Badger to the Bone (Honey Badger Chronicles #3) - Shelly Laurenston Page 0,124
group told him.
“Rude,” he muttered, but at least he did shut up.
* * *
“Whatever happens,” Max told Zé while he stared out over the packed dance floor, “just don’t start swinging.”
Frowning, he asked, “Why would I just start swinging?”
“Maaaaaaaax!” a voice screeched seconds before Bane—sorry . . . Blayne—the woman he’d met at the steakhouse, attacked Max from behind, wrapping her arms and legs around the much smaller woman.
Slowly Max turned her head to look at him. “Now do you see?”
“Cocaine?” he asked, assuming that would explain the woman’s risky behavior.
“Nope. Sprite. Maybe Pepsi.”
“Actually,” Blayne said, dropping to the ground and gliding to a stop in front of Max, “none of those things. Shirley Temples. Six of them.” She pumped her fist into the air and screamed out, “Woooooo-hoooo!” Then she grabbed Max’s hand and dragged her out onto the dance floor. That’s when Zé realized the woman had on roller skates.
Why was she wearing roller skates? At a club?
“Want a shot?” Berg asked him, motioning to the bar.
“God, yes.”
The bartender poured four shots of tequila for Zé and the triplets. They each picked one up and were about to knock them back when Nelle and Mads abruptly ran up to them and began slapping the tequila from their hands.
“What the hell, man?” Dag demanded.
“You don’t want that tequila,” Nelle said, grabbing the bottle off the bar and expertly passing it off to Tock, who hustled it away while Streep put her hand to her forehead and seemed to pass out in front of Charlie, clearly attempting to distract her from what had just happened.
“Okay, then!” Nelle said before walking away.
“What the fuck was that?” Zé asked Berg.
“I’m guessing poison.”
“It’s tequila. How bad can it be?”
He shook his head. “No, I mean literal poison.”
“Sorry about that,” the bartender said, pouring the four of them fresh shots from a tequila bottle Zé recognized. “I didn’t know they’d put that shit behind the bar.”
“This is going to be an interesting night, isn’t it?’ Zé asked the triplets and the three just laughed.
* * *
Max watched Blayne perform what she seemed to think constituted dancing. It wasn’t. It was just a horrifying show of “Blayne moves.” Even worse, those moves were done to “Funky-town.” A song she only knew because her Pop-Pop had listened to that sort of seventies crap when he was driving Max, Stevie, and Charlie around before Charlie got her driver’s license.
“Come on!” Blayne urged. “Dance with me!”
“To this seventies shit? Don’t they have anything from this century?”
“It’s a seventies-eighties dance party!”
“That explains the white people in Afros.”
“Those are African wild dogs!”
“That means nothing to me.”
The music switched to Donna Summer—another singer she knew because of her Pop-Pop—and Max was done. She turned to look for the closest bar and then Zé, but instead found her baby sister. When they spotted each other, Stevie stopped and stared at her.
What are you doing here? she mouthed to Max.
Charlie, was all Max had to say in return.
With a laugh and nod, Stevie started off but abruptly stopped again and motioned to Max to come to her.
“What?” Max asked when she stood next to her sister.
“Livy asked about you.”
“Livy who?”
“Your cousin.”
Max frowned, confused.
“The one you’ve threatened with death many times?”
“Still unclear.”
* * *
Kyle sat at the bar nursing his virgin Bloody Mary and wondering when this night would be over.
“You’re here!” Oriana greeted, putting her hand on his shoulder. “We didn’t get to say ‘surprise’ to you.”
“Seriously?”
“I promised Mom I’d make sure you got a party.”
“I’d rather be home. Doing anything else.”
“I know, but Mom feels bad she couldn’t be here.” When Kyle simply stared, Oriana added, “I know. She’s rarely here for our birthdays.”
“It’s hard to turn down the King of Spain.”
“At least try to have a good time.”
“How? ”
“There are kids your own age.”
“Are they all African wild dogs?” When she shrugged, he said, “Yeah, I’d rather be home.”
“At least stay until we cut the cake. Stevie ordered it just for you.”
“Meaning?”
“I think it’s made to look like one of your pieces. The one that got some award.”
“Many of my pieces have gotten awards.”
“Oh, my God! I can’t with you anymore. Just stay until we cut the fucking cake,” she snarled before storming off.
* * *
Max found her cousin hanging over the balcony railing, her camera aimed at the crowd below.
Briefly, Max entertained the thought of shoving Livy over the railing but she knew that would only piss off Stevie and she’d never hear the end of it. Not in the