“Grace. I will literally pick you up and shove you inside if you do not get your pretty ass in my truck right now.”
I purse my lips, readying for a fight. But Decker looks serious, and the lead brick in my stomach is begging me not to go back to the loud music and the moving bodies and the Sinner Sisters with their copious amounts of tequila.
“Dick,” I bite as I yank open the door and hoist myself up into his truck.
“Keep fucking running your mouth. See where that gets you,” he says coolly as he closes the door.
Bigdick.
The truck interior is immaculate. No food wrappers or empty to-go cups, no specks of dirt or loose pebbles on his floor mats. I’m almost tempted to sit with my feet hovering above the floor so my sneakers don’t leave anything behind.
Decker jumps into the driver’s side and takes me in slowly.
“Seat belt,” he says.
Right. I drag it across my body, and once it clicks into place, he pulls onto the road. Then we’re headed through town, me annoyed, him seemingly calm and maybe a little smug.
I thumb out a quick text to the group chat.
Me:
I’m out.
Kat:
NOOOOOOOOO.
Bex:
You suck. I have to be up in 4 hours with the kiddo. How am I outdrinking you?
Me:
I will literally die if I take one more sip of alcohol. You two are fucking crazy.
Bex:
Lightweight
Kat:
FINE. Still on for Kuppajoe at noon?
Me:
Definitely. I’ll need the caffeine.
Triss:
Door is unlocked for you.
Me:
Why are you still up?
Bex:
Don’t ask her that. You don’t want to know what your brother’s been doing to her for the last hour.
