Page 89 of Tennessee Trouble

“Yes, we are, Brandt. So don’t follow me. There’s nothing left to say. And I wouldn’t believe you if you tried.”

23

LINDEE

“Voting ends in five minutes.”

“I am aware, Kyra,” I throw over my shoulder, not bothering to slow down my stride.

I’m on a mission. One, because I’m needed on the field in a few minutes so that I can be there when they announce the winner, but more importantly because two, I have not actually voted.

Ooooops.

I’ve spent the last three days so focused on getting the word out at CocktailCon for everyone to go vote that making it down to field level to actually vote myself hasn’t been a priority. And maybe there is also a part of me that didn’t want to have to see Brandt’s creation.

Thankfully, I haven’t seen him.

My focus has been on campaigning, which has been a good outlet to funnel all my emotions and nervous energy into. Kyra had the brilliant idea to offer a coupon for a free mini bottle of any of our products if you voted for the Rocky Top Double, but Mikayla squashed that quickly, claiming it counted as bribery. So we changed it to anyone who showed us they voted in the contest, regardless of their choice of cocktail.

What my sister doesn’t know is that Kyra has been sneaking extra coupons to people who prove they voted for us. Because she has my back.

“Sorry,” a guy who looks barely old enough to drink says, stopping me right before the field entrance. “Voting lines closed five minutes before the end of voting. I can’t let you out there.”

Wanna bet?

I silently hold up my badge, waiting for him to take the hint. Or to read the words printed on it so he can get a clue. It takes him a minute—eyes scanning over the badge as if he’s looking for a loophole for him to enforce his original answer—but he eventually nods in approval.

“Oh, well that’s a horse of a different color!”

I roll my eyes. What is this, The Wizard of Oz? It’s not like he’s granting me access to the Emerald City.

“Y’all together?” he asks, but I keep on walking. I don’t have any time to waste.

“Lind, slow down,” Rylan calls.

“Can’t stop, won’t stop!” I answer back without thinking.

It’s cliché, but true.

“Do you at least want to grab a drink first?” Kyra asks, catching up with me. “If there was ever a time…”

“Nope. I know what mine tastes like, and I have zero interest in giving his a chance.”

“Could be really good,” Rylan offers.

I stop dead. Is he fucking serious?

I glare at my older brother, wishing I could actually shoot daggers from my eyes. Man should be dead where he stands, saying something like that.

“What?” He shrugs, doubling down with traitorous nonchalance. “You’re in this situation for a reason. It’s a logical conclusion.”

I’m not listening to this. Especially not from someone who thinks that I should have heard Brandt out. That I should have accepted that half-ass explanation and even weaker apology.

Men…

Joining the back of the now very short line for voting, I try and center myself. Again. For what feels like the five hundredth time today. Hasn’t worked yet.

Kyra slides up next to me, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. “We got this. We campaigned hard, and had so many people tell us how much they loved the Rocky Top Double. You’re a genius, Lind.”