“I thank my lucky stars.” I grin, then turn to Fern. “What’s next on your trust game?”
“Buddy walk?” Cory chimes.
“What is that?” Heath looks at her, terrified. I can’t help but laugh.
“We tie you by the legs, and you’re supposed to walk a certain distance,” she explains.
“That’s something we do at the annual Spearman trip,” Caspian says. “It’s too easy.”
“It’s not annual,” Aslan corrects.
“Buddy, we’ve done it two times, and we’re organizing number three. The fact that it’s not during the same month doesn’t mean it’s not an annual event,” Lysander chimes in.
“Where are they doing it this year? Hawaii?” Cas is grinning. “I hope this time is during the off-season. I want to be there for more than a couple of days.”
“Colorado. Jackson and June are organizing it.” One of them responds, I’m not sure who. I think I’ve drunk too many shots to keep their voices straight.
Fern looks at me. “You’re coming this year, aren’t you?”
I glance at Heath, who says, “We’re allergic to camping.”
“Which is ironic since you two met at camp.” Gatsby claps Heath’s back.
Since we’re digressing, I say, “Can we be done with this nonsense?”
Fern nods. “Since these trust games aren’t working, let’s try the questions.”
I stare at Heath, whose eyes are filled with panic. “What’s wrong with your family?”
“And you think having siblings is the best thing that can happen to a person.”
I laugh. “Honestly, I’m having a blast, even though I don’t understand what’s happening to them.”
Caspian is the one who whistles, dragging everyone’s attention. “Let’s start the round of questions. My lady, would you like to start?”
Rys has a bunch of colorful cue cards. She takes a seat on the couch and looks at Heath. “What’s Atzi’s favorite food?”
“Fruits because they’re sweet—except watermelon. She’s allergic to it.”
“Correct,” Hux hands him a tequila shot.
Rys turns to me. “Same question for you, Atzi.”
“He doesn’t have a preference.”
“Buzz.” Caspian almost screams. “Wrong.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” I say as he pours a shot of whiskey. “That’s what he says, but he secretly loves pancakes.”
Hux hands me a shot of tequila. Do they understand I’ll be drunk before midnight if they give me a shot for every question they ask?
“What food does Atzi hate?” Rys continues.
“We need better questions. Those are too easy,” I protest.
“It’s necessary.” Rys shrugs as if she didn’t invent the made-up rules—but she did.
“Anything green,” Heath responds almost immediately.
“Now to you, Atzi.”
“Salmon. He hates the consistency.”
I glare at Hux, who’s pouring more tequila into my glass.
“Is Atzi a dog or cat person?”
“Dog, but she can’t own any because her career is too demanding, and she can’t bring pets to work.”
Rys stares at me. “But how about cats?”
“She’s allergic,” Heath says.
“You could—”
“Rys, stop trying to give the woman a pet,” Caspian stops his wife.
Rys almost pouts. “I was just saying that—”
“Babe, not everyone needs a pet.”
“That’s a lie.” She crosses her arms indignant and glances at me again. “Favorite smell?”
“Are we not asking about Heath’s pets?”
“Nope. He’ll give us an entire lecture about the reason why he can’t have nice things. Work.” Rys sighs, almost disappointed.
“I was going to give you the whole explanation.”
“We’re saving you the energy so you can keep answering the questions.” She grins. “What household chores does Atzi hate the most?”
Heath laughs. I glare at him and mouth, asshole.
“All of them—she cleans the kitchen because she has to work in it.”
“And he’s a neat freak who swears everything must be impeccable.”
Suddenly Elliot takes a few steps and says, “I think our work here is almost done.”
“What do you mean?” Heath looks at him.
“You’re comfortable with each other, and you’re almost finishing each other’s sentences.”
Heath and I look at each other and frown. Is he right?
“How do you know we won’t fail?” I ask him because he sounds like an expert. “Are you an actor?”
Elliot shakes his head. “Let’s just say I had to do it when I was younger.”
Heath snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him. “We’ll be fine, promise.”
He keeps saying that, but something doesn’t feel right. What is it?
Chapter Twenty-One
Atzi
Gnomes are tap-dancing inside my head. Well, it’s either that or the combination of whiskey, tequila, and having to share a bed with Heath. It’s after midnight and I haven’t slept at all. This is a thousand times worse than last night when I was just dealing with the anxiety.
Close your eyes and just sleep, I order, but like everything else, it’s not working.
God knows I’ve tried everything. Counting sheep, thinking about the next sculpture I have to create, and even telling those stupid gnomes to stop the nonsense because my head is killing me.
Nothing is working.
I can’t manage to do more than just think about what we could be doing in bed. Once, I heard that sex helps with headaches. I don’t know how, but the good doctor should test it with me. I might forget about everything if I see him completely naked—and fucking me. It’s been so long.
Too long since the last time I had sex.
Okay, I’m pretty sure that’s the alcohol speaking. I’m not drunk, but I’m not sober enough to keep my body from wanting to bare myself and get under him—and also on top. I bet riding him like a cowgirl would be fun.
“Are you having trouble sleeping?” Heath asks, breathing close to my ear.
I close my eyes, doing my best not to moan. It’s so hard when his arm hugs my waist and he pulls me closer to him. What is he trying to do? Torture me?
“We’ve done this a thousand times,” he says.
What is he talking about? I’d remember if we had had sex before. He’s probably thinking about the alcohol or the crazy day we experienced. So, I whisper, “Make fools of ourselves while drinking ourselves stupid? I don’t think I’ve done this since college.”
“It was silly to humor my family. Next time, I’ll stop them.”
Next time? There shouldn’t be any next time. “Why did you let them go that far?”
“You were relaxed and having fun.” He kisses the back of my neck.
I groan when he runs his fingers across my bare stomach. I should’ve worn long johns or a chastity belt, not a silk cami and my tiny shorts.