Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,105
and beat your ass at board games.” I give him a sad smile. “I guess this is the beginning of my new, lame life.”
He squeezes my hands and looks at me so earnestly it almost makes me sad. “See? That’s what I mean. We’re both moving in the same direction. We both want the same things. But you don’t win at those board games—you lose, but that’s okay. I still love you. And we’re having a family together. You know what that means?”
Forget the fact that he just used the L word on me again; I can write that off as a natural side effect of too much alcohol. I fear something worse is about to happen. I shake my head at him, worried about where he’s going with this. I should shut him up, but I don’t. Something inside of me wants to see where this is going to end.
“No,” I say. “Why don’t you tell me what it all means, Mister Drunk Philosopher?”
He grins, spreading his alcohol-induced happiness all over me. “It means we love each other and we should get married. We should totally do it, just like Ozzie and May.” He lowers himself unsteadily onto one knee as he looks up at me, swaying to the side a bit before he rights himself.
My heart seizes up in fear and frustration. Before he can gather himself enough to speak, I make my move; I have to act fast to keep him from destroying everything. I lean over and shove him on both shoulders, knocking him down.
He falls onto his side in the hallway, his head banging the wall. “Hey! What’re you doing?” he slurs out. “I was going to propose to you.”
I walk by him and kick him in the ribs as I go. “Don’t you dare.”
I am so pissed right now, I’m almost to the point where I could shoot him, and that’s never a good place for me to be. I run up the stairs to my bedroom and slam the door behind me, locking it to be sure he can’t follow. I knew he was drunk, but I didn’t know he was that drunk. Holy shit.
I pace the floor of my room, wondering what I should do next. Angry tears fall and I swipe them away. He’s wasted, and obviously stupid, so I’m afraid to leave him alone. But I don’t want to see him either.
This whole situation makes me feel cheap, like a girl not worthy of a normal life, of real, unadulterated, pure love. Every bad thought I have about myself is confirmed because Lucky thought it was a good idea to get wasted and then declare his love for me. Am I really the kind of girl who gets proposed to only after a night of drunken, strip-club debauchery? Apparently, I am. I haven’t felt this low around Lucky ever.
I walk over and snatch my phone up off the nightstand, sending out a text to Thibault.
Me: Lucky is being a drunk ass. Come get him.
I wait until I get a response, relieved when my brother texts back saying that he’s on his way over from the cottage to collect the idiot who had the audacity to propose while he was breathing alcohol stink all over me.
A knock comes at my door along with some heavy breathing. “Toni. Babe. I need to talk to you.”
I shout so he can hear me through the door. “Go away! I don’t want to hear anything you have to say right now! You’re an idiot!”
“Why are you so mad? I was gonna say something nice.” He runs his fingers down the door, making a scratching sound.
“Why am I mad? Don’t be stupid, Lucky. You know better. You don’t say anything like that to me when you’re drunk, you understand? If you want to talk nice to me, if you want to make plans with me about our future together, you do it when you’re sober.”
The sound of his clothing dragging down the door comes through to my room. I can tell he’s leaning on the door for support. It’s possible he’s sitting in the hallway and drooling on my door.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to say it sober, but I didn’t have the guts.”
I lift my chin and rest my hand on my belly. “Then you don’t have the guts to be with me either. Thibault’s coming to get you. I don’t want you sleeping here tonight.”
I start crying and my weakness only makes me more furious.