An Aces Christmas (The Aces' Sons)

“You know what I mean,” I said. “Boring. Old. Stuffy.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Charlie asked me in disbelief. “She wore a bandana to the Memorial Day barbeque. As a shirt.”

I giggled. “That was just to piss off my dad.”

“Well, it worked,” Charlie said with a tilt of her head. I nodded. It had definitely worked. I’d been able to hear their argument that night, even though I’d closed my bedroom door and covered my ears with headphones. I couldn’t even remember what it was about anymore—by the next day they’d made up. They always did.

“She’s just more, you know, mom-ish now. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Just don’t try to wear a G-string to prom and I’m sure she’ll get you whatever,” Charlie said. “Jesus, why are we still talking about this? Who gives a flying fuck about prom?”

“Uh, I do?”

“I don’t,” she replied. “I’m bored with this conversation.”

“Fine,” I huffed.

“Did you see Ali Monroe today?” Charlie asked with a sigh.

“It’s Ali now?” I asked in surprise. “I thought you were into the new kid. What’s his name?”

“Liam,” Charlie said. “Yeah. He’s yum.”

I laughed.

“But Ali was wearing this white lacy shirt today,” Charlie said, a dreamy smile playing around her lips. “Set off that gorgeous tan she has.”

“Man,” I said with a groan. “I’m kind of jealous that your pool of prospects is twice the size of mine. I saw Ali today and all I noticed was the zit on her neck.”

“Oh, come on,” Charlie complained, pushing me off the edge of the sidewalk. “Why you have to ruin my daydream like that?”

I laughed, stepping back on the curb. “I just like penises,” I said cheerfully, throwing up my hands. “Through no fault of my own.”

“You don’t like penises,” Charlie said with a snort. “You enjoy the idea of penis, but you’ve never had an actual experience with one.”

“I have, too!”

“Fumbling in the dark over a pair of jeans on the back of a bus doesn’t count,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Why are we even friends?” I asked jokingly. “And why do I tell you anything?”

“Because I get you,” she said, sliding her arm around my waist.

Grumbling, I threw my arm over her shoulder so we could synchronize our steps. Charlie was the tougher of the two of us, the cynic and the first one to speak up if she saw something she didn’t agree with, which was kind of funny since she was so much smaller than me. Where Charlie was a tiny bundle of athletic energy and efficient movement, I was tall-ish and curvy and I’d rather laze around watching movies or reading a book. She didn’t let anything bother her and every little slight hurt my feelings. Somehow, though, we fit.

“If we’re doing this thing,” Charlie said, giving me a squeeze, “then I have some demands.”

“Of course you do.”

“First, you don’t complain about the dress I wear.”

“No deal,” I replied instantly.

“Fine, you have veto power but that’s it. If it looks okay but it’s not your style, I still get to wear it.”

“Deal.”

“Second,” she said, drawing the word out, “I’m not going to a salon to get my hair done.”

“Why don’t we just ask the oldies?” I asked. “You can have your mom and I’ll take Rose.”

“Acceptable,” she mumbled. “As long as my mom doesn’t give me shit. If she does, I’m out.”

“Okay.”

“And lastly—”

“Is lastly a word?”

“You tell me, bookworm,” she replied dryly. “Lastly, since prom’s on Saturday, you have to promise that Friday night, we watch Carrie. With popcorn and candy and the whole thing.”

“That’s morbid,” I said with a laugh. “Deal.”

“Oh, and we’re going riding on Sunday,” she said quickly. “If I’m getting all fancy on Saturday, I wanna get dirty on Sunday.”

“Fine with me,” I said. Instantly, I started rounding up my gear in my head. I was pretty sure that most of it was in an old green duffel in the garage, but I wasn’t sure. I had a tendency of leaving my shit everywhere and then I ended up scrambling to find it when I needed it. “Are my goggles still at your house?”

“Yep,” Charlie replied knowingly. “So are your socks.”

“Perfect.” Reaching up to push my sweaty hair back from my face, I growled. “I hate walking home.”

“Stop complaining,” she said, letting go of me and bumping me with her hip. “We’re almost there.”

“Should we invite Reb to watch movies with us on Friday? She’s going to be bummed that we’re all going to prom without her.”

“Definitely,” Charlie said with a nod. Then she shrugged. “You know she’d hate it. Too loud.”

“Too many people.”

“Too many moving people,” Charlie agreed.

My cousin Rebel was our age, but she had Down syndrome and went to a different school than we did. And while we usually brought her with us whenever we were doing something fun, Charlie was right. She’d definitely hate the prom. Loud noises really bothered her, and she hated crowds unless she knew everyone.