Six

Whitney

“Are you still hungry? Because you look like you’re about to puke,” Cricket says, drawing my attention away from the dash that’s covered in stickers, mostly of pot leaves and unicorns.

Puke? Maybe.

Run screaming out of Gable because Lincoln Riscoff scares the ever-loving hell out of me? Definitely.

But that’s not something I want to admit to my cousin out loud.

“Umm,” I mumble because I truly don’t know what to say to her. I hate that he got to me so quickly. I hate that he still affects me like that. I also hate that I heard every single word he said, and that bastard knew it.

“Because if you’re not going to puke, guac and queso make everything better.” She scans my face and apparently finds the answers she’s looking for. “I think you’re still up for Cocko Taco. But all you have to do is say the word, and I’ll promise to hit Lincoln Riscoff if I see him on the sidewalk again, instead of letting him try to talk to you.”

I whip my head sideways. “You acted like you didn’t even notice he was there.”

Cricket’s crooked grin and dancing eyes give her away.

“You did it on purpose? You whore! You’re my cousin. My best friend! How could you do that to me?”

She bites her lip and shrugs as she pulls into Cocko Taco and parks beneath the sign and next to the giant rooster made of red, blue, and yellow metal welded together like yard art.

“Cricket . . .”

She turns toward me as my unspoken threat trails off.

“You had to face him sometime. When I saw them on the sidewalk, I thought it would be like ripping off a Band-Aid. Now it’s over and done with, and you don’t have to spend time worrying about him anymore. Your anxiety was messing with your energy. You’ve been a hot mess ever since you got in the van. I could feel it rolling off you. I’m trying to help you find some Zen, Whit.”

I cover my face with both hands and drop my head back against the headrest. “I know what you’re trying to do, but I was perfectly content with my plan to avoid him for the rest of my natural life. It was a great plan. Fucking amazing.”

“It was a terrible plan.”

“And why’s that?” I peek through my fingers to see my cousin looking at me like I’m an idiot.

“The wedding? We have a bunch of wedding festivities planned, and he’ll be there. Plus . . . Hunter’s mom insisted it all be at The Gables.”

My fingers snap closed and I stop looking at my cousin because I don’t want her to see my look of horror.

The Gables. Great. Only one of the fanciest mountainside resorts in the world, and owned by the Riscoffs.

“Are you sure you don’t want Karma to be your maid of honor?” I ask the windshield.