Our table is nearly full when Archer, Georgia, and I arrive. I sweep my gaze over the faces, in search of the one I’ve been looking forward to seeing.

The one with cute freckles that dust over her nose and cheekbones when she doesn’t wear makeup.

The one whose smile can light up a damn bar.

The one who’s given me a reason to smile nearly every damn day—something that was once forced.

That face isn’t present.

Georgia and Archer take their seats while I nudge myself into a chair near the end of the table. The only one with an empty seat next to it. An empty seat that had better be occupied with Cassidy’s ass soon, or she’ll be hearing from me in the form of endless texts. She can’t break our newbie pact.

Just as I’m easing my phone from my pocket to text her, I hear Lola say, “Damn, Cassidy! You look hot.”

My gaze shoots to Cassidy as she struts toward us.

Lola isn’t lying.

Cassidy is breathtaking.

A black sweater revealing a hint of cleavage and tight black jeans.

Tousled blond curls.

Ruby-red lips.

There’s something about red lipstick.

Something about a girl you know who’s trouble, rocking red lipstick.

I’m so fucked.

She greets everyone, a slight shyness in her tone, and doesn’t hesitate to plop down next to me.

As soon as her ass hits the seat, I lean into her, inhaling her sweet floral perfume. “Nice of you to finally show … late.”

She swats at my shoulder. “Oh, shush, Callahan. No one has ordered, and I couldn’t get my mother off the phone. She thinks I’m going to some huge party even though I insisted countless times that it was just dinner.”

I cock my head to the side. “Why’s she so worried?”

“She doesn’t want me hanging around the wrong crowd.”

“Did you used to hang out with the wrong crowd?” The community service and sudden move are enough that I shouldn’t need to ask that question.

“A little, yes.”

“Good thing you found me because I’m the best crowd.” I theatrically push my chest out.

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “So damn cocky.”

We’re interrupted when the server stops to take our order. Everyone makes small talk as we wait for our food, and my stomach grumbles at the mouthwatering smell of fresh tortillas. My mouth waters each time a waiter passes us with a sizzling plate of fajitas, going straight to another table.

Everyone is here, including Cohen’s very pregnant girlfriend Jamie, and his son, Noah. Jamie, a doctor, isn’t around as much as the other girls, but I have great respect for her. She’s stepped up as a mother figure for Noah—even in the tough situation of Cohen being her sister’s ex.