“I’m sure they know their principal cuts loose every once in a while,” Sloane said.
“Well, I’m not about to advertise it.” She grabbed her purse. “Let’s go, Mia. I know you’re dying for a smoke.”
“I quit, remember?”
Everyone turned to gape at Mia. We all knew she was lying. She’d smelled like an ashtray when I’d hugged her.
“Give me a break.” Mia got up from the table. “I just let a rapist walk. It wasn’t a good time to quit smoking.”
Gabi ushered Mia out of the bar.
“Let’s get another round.” Sloane signaled the waitress. “We can Uber back to town together.”
“Beckett can come for me,” Pressly said. “He’s at home with Summer.”
A slow smile tugged at my mouth. “How’s Beckett doing?” I couldn’t resist asking about him.
Pressly lifted her wineglass. “He’s broodier than usual. Must be all the traveling he does for work. Or maybe he’s having woman problems.”
My shoulders sank. Beckett probably had a girl in every major city. I needed to get drunk. I pushed to my feet, wobbling a little. I leaned on the tabletop for balance.
“You okay?” Pressly asked.
“I’m fine. A little drunk, but that’s the point.”
“We need some food,” Sloane said.
“Have some water,” Pressly insisted.
I sank back to my chair. My eyelids drooped. I hadn’t realized how tired I was.
I grabbed the menu and squinted. My vision doubled and I focused harder on the words. They danced in front of me and I laughed. The noise sounded funny to my ears. “Or maybe s’air?” I tried to stand up, but my knees buckled.
Sloane scraped her chair back from the table. “What’s wrong with you?”
“She’s drunk,” Pressly said, grabbing my other arm.
“I need s’air,” I said, slurring my words.
I stumbled out of the bar into the lobby of the hotel. Pressly and Sloane each took an arm and helped me outside. Once the doors closed behind us, I filled my lungs with the cold air. My head cleared, and for a moment I felt better. I glanced around at the twinkling lights in the trees, marveling at the beauty of the vineyard. Then the lights blurred as my vision doubled. The air chilled my heated skin. The tunnel in my vision closed in around me.
Sloane wrapped her arm around my waist, and I heard her voice from far away.
“I’ve never seen her drunk before,” she said. “She can usually drink all of us under the table.”
Pressly’s hand was cool on my forehead. “We need to get her out of here.”
“I can’t drive,” Sloane said.
“Me either.”
I tried to take a step, but my feet were rooted to the ground. Everything felt heavy, most of all my sluggish thoughts. They weighed a ton, and my head ached with the extra burden of holding them.
“I’ll call Thatcher,” Sloane said. “He’ll come.”
“No!” Pressly’s sharp voice rang out. “Please don’t. I’ll call Beckett.”
I groaned. Trying to protest, I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I swayed on my feet, and Sloane helped lower me to the ground.
