Page 59 of Against The Rules

So I’m working on it

I’m happy for you. Really

I would like to see you when I get back, maybe Friday?

No pressure though, if you’re not ready

I have a girls’ night planned with Presley that Friday, I’m sorry

We’ll figure it out

I loved all the stuff you’ve sent me for your business, by the way

Have you thought of a name for it yet?

No, I’m so stuck on that and the overall branding still

Naming is hard

We’ll think of something

Would you want to see me for dinner next week? I have some BBQ recipes I could use your opinion on, and maybe we could brainstorm a few things for you, too

I’m pretty slammed with work and dance

Maybe in a couple weeks?

Sure, Peaches. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.

CHAPTER 26

SAVANNAH

“Girls’ niiiiight,” I yell over the music at Presley, who shimmies her way into the house, doing a ridiculous chicken dance made even more ridiculous by the paper bags weighing down her hands.

Laughing, I take one of the bags and peek into it. “Oooh, the good stuff.” I pull out a bottle of tequila and dance my way into the kitchen, where the blender is prepped and ready to go with lime concentrate and ice.

“I got fresh developer for your hair, too. You ready?”

“Margaritas first,” I tell her, pouring in a generous amount. It takes some finagling to get the blender cap on right, and I jerk my head at my own bag on the kitchen table. “I got some other things, too.”

“Shit yeah,” she yells at me, the blender drowning out whatever else she says.

She pulls out a set of K-beauty standard face masks, matching hand and foot masks, and some pretty holographic pink polish I found on sale.

“Nice,” she mouths, or maybe she’s yelling, but I can’t hear shit over the blender.

Finally, the margarita seems to be smooth enough, so I shut it off and pull down two dusty glasses. They’re martini, not margarita, but who cares? Maybe if my stationery business takes off, the first order of non-business will be to get a set of margarita glasses.

Dream big!

“Salt rim?” I shout at her, but she shakes her head. A quick rinse gets the rarely used glassware clean, and I set it down gently next to the blender. Easy enough. The frozen mix plops into the glasses, and Presley pops open a bag of tortilla chips.

“No, you didn’t,” I breathe, transfixed by one of the bags I didn’t notice.

“Hell yeah I did,” she says, smirking as she pulls out a tub of queso, followed by pico de gallo and a Styrofoam container that I recognize all too well. “And I bought a shit-ton of your favorite tacos, so you better not leave me to eat them all.”

“El Jarrito?” I can’t help it; I jump up and down a little.

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