Page 5 of Naughty All the Way

“Gotta get in the spirit,” Axl says, looking back at me and winking. Before too long, he’s doffed the pants and is seconds away from straddling me.

I hold my hands out. “We’re good, man.”

Axl stops, and it’s like he flips a switch, because the sexy dancer is gone and my buddy Axl is back. “I was wondering how far you’d let me go,” he laughs. “So you get how it goes?”

I nod. “I don’t know if I can do what you just did, but I’m in.”

“Do you need a deejay?” Quinton asks. “Because I would pay good money to see this.”

Ignoring him, Axl beckons me to his room. “C’mon. We need to get you suited up.”

I follow, running calculations in my head on how tonight’s potential earnings will help with the move. Unlike Quinton and Axl, I had to take loans out to attend university, more to defray living expenses than anything, and I’ve spent the years since graduating shoving as much money at the loans as possible so that I can get out of here. Because as cool as my friends are, I have plans. Big ones that include heading to Seattle and taking one of my buddies up on helping me land a job as a team accountant with the city’s professional hockey team. Sure, any accounting job will do, but I’m desperate to keep my connection to hockey in one way or another, and my friend is a player on the team. Plus, I want to live in America for a while.

Axl throws his closet open with a flourish, then reaches in and pulls out a clear bag stuffed with green, red, and white. “Behold, my holiday bag of tricks.”

I squint. “Is that a feather boa?”

“Of course.” He dumps the contents onto his bed—which is made, at least Quinton and I have managed to beat that into his head—and I try to understand what I’m seeing.

Seeing my confusion, Axl takes pity on me. “Gabe. It’s not like we’re wearing a lot of clothes for the gig.”

“I know,” I mutter. “I just…figured there’d be more.”

He laughs. “Nope.”

3

KAYLA

“Looks like a snow storm,” Steve says, his eyes tracking me as I get ready to go somewhere—anywhere—without him.

“Don’t care,” I say, pulling a sweatshirt over my tank and checking my reflection in the mirror. My phone pings and I grab it.

Britanya

Hey Mom! You sure you don’t want to come to the bachelorette party?

I love you, but no. I don’t need to see all that.

Britanya

Haha okay. Lunch tomorrow ahead of mani-pedis, right?

Absolutely. See you tomorrow!

Britanya

Love you!

I put the phone down and shove my feet back into my boots, grateful I’d thought long and hard about exactly what to pack for this trip. I probably thoughttoolong about it, but that was a hard habit to break. Once I got pregnant, I’d over-thought everything, especially since Steve wasn’t about to do any thinking.

“Where are you going?” he asks now.

I shrug. “Maybe the book store, maybe just a walk. I don’t know.”

“Want company?”

“No.” The word comes out harsher than I intended. “Sorry. No,” I say, gentling the response. “I just…” I stop, not wanting to hurt his feelings. Which is ridiculous, seeing as how it was me not wanting to hurt his feelings that kept us together as long as it did. But it’s been two years. I shouldn’t have to care about his feelings anymore.

---