Page 119 of The Backup Plan

Cole laughs and sways again. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I know,” I say evenly as I put my arm around his shoulder and he jerks away from me. “You can walk with me, Cole, or I can carry you over my shoulder, making you look like the brat you’re being. Your call.”

Cole studies my face as if he’s seeing two of me. Probably is. But the challenge of a fight he’s most likely looking for, he doesn’t find.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Whatever.”

Why was it that easy? I find Lamar and a few other guys on the edge of the crowd, and the look Lamar gives me says he thought Cole would fight a lot harder too.

I guide Cole out with a hand at his back. Not forceful. Just there. And I’m grateful the crowd parts and lets us through, but not before they film us.

No doubt by the time we get to my truck, footage will already be uploaded and shared all over social media.

God knows what’s going to be said, but that’s not something I can control.

This is though.

Within minutes, Cole is slumped against the window in the passenger seat of my truck, mumbling shit that doesn’t make sense, as the city blurs past us.

“You puke in my truck, I’ll kill you,” I mutter more to myself than to him.

“Why did you come?” he asks.

“Because I was called.”

“And just like that”—he tries to snap his fingers and fails drunkenly—“you came?”

“Yep.” I tighten my hands on the steering wheel.

He chuckles derisively and I know I’m about to get smart-mouth Cole. “Such a good little mentor.”

I grit my teeth and tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “It’s called being a good teammate. You should figure out how to be one.”

“Fuck that.” He laughs and it sounds chaotic. “Can’t a guy go out and have a good time without Father fucking Time rushing in with his judgment and moral high ground?”

Father fucking Time?

“Yeah, I’m talking about you, Pops.”

He’s not the first mouthy drunk I’ve known who wants to start a fight.

I keep my eyes on the road, not taking the bait.

“Not sure what you’re talking about but no judgment here,” I lie.

“Yeah. Right. You think I’m fucking this up. That I’m a fuck-up.”

“I think you’re young and have a lot to learn.”

He scoffs. “I’m not stupid.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s the problem.”

I glance over to see him staring at me, eyes red and a scowl on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I pull into my apartment complex and cut the engine. “It means you have immeasurable talent.” He blinks as if he can’t believe I’m saying this. I can’t either. “I’ve watched you. How you read the field, how fast you adjust, your uncanny timing. That doesn’t just happen. That’s instinct and intelligence.”

“Are you sure you’re Lucas Hale?” He snorts and laughs.