Beautiful Boss (Beautiful #9) - Christina Lauren Page 0,14

wedge from between my lips.

Well, fuck.

She moved back and I watched her suck at the wedge, smiling at me with her eyes.

“Better?” I asked.

Pulling it away, she shook her head. “Nope, still gross.”

She kissed me and tasted like tequila and lime. I could taste her lips all day and chase her for more.

But she put a hand on my chest, pushing slightly. “Go put on some pants. You’re . . . a little into this.” Nodding to my boxers, she grinned up at me and I realized I was sporting half-wood standing in the middle of my apartment, surrounded by my friends.

Bennett laughed, turning away.

“Fuck you guys,” I said, punching his shoulder before walking back to the bedroom.

In no time at all everyone but Sara was falling-down drunk. Even Hanna, whom I’d seen tipsy on but a few occasions, would only stop giggling when overtaken by a bout of body-jerking hiccups. The coffee table was covered with novelty straws, playing cards, shot glasses, and beer bottles. A bag of tortilla chips sat several inches away from a nearly empty bowl, and no one seemed to care that the stretch of table between the two was marked by frequent dollops of salsa.

“Hanna. What’s the deal with the job hunt?” Bennett asked, in true drunk-Bennett proactive displeasure.

Hanna held up three fingers. “I have two more interviews.”

“Where?” Sara asked, pushing a glass of water closer to her.

My adorably drunk wife worked to focus on her fingers, ticking off, “Berkeley. Caltech.”

Chloe scowled. “If you move to the West Coast, I will make a gun out of this,” she said, drunkenly brandishing a tiny straw before searching the rest of the cluttered table, “and these peanuts and this glass and shoot you in the dick, Will.”

I winced at the visual. “Wow—” I began.

“In the dick, Will.”

“Okay, wow. That’s . . . vivid. I’m not the one with the job interviews.”

“But you have a say in it,” Max reminded me.

“It doesn’t matter.” I waved a drunken hand, feeling a quiet panic start to surge in me. “Hanna will basically live in the lab anyway.”

“Whoa.” Her head lolled to face me. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s true, though.” I leaned an elbow on the table, resting my cheek on my fist. It was as though I’d had a sheet over the pile of worries building in my mind, and the alcohol lifted it and tossed it to the side. “I want you to get a straightforward teaching job so I’ll actually see you. But you’re not looking at those.”

Her head jerked back, eyes narrowing. “I don’t want a ‘straightforward teaching job.’ I want to run a lab, too.”

“I know.” I shrugged. “I get it. It’s just the choice you’re making, though.”

The tiny part of my brain that wasn’t drunk sent up a warning flag. A small voice in the back of my head told me I was being a dick.

But I didn’t care. It was true, wasn’t it? The idea of Hanna taking a faculty position at a big research institution scared me. It was one of the reasons I hadn’t taken such a job myself: the pressure to publish in high-ranking journals is killer. It leaves time for nothing else.

Until she was tenured—for a matter of years—her entire life would have to be her lab.

Besides, she had interviews all over the damn place and still hadn’t given me any indication where she wanted to go. We could be uprooting our entire home in a matter of months to move across the country, and I had no idea of where yet.

We were married a week ago and already I was preparing myself to come second to her career.

“Let’s play more Truth or Dare,” George suggested, loudly redirecting us from an incoming argument.

“It was your turn,” Bennett said to Hanna.

“Fine,” Hanna said, glaring at me, “but we aren’t done discussing this.”

“Can you wait until we’re gone, though?” Bennett asked. “Christ, I’m sorry I asked.”

“Says the man who fight-fucks his wife in public every bleeding day,” Max said.

Hanna flapped her hands in front of her, bringing our attention back to the game. “Truth or dare, Mr. Sumner-Bergstrom.”

I leaned forward, smiling. “Oooh, dare.”

Hanna couldn’t hold in her delighted giggle. “I dare you to kiss George.”

We all turned to look at George, who had gone as white as a sheet.

“What?” he said. “Wait. What did she just say?”

“Come here,” I growled, playing it up for the crowd.

George shook his head in disbelief, chanting, “Oh my God, oh my God . . .”

Grabbing a