Welcome to Corbet's Inlet, North Carolina, where the teenagers act like adults and the adults act like teenagers. It's Griffin Connolly's favorite place in the world. And while she may not be good at making decisions when it comes to her own life, s...
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As soon as they got to Doc's boat, Griffin designated herself bartender, and declared it was her personal duty to get everyone shit-housed tonight. For America.
"Try this," she said, handing Matty a styrofoam cup. They were downstairs in the main cabin, already trying not to make a mess in the kitchen.
Matty tried it, grinned, and took another swig. "Ooh. Yes. That. What is that?"
"A transfusion."
"It's delightful."
Griffin mixed more ginger-ale into Charlie and Evan's drinks. "My dad makes them when he plays golf."
"Does he normally put this much vodka in it?" he asked.
"Yep."
"Excellent."
Griffin garnished all four cups with a lime wedge and a straw; then she and Matty grabbed a drink in each hand and climbed back up to the boat deck. The warmth of the sunset hit her skin halfway up the cabin ladder.
"OK, those already look way too sweet," Evan said, propping an elbow on the helm. "I'm not trying to die tomorrow, Griff."
Matty shoved a drink at him. "Don't act like you don't like getting fucked up on fruity boat drinks, Evan."
Evan eyed the purple liquid in it warily, but still took it.
Griffin walked over to where Charlie was perched on the edge of the boat. He grinned at her from behind his wayfarers, completely drenched in golden hour, and Griffin would've gone right up to him and kissed him then if Evan and Matty weren't five feet behind her. She sidled up next to him, hip to hip, and handed him a drink.
"Cheers," he said, tapping their cups together.
Evan snorted. "You two look like a Vineyard Vines stock photo over there."
Griffin smiled stupidly into her transfusion.
The sun was almost set by the time they finished the first round. The boys spent most of it talking about the Celebrity Pro-AM again—they wouldn't shut up about it, actually. Griffin sat and listened until the bottom of her drink, then used it as an excuse to go make more. She stood from the edge of the boat and hoped Charlie felt the subtle nudge she gave him.
Halfway down the cabin stairs, Evan yelled after her, "Bring tequila shots!"
"Absolutely not," Griffin yelled back. She had all their empty buffet cups squashed against her chest, and she was already feeling how easily she'd thrown her first one back. Tequila did not need to be introduced into this.
Doc's sailboat was even more impressive on the inside than the outside. Straight up opulence. (Yes, the drinks were definitely hitting.) Why did everything have to be a different shade of cream? Griffin was making cocktails that called for a splash of grape juice, and she was terrified she was going to destroy the ridiculously pristine carpet.
