Page 3 of Pinch

“Hold my cup a second.” I smooth my dark hair behind my shoulders before placing the crown on my head. “Help me pin this, Geeg.”

“Hold Haze’s leash.” She passes the sparkling strap to me before taking the hairpins.

Under Mav’s bright purple and black team jacket I’m wearing a sequined white dress with black accents to match the Champions’ jerseys.

MyInternational Princess Womansash is in place, and a helper waits with the oversized bouquet of white and black roses I’ll carry in the parade.

“Where do they get black roses?” Gina squints at the bouquet. “Will you be able to hold thoseandthe safety bar?”

“Of course.” I take the Solo cup from Mav. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Or pageant parade.

“Hurry up—it’s almost time.” He nods at my cup.

I take a big gulp, pulling my chin back as I swallow. “How much Everclear did you put in this, Gigi? You’re not supposed to be able to taste it.”

“Mav made it. I had a doggy emergency last night.”

My blue eyes widen at Mav. A maniacal grin is on his face, and he nods, sticking out his tongue. “Extra strength, Princess!”

He takes another big gulp, but my stomach drops. “Maverick…”

I’m about to fuss at him, about how as a representative of the International Princess Woman Scholarship Program, I can’t be drunk on a float, when a lady on a bullhorn orders all riders to take their place.

I’m already feeling the effects of too much grain alcohol when I take my first step up the short flight of stairs to the platform that will carry us through the crowd of fans lining the streets.

“Why didn’t you warn me?” I hiss as I stow Mav’s jacket behind the decorated podium I’ll hold as I wave. “What’s a doggy emergency anyway?”

Gigi arranges my skirt then positions Hazel and her own show dog, a white standard Poodle she calls Spanky (short for Spank My Bottom) at her side.

“One of the breeders had a breakdown. It might’ve been related to her messy divorce.” Gigi makes a worried face. “By the way, we’re fostering a dog for the next few weeks.”

Before I can argue thatwe said no more fostering dogs, the attendant shoves the massive bouquet of roses into my arms.

“Hold these over your shoulder…” He proceeds to push my hair behind my back again. “Then hold this strap around your wrist.”

“I need something sturdier than a strap.” I’m stillspeaking as the guy walks to the edge and hops off the float. “Wait! I’m in three-inch heels!”

Not to mention I’ve had two cups of extra-strength purple drink.

The guy doesn’t look back as he blends into the crowd of organizers preparing to roll.

Gigi steps closer. “Grab my arm if you get wobbly.”

“And throw these flowers everywhere? They’re heavy!” For a reason calledpurple drinkmixed with the lingering, horrifying memory of dog vomit from our last foster pet, I want to sit down right here and cross my arms. “Who is this foster dog, anyway?”

“Oh, she’s the cutest little thing!” Gigi smiles enraptured. “She’s a little teacup poodle named Princess Petunia. You’ll love her. She’s practically made to be your pet!”

“I don’t want a pet. Where is she now?”

“At the house.” Gigi’s eyes narrow. “Are you okay? You’re swaying, and we haven’t started moving yet.”

She’s right. I didn’t eat breakfast, and it feels like the float is already rolling.

I’m in trouble.

“Hey, ladies!” Maverick waves at us from where he stands at the side of the float. “I want y’all to meet my new teammate. He’s going to be staying at the house a few days while he finds his own place.”