Page 60 of Against The Rules

“El Jarrito,” she confirms.

“I’m starving.” It’s the honest truth. I barely had time to eat today, and baby carrots and peanut butter crackers do not a meal make.

“If you say one thing about next week’s weigh-in I will dump your margarita on your head.”

I hold my hands up in surrender. “I promise I won’t. Tonight is girls’ night. Calories don’t count.” I try not wince, because now I’m going to be thinking about how much fat is in that queso.

I swig from my martini-margarita glass, and pass Presley hers. Together, we set everything out on the table.

“Holy shit, these are strong,” Presley wheezes.

“Girls’ night,” I yell at her, because she’s right, I was a little teensy-weensy bit heavy-handed with the tequila. Who cares, though? It’s not like we’re going out. “We should celebrate. How long has it been since we did this?”

Presley’s smile fades slightly, and she sighs and turns down the music. “Too long.”

“Thanks for picking up the food and the tequila. This is just what I needed.”

“Same. Okay.” She makes a face as she swigs her margarita, handing me a foil-wrapped taco. “Tell me about the new business, and the new guy, and not in that order. We’ve barely seen each other all month.”

I take a deep breath, then a deep drink from my martini-margarita, then deeply regret it as brain freeze takes effect.

Scrunching up my face, I groan. “Why did I do frozen? Ugh.”

“Because they taste good. Stop changing the subject. Who’s the dude and why haven’t I met him yet?”

“My brain is frozen.”

Presley raises an eyebrow and waits, aggressively dipping a chip into queso and biting into it threateningly.

“It’s still new,” I tell her, which is technically true. “I’m not sure what to think about all of it.” Also true.

“What’s his name?”

“Ty,” I say.

“Is he cute?”

I unwrap one of the tacos, breathing in the heady scent of cilantro and red onions and slow-simmered birria. Hell yeah. “This smells like heaven.”

“It’s like pulling teeth with you. Drink.” She raises her martini glass and we clink our drinks, each taking a long swig.

“He’s so freaking cute,” I tell her, wiping the frost off my lips.

“Lime,” she announces, fishing a container out of the take-out bag and putting it in front of me. I take two slices and squeeze them all over the taco. “And of course he is. What does he do for a living?”

“Stuff.” Fucking brilliant, Savannah. I scrunch my nose up in horror before shoving half the taco in my mouth, using the chipmunk excuse and chewing as slow as possible.

“Stuff? Are you fucking with me right now? What kind of girl talk is this?”

I shrug, pointing to my full mouth.

“Okay, so this Ty, he’s a hot circus clown. He trains monkeys in his spare time and operates a hot dog stand for the circus. You met him when he tried to give you a balloon in a sewer.”

I choke on my taco, laughing.

Presley cracks a grin and shoves my drink at me. “Don’t die.”

I swallow finally, then chase the spicy-smokey taco down with freezing margarita. “He loves monkeys.”

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