bossy-pants.”
* * *
A series of hoots and hollers echo from a dozen older men at the bar. They knew it was his birthday, and it wasn’t because I told them, so along the bar sits what looks like thirty shots. “You guys are out of your minds,” Hayes says, patting a couple of them on the back.
“We’ll give you a hand,” one of them says through laughter. “You’re over the hill now, kid.”
It doesn’t take long for us to get through at least two-thirds of the shots. The beers are flowing as well and the volume of noise is growing louder. Hayes has a smile from ear to ear, and it warms my heart to see him enjoying his birthday.
His arm swings around my neck as he places a firm kiss on the top of my head. “I love this girl,” he shouts. Andddd he’s drunk. He lifts me up and places me on a stool in front of him.
“You’re crazy,” I tell him, poking him in the nose.
“Maybe I am. And maybe it’s crazy that I don’t just want you to move in,” he whisper-slurs his words. I have no idea what he means or what he’s about to say, but he’s obviously not thinking straight.
“Let’s talk about that when we get back to your condo,” I tell him.
“Get back hooooome you mean? Our condo?”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him gently over his top lip. “Home.” The word doesn’t feel so foreign any more. His arms tighten around my back and he presses in between my legs. “I really love you, Blondie-Locks.”
“When you two gettin’ married?” A guy pops his head in between us, looking back and forth with a shit-eating-grin. “Huh?”
“Get out of here, Doughnut,” Hayes says, pressing his hand against the guy’s forehead.
“His name is Doughnut?” I ask, stifling my laugh since the guy is only a couple of feet away.
“It’s just what we call him. You are what you eat, right, Doughnut?” Hayes shouts, turning around and slapping the guy’s gut.
Doughnut shuffles toward the other side of the bar where his drink awaits him. Hayes turns back around, wrapping his arms around me again. When he looks at me…those eyes, I get lost in them. And yet, he’s the one looking at me like there isn’t another person in this place. “When are we getting married?” he asks.
My breath hitches in my throat. I’m completely blindsided by what he just asked me. I know he’s intoxicated. Like, really intoxicated. And this isn’t the time or place for this conversation. “You’ve had a lot to drink, crazy.” The high-pitched tone in my voice makes his dimples deepen. Those dimples.
“Sober thoughts come out in drunken words.”
What’s left to do other than look him in the eyes and believe everything he’s saying? Because I think I want to. “Fine,” I say, pressing my finger into his chest. “If you’re serious, ask me again tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I FORCE MY EYES OPEN, feeling the heaviness of last night weighing over my body, and I turn to see Hayes already awake and staring at me. I didn’t have nearly as much to drink as he did, but my tongue is fuzzy and I can feel my make-up caked on in places it shouldn’t be. I must look like hell. And yet, he looks as charming as usual. Not fair. “That was a birthday for the books,” he says.
“I’m glad you had fun,” I rasp. As my thoughts accumulate, I want to know what he remembers from last night, but I don’t exactly want to ask either.
“Fun doesn’t cover it,” he winks.
“You were pretty drunk last night,” I say, hoping he’ll say something like, “Yeah, but I still remember everything.” But he doesn’t say anything close to that. He combs his fingers through my hair, pushing it out of my face and twisting it behind my back. “I guess I had a little too much, too.” My stomach feels like there’s a water balloon bouncing around inside. Blech.
“Well, I’m glad you had fun. The guys love you.” Would he be so sure of that if he didn’t remember what happened last night? “At least I think so.” He laughs. “I guess everything’s a little hazy right now.”
Oh. That’s what I was afraid of. “I’ll go make us some breakfast,” I say, slipping out from under the sheets.
“Hey,” he shouts out to me seconds after I’ve left the bedroom. “Are you mad about something?”
“No,” I reply. Do I sound mad? Maybe