Page 62 of A Better Place

“Yup. That’s about it.” I nodded.

“What are they…” Josh asked.

“No clue.”

“Shouldn’t they have been cut off?” Andy held his hands out in question.

“Absolutely.”

Tess saw Barrett and threw her arms in the air then rushed toward him, jumped into his arms and wrapped herself around him like a monkey. “Hey, baby! We had margaritas!”

“I see that. And an entire bottle of tequila?”

“No straight tequila. Fine line hasn’t been crossed. I promise,” she said, crossing her heart.

“Let’s get you some water before you trip over that line, shall we?” He chuckled.

She nodded her head and released her hold on him then looked over at me and pointed to Carly.

“What happened?”

“Margaritas and fajitas?” she said and shrugged like that made any sense.

I stepped over toward their table, which seemed to be littered with quite a few empty pitchers. I heard Carly mumbling and saying that someone has beautiful blue eyes and scruff she wants to lick. It didn’t take a genius to realize she was talking about me.

I glanced up to see Andy crouched next to Christine, running his fingers through her hair, while she looked precariously close to throwing up, and Josh and Barrett were frantically throwing money down on the table as they tried to get their wives to the door quickly.

The four of them stood next to the table, the girls looking guilty.

“How much did she have to drink?” I asked them, trying not to growl and show my frustration.

“Not nearly as much as the rest of us,” Tess said.

“She doesn’t drink. Like ever.”

“Whoops,” Lauren said, wringing her hands together.

Barrett leaned in close to me. “Need help with that?”

“Nah, I got her.”

“Yeah. Yeah you do,” he said, and if I wasn’t holding a completely drunk Carly, who had never been drunk before in her life, in my arms, I would have shaken his hand because that small statement is exactly what I needed to hear.

As I’m walking her to my SUV, watching Carly closely and head reeling from all the information I’d learned, I hear the tell-tale signs of a return trip of the margaritas she consumed tonight happening. I gently set her on her feet about two seconds before she drops to her knees and starts throwing up in the parking lot.

I open the back door and reach into the back seat of my car and grab an old sweatshirt off the seat and a bottle of water that I had in a cooler. When it looks like she’s about emptied her stomach, I hand her the water after using the sleeve of the sweatshirt to wipe her mouth.

She smiles shyly up at me. “Here, take a drink. It will make you feel better,” I tell her.

“No more drinks,” she mumbles as she shakes her head lightly.

“Water, beautiful. It’s just water,” I assure her.

She nods and takes a small drink. “Ugh. Why do people do this?”

“Jury’s still out on that one.” I chuckle.

She looks at me with wide eyes and gasps then points at me. “Hey, when did you get here?” she asks, making me grin. “And why are you here?”

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