Celi laughs and spins away from me, her cowboy boots clapping the floor.
She points at Hope. “Point proven. It’s been ‘baby Fox-Wilde’ this and ‘baby Fox-Wilde’ that for months. Today is Jade this and Jade that.”
Hope presses her palm on the edge of a corner booth draped in blush pink fringe, twinkle lights, and a tower of shot glasses.
She blows out a breath. “I get it. No baby talk.”
She waves for Daisy to climb into the booth first, claiming the outside seat. I think I’ll follow suit. I step aside.
“Cowgirls and cocktails.” Josie slaps my ass before hopping to her feet on the leather seat and waving at Kiwi. “Another round of drinks for the birthday girl! And none of that polite pour. Give her the Texas-sized regret.”
She’s starting to make me regret agreeing to this.
“Get down.” Hannah swats her leg.
Josie spreads her arms wide. “Yeehaw! Thirty!”
She drops, sliding into the seat and meeting Daisy in the middle. The rest of them slide in before I take one end, and Hope takes the other.
Josie dishes out shots from a tower of cocktails in the center of the table. When she reaches me, I slide her a second glass while holding a second for myself.
Our eyes lock in a silent dare to do them both together.
“Tonight is bad decisions with glitter.”
We clink glasses and throw back the first shot in sync. It hits my tongue with a sharp, fiery bite. A quick blaze spreads down my throat like liquid fire.
I catch a flicker of hesitation in Josie’s eyes as she swallows hers. Then a flash of surprise.
“That claws.” Josie coughs into her elbow.
She’s known to be the life of the party, the one with a drink in hand, but really, she rides her own natural high, barely finishing the glasses she starts.
Now, she’s head-on with me, and I don’t give her time to hesitate.
The second glass presses my lips, and we do it simultaneously.
This one stings worse, hotter, but I swallow again, refusing to show how much it burns.
She doesn’t hide her wince, but she also refuses to back down.
For now.
Daisy slides a third shot in front of me. “Thirty is the sweet spot. Still old enough to know better, but young enough to still ignore it.” She raises her glass to me.
Out of all of us, Daisy’s the one who can outdrink me. She’s on the circuit. A big-time barrel racing champ with a taste for adrenaline and an even bigger rush for a wild after-party.
The third shot goes down rougher than the first two, scraping heat all the way to my belly.
We grin at each other.
Josie hiccups.
Lightweight.
“To cowgirl grit and glitter. Thirty, flirty, and”—Josie hiccups again—“what’s the third thing?”
I grin. “Exhausted. The third thing is always exhausted.”
