Page 27 of The Vacation Mix-Up
We continue toward the theatre, soon entering the grand, three-story auditorium with luxurious velvet curtains and seats, brass railings, and sculpted architraves.
“Wow!” I exclaim, carefully descending the steps toward the stage, my hand secured to the railing. “This is extravagant.”
“It’s what we’ve paidgood coinfor,” Riley says, his tone pompous.
Glancing over my shoulder, I shoot him a knowing smile. “You heard Oscar say that too?”
“I did.”
“Like I said, dinner was interesting.”
“Yeah. A bunch of spoiled, self-entitled fools.”
“Hey, Hugo and Manny are nice.”
“Yeah, you’re right. They are.”
Taking a seat midway to the stage, Riley sits beside me, even though there are plenty of empty seats available. Not that I mind… as long as he doesn’t revert back to calling me cookie.
“Do we always have to share a table with them?” I ask.
“I assume so. It’s prebooked for the same time every night.”
“Surely we can choose who we eat with? Just Manny and Hugo, for instance.”
“I think you’ll find Team Ohio won’t go back there again.”
“True. That just leaves…Horse.” I facepalm. “What an idiot.”
Riley leans back in his seat and rests his ankle on his knee. “So, MJ’s the GOAT, huh?”
I chuckle. “He sure is.”
“You know your NBA.”
“Kind of.”
“Do you play?”
“No, not really. Well, I haven’t in a very long time. My stepfather was an assistant coach for the Knicks when I was a teenager, so we lived and breathed the game for a while.”
He pulls an “impressive” face. “He still coach?”
“No. I don’t think so. Last I heard, he retired. He’s no longer my stepfather. Hasn’t been for many years.”
“Right.” He raises his hand to his chin and rubs it. “So other than being a cookie-baking, heel-wearing Knicks fan, what else are you into?”
“Firstly, I’m not a cookie baker. I just bake them for my egomaniacal boss. They contain ingredients that placate her, which is best for me.” I rest my hands on my lap and awkwardly tap my fingers. “And secondly?—”
“So you roofie your employer?”
I snap my head toward him. “I donotroofie my employer.”
“Sounds like you do.”
Howrude!
Crossing my arms over my chest, I silently pray the show will commence.
