The Girl Next Door - Emma Hart Page 0,46
the only one not to order—she said she had an early meeting in the morning and left after bidding everyone goodbye and telling me to be home by dark with a wink. Since her calendar was now pinned to the front of my fridge, I knew she was telling the truth.
The conversation swiftly drifted to the news of the day—updates on everyone’s lives, a discussion about sports that ended in threats of more under the table kicking if we didn’t shut up, and an eventual peace was called when our food was brought over.
We ate to the tune of local gossip, and neither me or Ivy were surprised to find out that we were it. The whole town was alight with the news that we were supposedly married and having a baby.
“If one more person mentions it in the store, I’m going to gauge my eyeballs out with a pencil,” Holley said, dipping her fries in ketchup. “Honestly, I’m over it.”
“Eyeballs won’t help,” Kinsley pointed out. “You’ll still be able to hear them.”
“Fine. I’ll shove the pencils so far into my ears that the drums will burst.”
“That’s not dramatic at all,” Ivy drawled.
I chuckled into my glass. Given Ivy’s own propensity for the dramatic, I wasn’t entirely surprised that Holley had it, too. I would bet my life savings that that particular gene came directly from their grandmother.
If only that were a thing, I’d be rich as hell.
Or maybe not, knowing how those betting websites worked.
“Don’t Stop Believin’,” Kinsley argued.
Holley shook her head. “Oops I Did It Again.”
“Really?” Tori said. “That’s what you’re going for? Britney? Over Journey? Dear God, what’s happening here?”
“Ladies.” Josh held out his hands. “You’re all wrong.”
“Really,” Kinsley drawled, her tone the audible embodiment of Holley and Tori’s raised eyebrows.
It was freaky.
Adam nodded. “Bohemian Rhapsody is obviously the best option for karaoke.”
At some point when I’d been in my head, this conversation had taken one hell of a weird turn.
“Who’s doing karaoke?” I asked.
Ivy sighed. “Mom and Dad set up karaoke every now and then. There’s this weird little stage area over there.” She pointed to the other side of the bar. “We don’t use it often because we don’t have a need for it, but sometimes they get a bee in their bonnet and the next thing you know, there’s a huge screen set up and Mom is standing there with a clipboard coordinating sign-ups for drunk people to sing cheesy songs.”
“Huh,” I said, tilting my head to one side. “Reminds me of Spain.”
“Spain? How on Earth does that remind you of Spain?”
“Move!” Kinsley flicked her hands in our direction for us to get out of the large, circular booth we were sitting in. “I’m not singing Bohemian-freakin’-Rhapsody!”
We moved.
“And thank God for that,” Ivy muttered. “She doesn’t know the words.”
I chuckled and sat back down. “How does she not know the words?”
“God knows. But get her drunk enough and she’ll rap you half of Kanye’s backlist.”
“Can we do that when we get married for real?”
Her glare was intense.
“Kidding. Maybe.” I grinned.
“Tell me about Spain.”
“Ah, okay. So one of my cousins is British—he actually lives in the Florida Keys now. He mostly grew up in London, and so we spent a few summers in Europe. One year I remember we all went to this place in Spain where the hotel was all-inclusive, but the entertainment was pretty tacky.”
“Karaoke?”
“Karaoke,” I confirmed. “Not that it’s—”
“No, it’s totally tacky,” Ivy interrupted. “That’s why those idiots like it.”
I looked in the direction of our friends. It was a relatively newly formed group given our current circumstances, but it worked. Not that Adam was too thrilled about hanging out with his sister, but that was his problem.
“You can’t sing?” I asked.
Ivy shook her head. “I don’t sing,” she corrected. “I can sing, I just choose not to.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a bit of a spoiler alerpt for the next few hours.”
“Are you going to last for a few more hours?”
She tilted her phone and checked the time. “Doubtful. I’m tired.”
“Then it’s not a spoiler alert, it’s a warning that I should ask your dad for the security tapes of this mess so I can see it for myself. I bet it’s a fucking shitshow.”
“Fair enough.” She finished the last of her water and leaned forward so she could see around me. “Okay, here’s how this will go: Holley will win. They’ll start with Britney, move onto Journey, and probably throw some Christina Aguilera in there for good measure.”
“Really?”
“Oh, just hold on.” She tucked