Page 69 of Sizzling Desire

I glare at him. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He reaches across the bar and grabs a glass with something electric blue in color, sliding it toward me. “Here. Have some Mommy Juice. I made it especially for you. It’s non-alcoholic.”

I glare harder. “You are so lucky you’re hot.”

He lifts his beer in salute. “I know.”

Before I can issue a proper retort, the front doors of Hooplas swing open with enough flair to rival a Broadway production, and in march the Walking Ladies—Gladys, Betty, Joan, and Florence—wearing matching tiaras and sashes that readSexy Seniorsin bold, glittery script.

Gladys, leading the charge like the general of an army made up of martini-wielding grandmothers, stops just inside,plants her hands on her hips, and declares loudly,“We heard there’s a party, and we never miss a party!”

The entire bar turns to look at them and then cheers.

Kane mutters under his breath, “Here we go.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.Oh no.

Florence, the instigator of at least half of our town’s most ridiculous antics, beelines straight for Kane. Her silver curls bounce with each determined step, and before I can intervene, she pats his cheek fondly and leans in conspiratorially.

“We brought our own flask, dear. Don’t tell the bartender.”

Kane laughs, shaking his head. “Florence, you’re the last person who should be drinking tonight.”

Florence gasps, clutching her chest like he just personally insulted her entire bloodline. “Are you suggesting I don’t hold my liquor well, young man?”

“Yes,” I answer immediately. “Absolutely.”

Florence narrows her eyes at me. “You wound me, Grace.”

I cross my arms. “Last time you ‘held your liquor well,’ you got banned from The Silver Willow for dancing on the piano.”

Florence sniffs, adjusting her tiara. “That ban was entirely unjustified. I have excellent rhythm.”

Joan cackles, already making a beeline for the bar.“Somebody get me a real drink. This party needs some spice.”

Parker steps forward quickly, holding up both hands like he’s about to negotiate with a wild animal. “Uh, Joan, we don’t really need you adding spice. We need less spice.”

Joan waves him off with a dramatic flourish. “Hush, boy, the women are talking.”

I groan as Kane chuckles beside me, completely unbothered by the chaos unfolding in front of us.

Gladys, the self-appointed ringleader of the group, scans the bar like a general surveying a battlefield. “Where arethe men?”

“What men? Everyone Hudson knows is here.” I ask, already knowing I won’t like the answer.

“The single men, dear,” Joan says, like it should be obvious. “A bachelorette party is not complete without a few handsome young men to entertain the guests.” She pulls out a handful of singles and waves them in the air. “I brought ten whole dollars to stick in someone’s G-string.”

Floor. Swallow me up now.

Betty, sipping from her flask far too casually, squints at the crowd, then nods approvingly.“I call dibs on the tall drink of water in the corner.”

I follow her gaze and find Garret, leaning against the bar talking to Ian and Sawyer, watching this entire debacle unfold with an expression that screams regret for ever agreeing to attend.

“I think he might be too young for you,” I say.

Betty huffs, tucking her flask back into her clutch. “Nonsense. I’ve got at least twenty good years left in me.”

Kane chokes on his beer.

---