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“We need more tequila,” she announced, her ochre gaze fixing on me. “You deserve a night to unwind. You work too hard, and you’ve had a hell of a week.”
“Maybe if we get enough drinks in you, we can convince you to get Gavin fired. You’re seriously not thinking clearly on this one,” Davis said decisively. “If I had the chance to crush one of my bullies’ dreams, I’d totally do it.”
“That’s because you’re a badass,” Isabel approved. “Allie, you should take notes.”
I tugged on a lock of my hair and shifted in my seat, slightly uncomfortable despite their loving support. “You guys, I can’t get him fired. His dad is one of my father’s biggest donors.”
“You think Gavin’s dad would withdraw his support if you made sure his son gets what he deserves?” Charlie’s delicately arched brows drew together in outrage, her electric blue eyes sparking. “That’s bullshit.”
I shrugged. “That’s politics.”
“Well, it’s still bullshit,” Davis asserted. “But your dad needs to be mayor, so I guess that means the douchebag gets a pass.” His mouth took on a glum twist.
Davis practically hero-worshipped my dad because of his progressive policies. We’d first met at a rally for the Young Democrats at our university, and we’d clicked immediately; we were passionate about the same political initiatives. Davis had totally freaked when he found out I was Ron Fitzgerald’s daughter. It was a minor miracle that he’d gotten past being starstruck and started being frank with me—a real friend.
He and Isabel were already close, both self-professed theater nerds from the same high school. So he’d introduced us, and I’d introduced them to Charlie, and here we were: an eclectic little family.
The next round of margaritas arrived, along with complimentary tableside guacamole. Dutifully, Isabel gave the server a megawatt smile and snapped some pictures with her phone. He gushed that he loved her posts and was one of her thousands of followers. She was as gracious and humble as ever; Isabel never took her budding success for granted.
Once he left, she turned her camera on us. “I need some candids,” she announced. “Come on, Allie. Look like you’re happy to see us.” She shot me an exaggerated pout. “Don’t let that douchebag ruin your night.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear and ducked my head, wishing I could hide under the table until this part was over. Overcoming my shyness to pose for Isabel’s pictures was a challenge on my best days. And this was so not one of them.
“It’s not Gavin,” I said truthfully. I couldn’t tell them about what’d happened with Max, but I could at least share a little of the anxiety that’d haunted me all day. “I, um, overslept and didn’t have time to do my makeup this morning. Then I worked late and came straight here. My blouse is wrinkled, and my skin looks like crap. I didn’t even put on mascara.”
“You don’t need mascara,” Charlie admonished gently. “And you have gorgeous, clear skin. I never would’ve taught you my makeup tips and tricks if I’d known you would rely on them so much. You look beautiful no matter what. Trust me, no one will be focusing on your wrinkled blouse.”
Davis shot me a sympathetic look. “Gavin really did a number on your self-esteem today, didn’t he? Look, I’ve seen pics of you from high school, and yeah, your style was a train wreck.”
“Davis!” Isabel hissed, going into protective big sister mode. “Not cool.”
He waved her off, keeping me fixed in a no-nonsense green gaze. “We all go through an awkward phase. I used to wear acid washed double denim. Double denim, Allie. It was tragic. But you’re fabulous, and now that you’re all grown up, you look just as fabulous on the outside. Don’t let that bully dull your shine. He doesn’t deserve one more second of your time.”
“Accurate,” Charlie agreed, tugging me close in a one-armed hug. Despite my lingering insecurities, my lips curved in a smile. I loved my friends so damn much.
Isabel snapped a pic and grinned at me, unrepentant. “Perfect candid for the socials. You two look adorable.”
“Excuse me!” Davis said, affronted at being left out.
Isabel captured an image of his indignant glower and snickered. She showed it to him, and he groaned. “No, don’t post that. I look constipated.”
She pulled him close and took a selfie of the two of them as a loud, genuine laugh burst from my chest. Their antics cleared away the last of the storm clouds that’d hung over me all day. Isabel beamed at me and snapped another pic of me laughing.
“Stunning,” she declared.
I lifted my margarita to my lips and took a long drink. It was past time for me to unwind, and I didn’t have to go into work tomorrow. I had freaking earned this salt-laced tequila.
