“But edibles are tricky, and we had no idea what we were doing. So, of course, we overshot and ended up super high,” Dallas explained. “Like, super fucking high.”

Bailey and Shiv exchanged a look over the table that was somewhere between amusement and these idiots.

“Then we got the munchies,” I said, “so we found a McDonalds. We ordered everything on the menu, and with the exchange rate, it worked out to like two hundred dollars by the time we were done,” I recalled. “You know, I bet we could have dined at the fanciest joint in Amsterdam for that.”

“To be fair, those were the best chicken nuggets I’ve ever eaten.” Dallas’s expression turned wistful. “Worth the twenty-five bucks.”

I guffawed. “Because you were higher than a fucking kite. You were dipping them in your strawberry milkshake, dude.”

“Once we got back to the hotel, Carter lost his phone. We ransacked our room looking for it—using his phone as a flashlight. Finally, I wised up and decided to use my phone to call his. And he screamed when it rang in his hand.”

Shiv laugh-snorted, slapping her palm on the table, and Bailey broke into a fit of giggles. It wasn’t my sharpest moment, but it was funny in retrospect. I’d been pretty fucked up before, but that took the cake. Or brownie.

“Then we turned on Anchorman,” I told them. “We were a solid half hour into the movie before either of us realized the TV had been on mute the entire time.”

“Oh my god,” Bailey shouted, hazel eyes crinkling. “You two are such a gong show.”

Dallas chortled. “I blame Carter. It was all his idea.”

“I believe you,” Bailey said.

“What?” I shrugged, picking up my bottle of beer. Beneath the table, Bailey shifted her weight, accidentally brushing her leg against mine and momentarily diverting my attention. “It’s legal there. When in Rome. Er,” I stumbled, “Amsterdam.” See? She had a crazy amount of power over my brain.

“I think the lesson here is that you should never be released into the wild together without proper supervision,” Shiv said, still fighting back a chuckle.

“In our defense, we were only eighteen,” I said. “I like to think we’re a little bit smarter now.”

“I should hope so.” Bailey wiped away a tear of laughter. “You a closet pothead, Carter?”

“Ha, not really.”

“That’s not a no.” Her brow crinkled, expression sobering. “But what about drug tests?”

“I’m talking a couple times a year, max. In the off-season.” Usually. Ty was another story, with an encyclopedic knowledge about how to outwit drug testing and several successes doing so.

“Ah,” she murmured. “You really are corrupt.”

“Trying to reform,” I said. “Kinda. Why? Are you telling me you’ve never done that?”

She scrunched up her nose. “Once or twice. I just didn’t like it.”