment goes, they’re open for anyone who doesn’t have a place to celebrate the holiday.
The door creaks when it opens, and a wave of hot air rushes over me.
Wiping my boots on the mat by the door, I pull off my beanie, and shove it in my pocket. Running my fingers through my hair, I glance around the dimly lit room. In the far right corner, there’s a tree covered in more tinsel than pine needles. Across the main bar, aluminum trays are laid out, filled with all sorts of food.
Oldies Christmas songs croon from the speakers, mingling with the clinking of glassware and laughter.
And it smells like cinnamon and pine—woodsy and familiar. Like home. Not my house, but like the one I grew up in with my dad and uncle.
Entering further into the bar, I notice there’s got to be about a good couple dozen people here, some scattered in groups, others sitting by their lonesome. A few homeless people napping in the booths. One older woman looks to be dancing with herself, eyes glazed over with tears as if she’s somewhere far, far away.
Emotion swells in my throat as I dart my gaze around, searching for a familiar face. One in particular.
There’s a thud—then a giggle—a giggle I know intimately.
My gaze snaps toward the stage. It’s designed in the shape of a T, with three poles—one in the middle, the main one, where the dancers do most of their routines. And two in back, that I’m pretty sure are only there for structural reinforcement.
One of which Skyler is currently gripping with his fist, while he stumbles around it in a circle.
Oh boy.
Micah notices me first and grins big and bright. Even before I reach them, I can already tell they’re both drunk off their ass. And if not, they’re well on their way.
“Like this?” Skyler says very seriously, thrusting his hip out.
Jesus.
In those tight black jeans he loves so much, and a green cable-knit sweater, he’s far from what you’d typically find working the pole, butgoddamn,if he isn’t the sexiest stripper I’ve ever seen.
I sidle up right next to the stage. He’s still facing away from me, so I meet Micah’s gaze and wink. Skyler takes a step back, putting him well within reaching distance.
I hook my arm around his leg and tug.
He gasps, falling backward, plopping right into my arms.
Looking down at his wide, shocked expression, I smile softly. “Hi there.”
“Tarzan,” he breathes into a wide, breathless smile.
Choking on a laugh, I shake my head, bend down, and go to press my lips to his when he sneaks a hand between us, smacking it over my mouth.
My lips crash into his knuckles, my brows slamming down in a frown.
His gaze widens impossibly more as he murmurs. “I drank.”
I blink.Oh.
