Page 16 of Shifting Sands

I shrug as I look at my watch. “It’s just after seven. I guess we could head there in a bit.”

“We have to get ready first. You’re not going like that,” Erin says, tilting her chin toward me.

I look down at my leggings and sweater. “What’s wrong with my outfit? I like this sweater.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it for a cozy night at the neighbors’, eating ribs, but it’s notgoing out dancing with a sexy island mansweater,” she says.

I shake my head and look at Avie. “See what I’m dealing with?”

Avie laughs. “I have one of those.”

“One of what?” Erin asks.

“A crazy, pushy friend.”

“You mean, an amazing friend,” Erin quips.

“Yes, I do.”

We park my truck in an overflow lot across the street from Whiskey Joe’s. There is a line of people standing at the front entrance. A large man in a black tee and jeans is seated on a stool, checking IDs with a little flashlight before allowing admittance.

There isn’t anything like this in the valley. The closest thing we have is Appalachian Ridge Brewery, where our friend Maxi bartends, but it’s about an eighth the size of this place.

Erin convinced me to swap my sweater for a curve-hugging red tank top. “It’ll be so hot on the dance floor,” she insisted.

I paired the top with dark jeans and black boots. Jena curled my long brown hair and did my makeup, making me feel pretty damn good about myself. However, as soon as I stepped out into the cold night air, I regretted every decision I had made since leaving the warmth of Sabel’s deck.

“Hello, ladies,” the muscled man in the black tee greets us as we each hand him our IDs. “Tennessee—beautiful country up there. Enjoy yourselves,” he says as he hands them back.

“Thanks, handsome,” Erin says as she pulls open one of the double doors.

We are welcomed by a rush of heat as we enter the front of the club. A young woman with a bright smile takes our cover charge, and we walk through another set of doors into the dimly lit bar. Loud music fills the space.

“Okay, before we get into the crowd, we need to make a plan. Pick a safe word,” Erin says, looking at me.

“A safe word?”

She nods. “Yeah, something that lets us know if you’re uninterested in a guy who’s trying to chat you up.”

“Why would I need that? If I’m uninterested, I’ll just politely end the conversation and walk away,” I say.

“Because this isn’t Balsam Ridge. We don’t know everyone and their momma in this place. And some guys get persistent and overzealous when they’ve been drinking and they’re on the prowl,” she insists. “Now pick a word.”

I give in. “Fine, I pick …” I look around for inspiration, and my eyes land on a deer head mounted above the stage. “Bambi.”

“Good one. Just call that out, and either Jena or I will pretend to be your gorgeous life partner, Bambi.”

I blink. “You want me to pretend I’m dating a girl named Bambi?”

“Why not?”

“I’d like to think that if I had a girlfriend, she wouldn’t have a stripper name,” I whisper-shout.

Erin shrugs. “You picked it, not me. Now, let’s get a cocktail and scout for hot men.”

She grabs my arm and drags me deeper into the club, where we spot a table of guys paying their tab. Jena asks if they’re leaving, and they stand up to let us have their seats.

The server—a blonde with her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail—finishes with their credit card and looks at us. “I’m Heather. I’ll just get these out of your way, and I’ll be right back to take your order. There’s a drink menu on the table with ourspecialty cocktails, and we have just about any beer you could want on tap or in a bottle. We also have a few wines, but it’s not a huge list. And if you want food, we have a few items on the back, but the kitchen is backed up, so it may take a little while to get it.”

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