Page 13 of Unmanageable

I stumble blindly toward the largest armchair, but my legs give out halfway there, and I end up face-planting onto the rug in the center of the room.

Callahan trips over my ankles a second later, groaning as he drops heavily onto the floor right next to me, his arm landing over my shoulder blade in an unconscious embrace.

As my eyes grow heavy and the room finally stops spinning, my last hazy, alcohol-soaked thought drifts back to my Shark.

She’s going to know.

The second she looks at me tomorrow, she’s going to read the absolute degeneracy written all over my face.

I smile into the rug, pulling Cal’s arm a little higher over my shoulder, and let the darkness take over.

4

Scottie Elise Reed

The neon sign for Ink & Iron buzzes with a low, metallic hum that vibrates straight through my teeth. The whole place smells like antiseptic soap and the floor is definitely tilting at a weird, gravity-defying angle.

Or maybe that’s just me.

The tequila has officially taken the wheel, and I feel incredible—loose, loud, and entirely, catastrophically unfiltered.

“I’m just saying,” I say, leaning so far over the glass counter that my hair brushes the sign-in clipboard. I point a shaky finger at the guy behind the register. “You have a spectacular smile. Like, high-performance teeth. Do you practice that? Is it a vanity thing, or did you just win the genetic lottery?”

“Practice smiling?” He laughs, his eyes crinkling. “Not usually. I’m just happy to be here. What’s your name?”

“Cash,” I say instantly.

Then my brain does a weird, glitchy stutter. I blink, trying to refocus, but the room seems to shift another five degrees to the left.

“Wait. No. Scottie.”

The guy’s smirk widens. “Your name is Cash?”

“No!” I shake my head, the motion making my vision swim. “No, I meant… you look like a Cash. No, you don’t. You don’t look like a giant speed bump. O’Connell does. A very tall, very hot speed bump that I’d like to… park my car on. For a long, long time.”

From the plastic chairs behind us, a loud cackle erupts.

Jenna and Ivy are clinging to each other, literally doubling over.

Ivy’s LED bachelorette tiara is flashing a manic pink strobe light that is giving me a migraine, and Jenna’s neon sash—LAST SLIDE BEFORE THE BRIDE—is tangled around her shins.

“Did she just call him Cash?” Jenna shrieks, pointing a finger at my face. “She did! She’s so far gone she’s naming attractive strangers after him!”

“I did not!” I defend myself, though my voice is a pathetic squeak.

“You called him a speed bump, Scottie!” Ivy gasps for air, clutching her stomach. “You want to park on the speed bump! Oh my god, Cal is going to die when he hears this. You’re going to be the talk of the rehearsal dinner.”

The guy at the counter just looks thoroughly entertained. “So… Scottie?”

“Don’t mind her,” Jenna says, shuffling over and dropping an arm across my neck. “She’s experiencing some intense situational cravings. She’s in heat. It’s a whole, hormonal situation.”

“I AM NOT IN HEAT.”

“It’s a whole thing. We’re managing it,” Jenna continues smoothly to the clerk.

Before I can defend my honor, a massive guy with a tattooed neck and a thick beard walks out of the back room, holding a roll of paper towels.

“Alright, who’s next?” he grunts. “You guys picked out your designs from the wall, right? Because I don’t have time for a group debate.”