Kami smirks. “That’s what I mean. Why your card don’t work?”
Iris sighs.
I dig out my wallet again.
“I told y’all that wasn’t her,” a voice from the back of the crowd crows.
“Here.” I slap a twenty on the counter. I’ve seen that look on Iris’s face before. She’s hungry. She’s tired. And she’s about to freak out. I need to get her out of here. “Can we have our food?”
“Can we have our autographs?”
I see Kami’s eyes go wide with horror before she turns. “Brian, shut it.” She turns back and hands me the bags. I give them to Iris in exchange for the stack of autographed paper trays, but not before Mica makes a strategic move to stick his nose in one of the brown bags.
“Hey—”
“Down, Mica,” Iris scolds, more stressed than I’ve ever seen her.
I jerk the bags away before the dog can steal anything and hand over the paper trays. “Keep the change.”
I don’t think I leave skid marks on the drive thru pavement, but it’s close.
“Shit,” Iris hisses.
I brake at the edge of the parking lot. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad was that?” I ask, referring to the exchange with her fans.
“That?” She points back at the Sonic. “That’s not the problem.”
I’m picturing one of those kids posting a video of her card being declined, but if she’s not worrying about that, I don’t want to add it to the list.
“The money?” I don’t want her worrying about that either.
“Yes, I mean—” Her face falls like she’s just been handed the weight of the world. “What has she done? How am I going to pay for things? How am I going to pay Ramon and this new manager, and, shit, an attorney?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
She blinks out of her panic, and her eyes focus on me. “We?”
“Hell, yeah.” I smile at her. “You’re my girlfriend, remember?”
It’s small, but a smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “We,” she says again, but this time the word sounds like relief. Then mischief overtakes the look in her eyes. “You know what she would absolutely hate?”
I fight to keep from laughing just at her expression. “What’s that?”
Iris rifles through the to-go bags, takes out the mozzarella sticks, and unlocks her phone. “Photographic evidence of me eating junk food.”
In the next instant, I’m holding a cheese stick too, and Iris is taking a selfie of us.
“Oh, perfect. We look just as dirty and sweaty as we are.” She shows me the picture, and yeah, we’re a mess. Iris leans her back into my chest, a wide smile on her face as she bites into a stretchy piece of fried cheese. I’m grinning like a fool behind her, cheese stick in one hand, looking down like I’m amazed to find this stunning girl in my arms, and Mica’s nose is in the shot, just inches from one of the bags again.
Like Iris said, it’s perfect. It may be my favorite