Page 38 of Unmanageable

She pulls back, winking at him. “Keep her hydrated, Cash. She gets cranky when she’s thirsty.”

Leo and Nico are the last to say their goodbyes, both of them looking like they’re recovering from a marathon rather than a wedding.

“Don’t let her trade you to the KHL while we’re gone, Cash,” Nico grunts, clapping a heavy hand on Cash’s shoulder. “I need someone to buy me dinner when we get back.”

“No promises,” I say, tapping my watch again. “Okay. Enough. We’re burning daylight. Cash, where is the vehicle?”

Cash’s grin stretches into something downright suspicious.

“I don’t like that smile.”

“You will. Wait right here,” he says, tossing me a quick wink.

Before I can ask what on earth he’s planning, he turns on his heel and starts running. He isn’t just jogging either; he’s sprinting down the sidewalk, elbows pumping, his sneakers slapping against the pavement.

I watch in absolute disbelief as he cuts around the corner of the brick building and vanishes from sight. I stand there for a moment, blinking at the empty street, wondering if I’ve finally, officially lost my mind.

“…Why is he running?” I ask.

The three of them immediately lose it.

Leo bends over, clutching his stomach as he gasps for air. “He’s actually doing it,” he wheezes, unable to hold back his amusement.

“Oh, no,” I say, glancing between them with a growing sense of dread. “Doing what? Someone tell me what is going on.”

Nico crosses his arms over his chest, rocking back on his heels. He looks far too pleased with himself, his eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and suppressed excitement.

“I’ve been sworn to secrecy,” he says.

“Nico, seriously?” I press, stepping into his space.

“All I’ll say,” he replies, fighting a losing battle against a wide, toothy grin, “is that you’re going to love the ride.”

“I don’t believe you for a second,” I scoff, crossing my own arms.

“He’ll be back soon,” Nico adds, his gaze drifting back toward the corner where Finnian vanished.

“With what?” I demand, my patience wearing thin even as my curiosity spikes. “What could he possibly be bringing back that requires a full-speed sprint?”

Nico’s smile grows even wider, almost splitting his face in two. He shakes his head, clearly savoring the anticipation. “Oh, Scottie…”

An engine rattles to life, accompanied by a familiar, throaty hum. A second later, the blunt, flat nose of a vehicle creeps around the corner, and my soul leaves my body.

Cash is behind the wheel, leaning out the open driver’s side window with a triumphant, shit-eating grin as he rolls the monstrosity to a stop right in front of me.

“No,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

It’s the old vintage Volkswagen van he’d threatened me with. It’s painted a shade of orange that can only be described as ‘Radioactive Clementine.’ It’s loud, it’s boxy, and it’s arguably the most offensive thing I’ve ever seen on four wheels.

“Meet the Goalie-Mobile,” Cash says, spreading his arms wide through the window like he’s presenting a five-star resort.

“Cash, tell me you’re joking. Tell me the real car is parked behind that… that citrus-colored breadbox.”

“She’s a classic, Scottie! She has character.”

“It looks like a place where dreams go to die.” I gesture vaguely at the rust-pocked, rounded exterior, my voice rising in pitch. “I am a professional, for heaven’s sake. I cannot be seen in a fruit-colored van. It’s practically glowing.”

“Get in, Sharky,” Cash says, his hand already on the exterior handle. “We’ve got a schedule to keep, and unless you want to walk the miles, this is our chariot.”