Page 27

“Did you just say albeit?” Tatum scolds me through a whisper. Jesus, anyone would think I’m the virgin and she’s the cock expert. I discretely shove her away.
Worst. Wingwoman. Ever.
Looking over to Tillie, I see her dancing in one of Carter’s friends’ arms, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, lost in the beat of the song.
Best. Wingwoman. Ever.
Tatum is fired.
He grins, hooking his finger under my chin. “You’re cute as shit. You know that?”
“Hmm.” My eyes narrow as I ponder his words. “Not exactly the best line I’ve heard—”
He kisses me. His warm lips press against mine as his slick tongue slips between my lips. I freeze slightly, but then images of Bishop and Ally come through my brain like a bad romance movie, and my hands wrap around the back of his neck instinctively as I grind into him.
He pulls back, searching my eyes. “Wanna get out of here?” He waits for me to answer and must sense my hesitation. “Your friends can come.” He gestures to Tillie, where she’s locking lips with his friend.
“Okay.” I would not have been this easy had I been sober, and although I’m getting cold feet about this getting laid business, it’s not like anything could happen if Tillie is with me. And besides all of that, Carter’s cool. I’m comfortable enough with him to go with him. Or maybe this is another thing I can blame on wine and bad experiences. Only, I have enough of those to last two lifetimes.
“To where?” I ask.
“To a good time?” he replies with a grin.
I look at Tillie, who is looking back at me pleadingly; she obviously isn’t having second thoughts about getting ass tonight.
“Okay.” He takes my hand, and I stop, looking back inside the house.
“Nate and Bishop left if you’re worried about slipping past them?” Carter searches my eyes.
“But Hunter and Saint are….” I look to the side of the house, pulling on his arm and turning to face Tatum. “Come on!”
Tatum looks at us reluctantly. “Fine, fuck it. YOLO and all that shit.”
I laugh, tugging Carter with me, his strong body brushing against my back. “You give me shit about using ‘albeit,’ and then you go and drop something like YOLO?” I unlatch the lock on the side gate and drag them through the finely trimmed gardens until we’re eventually out front of the house.
“Tada!” I laugh, stretching my arms wide.
Carter points to a Porsche. “You’re riding shotgun.” He slaps my ass as he passes me, slipping into the driver seat. The guy Tillie is with gets into the back, and then I shove Tatum in after Tillie.
“Oh, stop complaining.” I smirk at Tatum, who is in the back pressed against the car, trying to escape Tillie sucking face with… “What’s your name?” I ask the hottie in the back.
“Pauly.”
Then I look back to Tatum, only to find her scowling at me. “What kind of car does Bishop have?” I ask, pondering over what Tillie told us earlier tonight.
Carter snickers. “A matte black GranTurismo Maserati, why?” He looks at me over his arm.
I shrug. Of course he owns a Maserati. “Just wondering.” I look back at Carter. “And how do you know what he drives?”
He grins at me from the side. “You’re about to find out.” Then he drops the car into second gear as we zoom onto the highway, the tires eating up the asphalt.
THE CHAINSMOKERS’ “CLOSER” IS PULSING through the small enclosure of the car, and I spin around, dancing in my seat while watching Tatum, who has loosened up a lot more since leaving the house, dance in her seat. Thank you, tequila.
“So where’re we going?” We’ve been driving for half an hour now, the distant lights of the town long gone.
Carter grins, putting his headlights on high beam and then yanking up the emergency brake until the back wheels are latching onto the road. Suddenly, we’re sliding into a private long driveway, leaving a thick dust of smoke behind us.
Tatum scolds him, “Not cool, Dominic Toretto.”
I’m too busy smiling from ear to ear. “I want to do that again.”
Tatum kicks the back of my seat. I look at Carter, ignoring my tantrum-throwing bestie in the back. “I’m serious.” He smiles and then puts his eyes back to the road ahead. Upscale fencing encases the endless driveway. “What?” I grumble under my breath. We finally come to the end of the driveway, and I look at the half circle of cars lined up with people crowding around. And when I say cars, I mean cars. I narrow my eyes. “Is this the rich boys’ playground?”
Carter chuckles, pulling up to a stop. I’m not oblivious to how everyone has stopped what they’re doing, watching us in the car. “You could say that,” he says, winking at me and clutching his door handle. “Let’s go.”