I steered her toward the cabana anyway, my hand firm at her lower back, guiding her fast past the deck doors and down the short wooden steps. I could hear laughter inside the house. Music. Someone yelling about another round.
Exactly why I didn’t want this spilling there.
The cabana door slammed shut behind us.
She rounded on me immediately.
“You embarrassed?” she snapped. “You don’t want them seeing what you’re into?”
I exhaled hard. “I don’t want this turning into a scene.”
“This?” she laughed. “You mean you getting caught?”
“I didn’t get caught doing anything.”
“Bullshit.”
She stepped closer, chest brushing mine, eyes glassy now—not unfocused, just too bright.
I smelled it again. Alcohol. Tequila maybe. Sweet and sharp on her breath.
Not drunk.
But enough to loosen the edges.
“Have you had a lot to drink?” I asked.
Her eyes flashed.
“Oh my God,” she scoffed. “Here we go.”
“I’m asking because every time you drink like this?—”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re looking for a fight.”
There it was.
The thing I’d been thinking all afternoon.
The thing I should’ve kept in my head.
Her face went still.
“What did you just say?”
I hesitated. Too late.
“I’m just wondering if the alcohol’s… amplifying things.”
Her laugh was sharp and humorless.
“Did you just call me crazy?”
“No—”
“Did you just call me fucking crazy?”
