He leans in closer. “You’re pretty.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Still pretty.”
I throw my arms in the air, spinning dramatically toward the open gravel lot. “I am not going back to the ranch!” I yell, pointing a finger at Amelia. “I want to keep going! I want loud music, glow sticks, and maybe a little property damage.”
Carter groans behind me. He’s been tolerating me all night and is officially nearing his limit.
“Darlin’,” he says, “maybe it’s time we get you back to the ranch.”
“Nooooooo!” I shout, whipping my head towards him. “I don’t want to go back to the stinky ranch! I wanna party, I wanna dance! I wanna scream-cry to house music!”
Because I’m me, and tequila is jet fuel, I bolt right into the gravel lot.
Carter sighs the sigh of a man who is one second away from snapping.
“Catalina,” he warns.
I run faster, giggling even louder.
Carter catches me like he’s done it a thousand times. His hands grip my waist, and then I’m over his shoulder, squealing as my hair swings in the air.
“Put me down, you bastard!” I shriek, kicking my feet in the air.
“Not a chance, princess,” he mutters, turning and walking back toward the group without a hint of hesitation, his massive hand planted firmly on the back of my thighs to keep me in place. “You wanna act like a menace, you get carried like one.”
“I will fucking sue you!”
“You’re broke.”
“That’s really freaking rude.”
Maverick lets out a low whistle. “Well, shit. This feels like a good time to make a suggestion.”
“No one asked you poster boyyy!!” I slur, my voice muffled behind Carter’s back.
He ignores me. “Let’s go to VYCE. It’s this insane nightclub in Nashville. Strobe lights, DJs, and insane cocktails. I know the owner,” he muses, “they always let their favorite quarterback in.”
“Quarterback?” Amelia asks suspiciously.
“I’m the starting quarterback for the Tennessee Mustangs, dollface,” he says, grinning like a fucking idiot.
Layla squints at him, sprawled out on the concrete like a starfish. “You mean like, a real NFL team? Not, like… a bar league?”
He gasps, “I literally have a trading card.”
Amelia scoffs, reapplying her red lipstick. “That sounds fake as fuck.”
Maverick lets out a deep sigh as he turns his massive body towards Carter. “Come on, bro, back me up.”
Carter sighs, still holding me like I’m a backpack. “Unfortunately, this dipshit isn’t lying.”
Layla stares. “Are we sure he didn’t just pay someone to print his face on a deck of Uno cards?”
“Google me,” Maverick says proudly, flexing his arms like a goon. “I’m very famous.”
I groan from where I’m dangling. “Fine. If you get us into a club where the music makes me want to levitate, I’ll believe you.”
