Page 29 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

“Nooo,” she whined, dragging the word out. “I’m having the time of my life.”

"You're also about two minutes from face-planting."

Cassidy blinked at me, then at the table, then at the half-empty cup in her other hand. “I’m fine,” she declared, immediately stumbling sideways into a random guy who had to catch her by the shoulders.

“Sure you are,” I said, looping an arm around her waist and pulling her upright. “We’re going home.”

She pouted, but didn’t fight me much as I steered her away from the table. “But I was totally gonna win that last point,” she mumbled.

“Of course you were.”

We made it down the steps onto the lawn. Cassidy inhaled dramatically, then hiccupped again. I pulled out my phone and opened the rideshare app. No cars available.

I exhaled through my nose. Cassidy leaned heavily against me, rambling about how the moon looked like a tortilla.

The door behind us opened and Jackson stepped out, hands in his pockets, eyes sliding from me to Cassidy and back.

"You two heading out?" he asked.

Cassidy perked up instantly, swaying slightly. "Jackson." She pointed at him with great conviction. "I know you're in a cult."

He looked at her, then at me.

"Don't look at me," I said.

“A very pretty cult,” she added generously. “Do they breed you people or something?”

Jackson blinked. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“She’s very drunk,” I said.

“I can see that.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m sober. I can drive you both home.”

I hesitated. Cassidy sagged against my shoulder and muttered something about cult dental plans.

“Fine,” I said. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

He took her other arm, steadying her. She immediately informed him his aura was attractive — deep forest green, possibly teal.

“Thank you,” he said dryly.

“You’re welcome. The cult probably suppresses auras. You should leave.”

He caught my eye over her head. I looked away.

Cassidy folded into the back seat with her shoes in her lap and passed out against the window within seconds. Jackson held the passenger door open for me. I slid in and he shut it.

“She’s on Maple, above the bakery,” I said.

The drive was quiet. He drove the way he did everything: calm, no wasted movement.

“She does this often?” he asked.

“I’ve known her two weeks. No idea.”

“She seems like she does everything at full volume.”