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Supergirls Saga (If you’re new, start the Supergirl Saga here…)
Present Time: Very Late Summer 2023
Location: RI Farm and Auto Swap Meet, Barn Interior
Subject: “Supergirl; the Bet” is still running
Cast of suspects:
Steve, Adriah, Chloe, Donna, Brandy, Rene, Izzy, Sophie, Jackie, Reina, Sherry, Dot, Sasha, Jill with “fixers” Kat and Trish and on the farm, Roger, Ann, Earl, Wendy and Walt
If you already know what’s going on, skip to: Trap the Spark below otherwise…
Previously on The Supergirls Saga (Part 45) …
Steve’s dance card filled up fast. First came Kat—the grumpy-cat hair stylist who Steve swears she’s not “girlie enough” for a waltz. Their first attempt was a disaster. Wrong feet. Collisions. A full restart. But somewhere between the second take and a Def Leppard detour that turned the barn into a rock concert, Kat got her waltz. And Steve got something unexpected: a confession. Weeks ago, Kat told Izzy she didn’t like him. Then she changed her mind. “He’s an artist and an intellect, a rare combination. That’s part of his problem.” She never meant for him to hear it. But he did.
Then came Jill—Chatterbox, the conscience-keeper, the one who sees every crack before anyone else. Their dance started light. It ended with a knife. “The solution to fix the virus is the virus,” she said. “You could be a great actor messing with us all.” Steve walked outside to clear his head. Jill followed, apologizing. And then the barn door flew open.
Kat stormed out, grabbed Steve’s face, and planted a massive kiss on his lips. Then she disappeared back inside, shouting through the crack: “That didn’t happen!”
Jill stood there, jaw dropped. “What the fuck was THAT?”
Steve smiled. “Some unfinished business…(from the dance.)”
8 days 1 hour 22 minutes to Bet Deadline
Trap the Spark
Location: Interior farm barn, night. We pickup directly from the end of part 45.
I smile. “Oh. Some unfinished business…”
I look at Jill. “I should get back inside,” I mutter as I walk by her. Then I stop.
“You know, I should probably meet your parents. Put their minds at ease.” I turn to make eye contact in the dim night light. “Or maybe I need to put your mind at ease…”
She looks at me, her mouth opening slightly, the regret already settling into her eyes.
“You know, I hand-picked every woman in that barn with Adriah. Same page. Same temperament. Same mission statement.” I shrug. “Zero conflicts. Zero real drama. For a group of lady models, that’s no easy feat.”
I let that settle.
Reaching for the barn door, I start to pull it open. Inside, the line dance music floats out through the crack.
“Actually,” I say, glancing back at her, “how many models have left the group because they felt uncomfortable? Any idea?”
She blinks. “None I know of…”
“Hmmm.”
I pause at the door.
“I’ll see you inside.”
I slip through and let it close behind me. Inside the barn hits me like a wall of warmth and noise. Roger’s voice crackles through the speakers, calling out line dance moves. Bodies move in loose formation, laughter bouncing off the rafters. I make my way back over to the picnic table and sit down with a grunt.
Jill’s conversation still bothers me. Not enough to ruin the night. But enough that I haven’t forgotten it.
Reina breaks the dance formation and sits across from me. “How you holding up? You ok?”
“Nothing that will keep me up tonight. So. Anything I should know before your turn on the dance floor? Apprehension, grudges, beefs, daddy issues, or latent mistrust? Needles? Knives?”
“Ahhh…” Reina is facing me and sees the door to the barn and Jill slipping in. “What’s going on?” She leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Is she the call girl?”
“Oh! No no,” I laugh. I swirl my red cup drink on the condensation on the table. “Rea… do you trust me?”
She leans in looking at me. “Huh?”
“Rea.” I hold her gaze. “If it came down to it—would you trust me with your life?”
I glance at Jill climbing on stage. Reina clocks that, looks at her then back at me.
“Yes.”
I hold her gaze for a beat. No joke. No deflection. “That’s all I need to know.” I pause. “Are we dancing next? Is Donna ok?”
“Donna’s good. And yes, I’m ready.” She pauses. “You know you can ask me harder questions than that, right?” She smiles but then turns serious. “You’re my friend, Steve. You don’t have to test me to know I’m on your side.”
I look at her.
I would trust her with my life too.
That’s it. That’s what I needed to hear. I stop swirling the cup in its puddle of condensation just as the country line music ends. I perk up, “Rea, may I have this dance?”
She straightens. “Fire.” She giggles, “That means, yes.”
Roger announces us as we go up on the dance floor.
I whisper, “Just do me a favor, okay? Don’t turn this dance into a bartender’s therapy session…”
Smiling kindly, she teases, “For now, you have a free pass. My life is in your arms…”
I step back and look at her, in her cocoon of a bright flowered summer’s dress.
Reina is pure, spellbinding energy wrapped in a Middle Eastern, ultra-sultry package—the kind of modern-day Cleopatra who could conquer empires or charm your camera lens without breaking a sweat. Her laugh is a force of nature, head thrown back, eyes sparkling with a mischief that makes bad moods seem like a foreign language.
She’s gloriously silly, the one who’ll push you into the surf for her own amusement, demand you tell her strange secrets, and then howl at your worst dad jokes until she’s practically collapsing. Walking the shoreline with her, you’ll find the serious and the sacred melt away into spontaneous, joyful chaos—she brings the drama of a queen and the giddy heart of a girl who considers laughter her native tongue.
That’s my dance partner.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Born ready.”
I step back, extend my hand palm up, and bow. “May I have this dance?”
She curtsies, a playful flourish in the motion. “You may, kind gentleman.”
She places her hand in mine. I pull her gently into position, one hand on her waist, the other holding hers. Roger cues the music—something soft, something in three-four time. Classical. Traditional.
No rock. No segues. Just a waltz.
We move.
And for the first time all night, there’s no agenda. No subtext. No lingering questions hanging in the air between us. Just the rhythm, the steps, and the warm glow of the barn lights above.
She follows like she’s been doing this her whole life. No wrong feet. No collisions. Just grace.
“See?” I say quietly. “This isn’t so hard.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re leading.”
“I’m also not wearing heels.”
She laughs, head tilting back, the sound bright and unguarded. “Facts.”
We turn. We glide. The music swells.
“You’re not going to ask me what happened with Jill?” I say.
“Do you want me to?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t.”
I look at her—really look at her. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not making this complicated.”
She smiles, soft and warm. “That’s what friends are for, Steve.”
We keep moving. The barn fades. The conversations, the music, the weight of the night—all of it blurs into the background. It’s just us, two people moving together in the only language that doesn’t require words.
The song ends. We hold the final pose for a beat, breathless, grinning. I see the little girl fantasy written all over her face. She’s flushed red.
I release her hand and step back, bowing.
She curtsies, still smiling.
“Wow,” I say, shaking my head. “I actually enjoyed that.”
She laughs. “It was amazing. I see what all the fuss is about.” A beat. “Not quite Metallica, but it’s still great.”
I chuckle. “Thanks.”
She moves away, ready to step off the stage. But I reach out, touching her arm.
“Hey.” She turns back. “Can I kiss you? I mean, on the cheek?”
She studies me for half a second. “Of course.”
I lean in, aiming for her cheek.
She turns her head.
Her lips meet mine.
It’s brief. Soft. Unexpected.
I pull back, blinking. My hand goes to my mouth, shocked.
She smiles, “Is that part of the ending dance ritual or did you just make it up to kiss women? Or me?”
I raise an eyebrow and let her wonder.
“I thought so.” She smiles.
“But…” I mutter. “I hope Kat was watching. When I asked her, she referred me to her lawyer…”
She giggles. Her face crumples—then breaks into a grin so wide it’s almost disbelief. “That is a weird thing to say.” She’s laughing now, shaking her head. “By the way, did that help whatever it is bothering you?”
I stare at her for a moment, the shock slowly melting into something else. A smile. A real one.
“You have no idea.” I smile, “Oh, and… Thanks for getting me in trouble by kissing me on the lips…”
She gives me a mischievous grin and a fiery thumbs up, swinging her arm.
I return to the picnic table. Adriah sits next to me looking ahead, “Was that nice?”
“Wha..?”
“The kiss.”
“That’s just Reina being Reina. I asked for a kiss on the cheek. I mean these are women I’m pretty close with, I wanted it to complete the fantasy. I don’t think it was out of line. It would be like giving a guy a bro hug after something emotional.”
“Who’s fantasy?” She sips her drink, “Theirs or yours?” She looks at me while Reina comes over to us. Adriah mutters, “men don’t show emotion, at least not deep ones, so that’s crap.”
“Are we really opening this can of worms?”
Reina sits across from us. “Did I get him in trouble?”
“No. I’m just busting his balls,” Adriah scoffs. “Steve, go ahead kiss ’em all…”
“Hmmm. How about I only kiss the ones I like?” I grin. She slaps the table and walks away without looking back.
Reina looks back to me, “Is she faking or is she seriously mad?”
“Who knows, they’re pretty much the same.”
“Facts,” She pours a cup of cider and swirls the cup, “It wouldn’t surprise me if she went and kissed one of the swap meet guys right now…”
“Just one?” I snort. “Exactly. She’s fairly new to jealousy. She’s usually on the creating end of it, not the receiving end…”
Reina snickers, but there’s something else in her voice. “Well, except for her marriage…”
I freeze.
“What?”
She looks up, meeting my eyes. “Her ex-husband.”
The words don’t compute. I stop. Stare.
“She was married?”
“Well, yeah. You didn’t know?”
“Don’t screw with me.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I thought you knew?” She whispers.
“Is that who M. Rashid is?”
Reina’s eyes widen.
“You really didn’t know?”
I stop.
Think.
M. Rashid. (That’s here.)
No.
That can’t be.
That’s her last name.
What else don’t I know? I feel the question burning in my chest. The urge to follow her, to find out everything right now, is almost overwhelming.
But I don’t move.
Not here. Not now. Not with most the barn having fun.
I file it away. Deep. Somewhere I can pull it out later, when it’s just us.
I take a breath.
Exhale.
And turn back to Reina.
“Interesting,” I say, keeping my voice light. “I’ll have to ask her about that sometime.”
Reina studies me, reading the shift in my tone. She knows I’m not letting it go—she just doesn’t know when I’ll act.
“You’re good at that,” she says quietly.
“At what?”
“Putting things on a shelf for later.”
I meet her eyes.
I make air quotes. “It’s how I regulate my emotions.”
She nods slowly. “I bet it is.”
She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand—a small gesture. I see you. I won’t say anything. “You want me to go check on her?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. Let her chill. I’ll find her later.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I say as Adriah exchanges laughter with Ann at the soundboard.
I look toward the dance floor again. Later. When we’re alone. Then I’ll ask. I take a breath, shaking off the weight of it. The barn is still buzzing. The night isn’t over.
Brandy steps down from the stage. Tall and fit, she moves like she owns every room she walks into—a face and hair model with the kind of complexion that makes other women envious and the kind of tan that suggests she actually enjoys the sun. Her raven hair falls past her shoulders in waves so long and dark they could swallow the light.
If not for her smaller bust, she could be Adriah’s reflection in a funhouse mirror.
I learned that lesson the hard way. Once, I mistook her for Adriah from behind, grabbed her around the waist, and spun her around for a kiss. Those deep chocolate eyes—not the blue ones I expected—blinked back at me.
“Well, hello to you too…” she’d said, laughing.
That’s Brandy. Fiery. Unpredictable. She feeds off Elena’s chaos like it’s oxygen, shifting from serious to playful without warning—just like me. In a crowd, she’s flirtatious and electric. One-on-one, she’s all business. She doesn’t decide her mood; the room decides it for her. She’s also quite the model. Her legs seem to go on forever and match her body proportions perfectly. She’s almost a human beacon.
And right now, the room is hungry for a show.
“Ready?” she asks, a glint in those chocolate eyes.
“Sure… let’s light this candle.” I get up with a push-off grunt. “So, Brandy would like a kiss on the cheek at the end, or just bow and curtsy to finish? I figured I’d ask ahead of time.”
“Ahh. No kiss.”
“Perfect let’s go…”
“Umm, you’re not offended, right?”
“Nah.”
“Are you sure?” she insists.
“Oh my God, it’s fine, Brandy…” I hear snickering. “I just don’t want to hear later ‘you kissed her but not me as part of the dance’.”
Reina is cracking up. Nearby Sophie pipes up, a mock-pout on her face, “I didn’t even get a kiss as an option…”
“Oh my God.”
Brandy changes her mind. “Yes on the kiss then.” She looks at Sasha talking to Sophie. “Will it get him in trouble?”
Oh my God. My peck-on-the-cheek affection closing button on the dance is being weaponized.
“Probably.”
“Perfect. Then definitely yes on the kiss…”
I sigh.
Reina adds, “It takes two, ya know. So, Brandy, you have a lot of latitude how it can go…”
I stare. “Look, I just thought it was a nice button on the dance, a show of appreciation and affection. Now you’ve made it into a power struggle and spectacle.”
Adriah drifts back over. “What’s going on?”
Sophie looks over at her. “You’ll see… watch.”
The Shatner Maneuver
I exhale, turning to Brandy. I take Brandy on stage as Roger announces us. We go through the intro; hand offer, bow, curtsy and the music and dance starts. Brandy is good. Really good.
It’s nice. We move easily around the floor—no wrong steps, no collisions, no distractions. For once, I don’t have to think about my feet.
We make small talk. We laugh. She gives me a hard time about something I don’t even remember five seconds later.
It’s just a dance.
Until the music starts to fade.
I know what’s coming.
The button. The possible kiss button.
I step back and bow.
Brandy curtsies.
Then she steps toward me.
I lean in slightly, expecting the cheek for the “approved” kiss.
Instead, she turns just enough to put her face beside mine.
Her lips disappear behind the angle of her head.
“You’re right,” she whispers in my ear. “The camera angle is everything. Gotcha.”
Then she pulls away.
From the picnic table, it looks like we kissed.
From where everyone else is standing, it looks like we kissed.
From where I’m standing, I know exactly what she just did.
I stare at her.
She’s smiling.
Not a big smile.
Just that tiny, wicked little grin of someone who knows she just got away with something.
“You’re clever,” I whisper.
She gives me a tiny curtsy.
I bow.
We walk off the dance floor.
Behind us, I hear Sasha.
“Did they kiss?”
Sophie: “I couldn’t tell.”
Reina is laughing.
Adriah just shakes her head.
Brandy doesn’t say a word.
Neither do I.
Perfect. She Kirked me. William Shatner in TV’s first interracial kiss with Lt. Uhura purposely played tricks with the camera takes when NBC execs told them not to really kiss on camera, fearing TV station and audience blowback.
Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing.
I taught these women too much. She takes my arm as I escort her to her seat. “So was it what you expected?” I ask in low voice.
“Thanks, Steve, for letting me have some fun with it. It’s important I make my mark on the group as a newbie and show I can screw around with the best of them.”
“Elena, if she was here, would be proud.”
“Lit.” She laughs, “That’s high praise.”
I smile. We sit down. She pours a bit of cider. “Brandy, can I ask you a question?”
She nods over her sip. “Okay…”
I lean back, “What’s the best part of this group?”
The others lean in.
“Well, the people…”
“Could you drill it down a little more?” I ask.
“The energy, the bets, the gags, the laughs, dad jokes, but the one thing that resonates with me after I leave is… the magnet on fridge. Adriah brings it to whichever cottage we go to. It says–“
“–Leave happier than when you got here…” Adriah says.
“That.” Brandy puts her cup down, makes a trigger finger motion. “And I do.”
That lands. After a beat I high five her.
Brandy looks at me, “I’m assuming that’s an impulse buy on Amazon or eBay?”
Adriah and I exchange glances. We laugh, “No…”
She knows what I’m thinking. She was there.
Eighteen Months Ago…
Early spring 2022 near Newport RI. I’m sitting in Adriah’s living room. She hands me a glass of wine as she sits next to me on the couch. She draws her long legs up.
“So, Steve, you want to create a group of models to do what? I don’t understand.”
“Ok, I want a fresh creative start.” I take a sip of wine. “In the mid nineties I created a group of artists—”
She holds up a hand. “Wait. Mid nineties. You were alive in the mid nineties?”
I stare at her.
“Any. Way…” I take a sip of wine. “In the mid nineties I created a group of artists and we met twice a month. We shared art, discussed our work and critiqued it. It was a creative think tank of guys with talent that just needed a little refining. Artists usually are islands, they don’t work together. They need a safe place to share and enjoy each other’s company and learn from each other.”
“So…” She tilts her head. “You want to start a club. A group. For models. With you as the only guy.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds—”
“Like a harem?”
I cough. “No. I was going to say ‘like a cult.'”
“A cult?” She laughs, head thrown back. “What’s the Kool-Aid flavor?”
“Jolly Olly Orange. Obviously.”
She snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re still listening. And that was a 60’s reference there.”
“I am.” She leans in. “That’s the problem. But go on…”
“A place to share ideas, learn, and have fun. The key is these people have something in common right off the bat—they’re models. I doubt you guys get any photographic education beyond what’s absorbed through osmosis.”
“Very true.” She swirls her wine. “Most photographers just tell me to ‘look sexy’ or ‘give me something.’ I’ve never actually been taught anything. I’m just pretty clay.”
“Exactly. I want to pave over that gap. Teach some photographic physics, biomechanics of the human form in space, and optics, maybe. All things I learned drawing comics. The idea is to enrich their portfolios with images that aren’t just weird—cause there’s a lot of that—but maybe seen from a new perspective. I’m outside the advertising world and I’m not held back by any editorial constraints.”
“Biomechanics?” She studies me. “You’re passionate about this.”
“I am. Tell me that’s not cool.”
“It’s cute.”
“I’m not cute. I’m a visionary.”
“A cute visionary.” She touches my nose.
I sigh. “Are you going to let me finish?”
“No.” She grins. “But I’m enjoying watching you try.”
“When photos fail we explain why and how to improve them.” I pause. “The group? I’m thinking like three models max.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Three? That’s your grand vision?”
“Quality over quantity.”
“So you want a club? A group?” She draws her knees up, resting her chin on them. “I can get beach locations from my dad. He owns several beach rentals. You know him. He’ll say yes.”
“He’s a good guy. Any fan of my art is a good guy…”
“He’s a collector,” she says, smiling. “And he still thinks you’re the nicest artist he ever met. You could probably ask him for anything.”
I point. “I’m not asking your dad for anything. I’m asking you.”
She goes quiet for a moment. Then: “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. I’ll ask him.” She nudges my foot again. “But only because it’s you.”
“So…” I pause. “I know college applications now want to see charity work to be considered for admission. Maybe we could do a little of that. It would look great in their portfolios.”
Adriah thinks. “I have a friend named Reina. Her mom is an exotic event planner. She can get us into all sorts of places.”
“Exotic event planner?”
“Galas. Private estates. Yacht parties. Her mom knows everyone.”
I blink. “That’s… incredibly useful.”
“I know.” She grins. “That’s why I’m keeping her.”
“You’re not keeping her. She’s a person.”
“She’s my friend. Same thing.”
“I want this a tight-knit group. A fun place to share ideas, take pictures, and no drama. Compatibility and attitude is key. No prima donnas. No boozers, dopers or emo energy…”
“You’ll like Reina. She’s like a puppy when you come home from work.”
“Good. No sourpusses.”
“I can make a sign,” she snickers. “No Sourpusses.”
“Perfect. Hang it in the corner. Let it judge.”
“What about a motto?” She sets her wine down. “Every club needs a motto.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t Be Right, Be Kind.”
I tap my chin. “I like that. Let’s work off it.”
She offers, “Happiness is Spoken Here…”
“I like that a lot.” I pause. “How about…”
I slug the last gulp of wine back. She leans over for the bottle.
“Leave Happier Than When You Arrived?” someone says.
We stop.
Stare.
Laugh.
“Did you just—“
“— same time. That’s wild.”
She sets her wine glass down. “Okay, that’s the one. Definitely.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” She looks at me, something soft in her eyes. “You know, my dad always likes your art.”
“Now he’ll see more of my photography.”
She leans back, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I’m in. I’ll text Reina.”
“Ok, yeah, so there’s this model I’ve been talking to on a Facebook group, named Jackie. A bit of a firecracker but a real sweetheart. Maybe we could talk to her…?”
“Where’s she from? Around here?” she asks, putting the bottle down.
“Ahh… Not really.” I take a sip. “England.”
She stares at me.
“So… now we’re global?”
I shrug. “Hey, when in England…”
She rolls her eyes.
Present Day
Adriah looks at me, a soft smile on her face. “That’s where that came from. Steve said it.”
“Sweet.”
“Ah I remember you saying it as you were pouring me wine,” I retort.
“Maybe you said some version of it and I tweaked it? Who knows.”
“Maybe.”
Sasha, who’s been quiet all night, finally speaks up. “It’s fire. Sounds like a Steve-ism…”
Reina offers, “Nah. That’s an Adriah-ism if I ever heard one.” I give Adriah a sideways hug.
“Everyone go up there and line dance for Roger while I look for my next victim…” I mutter.
Rene sits across from me like she found me snitching out of the cookie jar. She plants her chin in palm. “That’s me…”
“This will be interesting.” I pause, “Great. Last time you touched me, you knocked me out…” (That’s here.)
“No holding back, I want the full experience too, bow, curtsy, hand, kiss, the whole bah-dah-boom.”
Adriah looks at me, “You heard her…”
“Shit.”
Ann enters the scene wheeling a huge ice chest of what appears to be Cokes and Sprites in cans. “Here, Steve, some caffeine for your marathon. One of the swap meet guys snuck out to grab them. Help yourself.” We look in the cooler as she hesitates, “There’s ah, just one thing…”
We look at her.
“He wants to dance with Kat.”
Kat perks up, “What? Which one is him?”
Ann motions towards Jason, “He’s right there. The tall thin chap.” Jason clocks the introduction and gives a weary wave. “Seems, Steve cheated him out of the dance.”
I glance over. Jason. He was one of the swap meet guys who wandered in earlier. The barn’s open, people come and go. That’s how this works. I snicker, “No, I won.”
Kat laughs, “Steve rigged the game…”
“Potato, Poh-tat-oh,” Ann waves that off, “Doesn’t matter, he wants a dance…”
Kat looks at me then at him, baffled, “Well, sure, I guess.”
I walk by her, “Good girl, take one for the team…”
She flips me off without looking.
Pssssht. Adriah opens a coke for me. “Fuel up, babe…”
I take a sip, “So, Rene, how good—?”
“Umm…” Ann leans in again, “Sorry, just one other little teeny thing…” She presses her thumb and forefinger almost together.
“Oh no,” someone utters.
“Yeah…” Ann mutters, “Doug wants to… dance with Adriah…”
Silence. A few snickers sneak out.
I scoff, “Ok has he ever danced with a rattlesnake before?”
“Probably,” Ann replies. “I know his ex-wife.”
Adriah slowly turns her head to me to lock eyes. The death stare. Then. “You will give me up just like that?”
“Easy now, remember; kinder, gentler…” I lean towards her, “I doubt he has a wedding ring in his pocket.” At this point I hold back a deadly segue to point to her previous marriage she hasn’t mentioned to me.
“Fine,” she relents.
See, I know Adriah; when she’s around someone she doesn’t know, she’s stiff as a board, she shuts down and just goes through the motions. So. This will be awesome.
But then Adriah slaps the table, “You know what? I think you should fight for me and go talk to him. I’m not comfortable dancing with someone I don’t know. I don’t even know his name.”
“It’s Doug.” I deadpan cutting off escape routes.
Kat speaks up, “It’s a freakin’ dance, not an arranged marriage. C’mon. What’s Steve exactly fighting for? Stupid shit like this is just how women lose good men.”
Ann looks at Adriah, “Your friend Kat, is right. Maybe just tonight lower your expectations, and yeah it’s just a dance.”
“Yeah, I’m a low expectations kinda guy,” I snicker. “Yet I still disappoint women. Hmmpf.” Then I sigh and look for the Doug dude. He sees me and I wave him over. He points to himself. I nod.
Adriah growls through her teeth, “What. Are. You doing?”
“I want to meet your dance partner,” I giggle.
“Hate you.”
Doug cautiously approaches, obviously intimidated by the beautiful women at the table. Adriah buttons her top dress button. I dash off a laugh. “Everyone give us the table and go line dancing. Please.” Adriah tries to leave. I grab her arm. “Hang on, girl. Stay.”
Doug stops by us, and I extend my hand, “Hi, I’m Steve and this is Adriah. I understand you’d like to dance with her?”
“I’m Doug.” He faces her, talking to her, “Yes, with your father’s permission…”
Adriah cracks up, and covers her face, while he looks confused.
“I’m not her father. It’s ok, I get that a lot…” I laugh.
“Oh, ah, sorry, I just– well, it would mean a lot to me… if you and I could have one dance,” Doug offers.
“Well, you see…” She pauses, sighs, surrenders, “You’re not a serial killer are you?”
“No…” he scoffs.
“Good, what are the chances of two of us being in the same barn tonight?”
His eyes widen. He looks to me for a read.
I just shake my head, keeping him guessing.
If this guy isn’t careful, Adriah will eat him alive if she senses weakness. This is gonna be interesting… I smile and lean back as I watch Ann float by and whisper in Kat’s ear. Kat looks at her seriously. Ann gives a soft shrug and floats away. Curious, I wave Kat over.
“What’s going on?”
“Oh nothing. I can handle it.”
“Kat.”
“It’s fine. Ann just said that Jason can be a little grabby.” She puts her Coke down, “I mean what can he do on stage in front of everyone? I mean. Really?”
Pfft. Never underestimate a horny guy.
I sigh.
Kat gives a dismissive wave. “Nothing a kick to the balls can’t fix.”
Geezus.
This is gonna be great. A rattlesnake dancing with a puppy and a viper dancing with an octopus. Can’t wait. And I have a front row seat.
“Ann, do you have any popcorn?”
8 days 0 hour 21 minutes to Bet Deadline
Our story continues in part 47.
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