Page 111 of Headstrong Like Us
“For Jenga. Top.”
Donnelly looks around, confused, before he speaks up. “We’re all just going to ignore the giant elephant in the room?”
“Definitely not,” I say, and cast a glance to Oscar. Donnelly and I aren’t about to let him off that easy. “So when’s your sex advice column going out?”
“Yeah, sign me up.” Donnelly nods. “Not that I need it. Just curiosity and all.”
Oscar and I share a look before we crack up laughing.
Donnelly pulls a cigarette from behind his ear. “Dunno what’s so funny. I’m a great lay. Just ask—” He stops at the sight of Thatcher’s glare. “Cynthia,” Donnelly finishes. “Or Linda. Chelsea—”
“Man, we don’t need names,” I say, cutting him off.
Jack reads the block in his hand. “Take a shot.” And Oscar pours him a tequila shot and passes the salt and lime.
I have my phone out—notto cheat.
I swig champagne as the bottle reaches me. And I scroll through a group text with all the parents: Lily & Lo, Connor & Rose, and Ryke & Daisy.
Every famous one is in Key West, including the six parents.
The only stipulation they made: if the younger teens attend Maximoff’s bachelor party, then all the parents have to be in town for parental supervision.
On the plus side, all six of them have been babysitting Ripley ever since we left for the club and bar. My groom is a whole five blocks down the road at the other bachelor party.
Yearning surges through me. To be with Maximoff. To be with Ripley. When I should just be enjoying myself.
See, this is the first time I’ve let someone else besides Maximoff watch Ripley for this long.
Lily and Daisy keep sending videos of the baby asleep. Snoring. Nothing else. I texted back asking if he ever woke up, and the next message was from Rose Calloway. She sent a video of Ripley screaming at the top of his lungs.
He’s a demon. Certifiable. Congratulations. But you’re lucky that I’ve raised seven gremlins of my own. Lily has raised four. Daisy two. You have nothing to worry about. Have fun tonight, and don’t do anything that my nephew wouldn’t do or I’ll have your head.– Rose
Maximoff wouldn’t be drinking alcohol, so I broke that hours ago.
I skim the text again. Shit, I miss Ripley. He’s only a twenty-minute drive back to the rental house.
“Redford, I’m about to steal your phone.” Oscar does just that, snatching my cell and sliding it in his back pocket.
I raise my brows. “Why even warn me?”
“Good point. I won’t next time. Drink up.” He tips the champagne bottle back, and liquor glides down my throat quickly. Liquid drips off my chin before I right the bottle. I wipe the alcohol off with my bicep.
Oscar and Donnelly are doing the thing where they’re both trying to get me hammered. Much to their disappointment, I’m only lightly buzzed.
I point the champagne bottle to Akara. “Let’s be honest here, Kitsuwon’s been on his phone more than me.”
His eyes are fixed to his cell. “Just trying to make sure the temps don’t make a stupid mistake while we’re over here.” We don’t acknowledge the fact that all of us have our radios on, even though we’re off-duty.
It’s been harder to let go when the temps aren’t well trained yet.
And mention of that just sets us on alert again. I steal my phone back from Oscar, and I snuff out my cigarette, while also scanning the nightclub. I’ve pictured Maximoff over at the other bar around forty-one times now. Make it forty-two.
Quinn shrugs. “Isn’t there an obvious solution? Let’s just go to their bar.”
“Can’t.” I hand him the champagne.
Donnelly holds a Zippo flame to his cigarette and adds, “He promised the groom they’d have separate bachelor parties.”
