Page 52 of The Merger
I nod, setting my glass down and fighting to keep my eyes open.Holy shit. My phone buzzing startles me, and I reach for it.
Tate: What’s up, buttercup?
My fingers fumble over the keys.
Me: At Court’s.
Tate: How’s that going?
Me: Good. Talked to Margot. Think I scored a job with her. Woot.
Tate: Woot, huh?
Me: Woot! Woot!
Tate: How many glasses of wine have you had?
“I lost count,” I mumble, typing away.
Me: Enough, but not enough, if you catch my drift.
Tate: You’re using your tipsy words but still make sense.
Me: I’m not drunk-drunk. Just feeling good. Probably on my way to drunk-drunk, though.
Tate: Here’s the drift I’m catching—how are you getting home?
I turn to sit on a stool, but my phone slides out of my hands. “Fuck!” I crouch to get it, then almost topple over as I stand again. The wine sloshes in my stomach, and I can taste the alcohol threatening to come back up.
My phone buzzes again.
“Dammit, Tate. Give me a second.”
I open the text app and type quickly.
Me: I’ll probably call a rideshare. Can’t drive.
Gannon: Why the hell not?
I blink once. I blink again. I squint as if that’ll help me see clearer.
“Gannon?”
I pull the phone away from my face and take in the screen again. My stomach sinks to the floor.
Gannon: We need to discuss today’s events, preferably in a public place.
Me: I’ll probably call a rideshare. Can’t drive.
Gannon: Why the hell not?
“Oh no,” I moan, suddenly more alert.
Me: That wasn’t for you.
Gannon: I don’t give a fuck. Why can’t you drive?
My phone vibrates, and a text alert from Tate appears at the top.
