Being around this much affection is like being swallowed by cotton candy. And I still haven’t been able to share my news.
Dalton James, the linebacker, is heading back toward our table with another round of cocktails, a twin amount of shots, and a guy who is almost as tall and as broad as he is.
I glance at Kiki to confirm my worst suspicions. “You didn’t.”
“I thought he should have a buffer.” She shrugs.
“You’re setting me up.” I groan.
Lewis smirks.
“Don’t think of it as a date,” Kiki says.
“Trust me, I won’t.” I roll my gaze at her.
“Why don’t you think of it a fun evening with new friends,” she suggests.
“Great.”
The two men join us around the table and Dalton introduces his buddy, Teller Mason. The guy stands too close to me as our party takes simultaneous shots of tequila with lime and salt sans Trix who is sticking with her mocktails for now obvious reasons.
The guy’s size would be intimidating if it weren’t for the fact that I grew up around a bunch of grown men, but he’s overly friendly in the way a guy who has been told his blind date is desperate might be.
Our second round is followed by more shots and more cocktails. Okay, so Teller might not be terrible company. No worse than hanging out with my brother, at any rate.
“Do you want to have dinner some time?” he asks while we enjoy the fourth round of cocktails. “I’d like to get to know you better.”
And I’d like to get a root canal. It’s not him. Really. I have a million things I would rather do than go on a date with anyone. I bury the lie that sprouts from my lips in my drink. “I can’t. I have a boyfriend.”
“Oh.” He seems taken aback, which is only fair, because Kiki would have told him that I’m single. So either he knows I’m lying, or he’s wondering how one of my closest gal pals got it so wrong. “What’s his name?”
He’s smart too. Has me figured out on the lie, it seems. “Mike Arrear.”
“Mike Arrear?” He frowns.
It sounds made up. “Mmhmm.”
“Mike Arrear,” he repeats. His brow smooths out and he chuckles. “My career? Are you saying that you’re married to your job?”
“I am.” I offer him an I’m sorry smile. “No hard feelings?”
“Not at all,” he says. “I get it. I’m married to mine too. Dal’s always trying to get me to socialize more.”
We finish up with another round of shots and cocktails. My treat this time. Teller helps me carry them back to the table.
“I have news,” I say, distributing our drinks. “Gladstone called this afternoon.”
“What did he say?” Kiki bounces on her toes and claps. She’s effervescent at the best of time, but throw liquor into the mix and she turns into a bubble. This time it’s warranted.
“They loved our proposal.” My face splits wider than Van Damme’s legs. “We start in two weeks.”
“We’re going to California.” Lewis raises his beer overhead. “Here’s to taking over the world with my favorite girl duo.”
We’re one step closer to opening our own business, and making the career I always dreamed about a reality and it feels so good. Kiki squeals and launches herself at me. Lewis scoops us both into a bear hug.
One last round turns into two more after that before Trix drags Lewis out of La Drink. Kiki, Dalton, and Teller say goodbye and pile into an Uber.
I head toward the L, Chicago’s rapid transport system. La Drink isn’t far from the line I take to and from the office.
Stopping at a 7-Eleven, I get myself a blueberry Slurpee and a Big Bite and then take them both to the register along with a bottle of Tylenol and Gatorade for tomorrow’s hangover.
Sipping my Slurpee, I almost run into Vale on the pavement.
He’s wearing his usual work gear. Steel capped boots, tight jeans, and the even tighter black T-shirt with the Line ‘Em Up logo that hugs his biceps like I wish I could. His hair is roughed up, probably by some girl that isn’t me while she ran her hands through his glossy caramel locks. There’s more than the usual amount of scruff on his jaw.
He looks even better when I’m drunk. It’s probably why I want to grab his head and noogie him until it’s no longer possible to tell that someone besides me mussed up his hair.
He doesn’t seem to notice me as he brushes past. His blue eyes are clouded with concentration. Unfocused. Hyper focused.
He isn’t wearing those Clark Kent glasses I find wickedly distracting. I may or may not have had a thousand fantasies about sliding them off his face right before leaning in for a searing kiss. I shake off the immediate visceral reaction those images cause. So hot. “Vale?”
“Lily?” He stops in his tracks. Turns around. “What are you doing here?”
“Hungry.” I raise my hotdog, side step out of the way of another person trying to get inside the convenience store and almost twist my ankle in the process. I chuckle as I regain my balance. I’m totally a boss bitch. “You?”
“Coffee.” He shuffles his fingers through his hair, leaving tracks where he’s clearly done that more times than is warranted. His stomach growls as he eyeballs my hotdog and Slurpee combo. “But that looks good.”
I stick the end in my mouth and bite off a, ha, big bite. “It is.”
“Shouldn’t talk with your mouth full, Lil,” he teases me, no longer focused on whatever was bothering him.
I don’t mind. It’s good. Hud’s been worried about him for a while now. Doesn’t say it, but it’s pretty obvious when my brother is brothering people.
“Really?” I open and shut my mouth as I chew. I know it’s gross, but boy humans are different from us girls. This is part of our love language. Okay, I might be drunk. We don’t have a love language, though I do adore the big lug as much as I love my brother. But in a completely different way where I want to get dirty and sweaty and find out what’s in his pants.
“Are you drunk, Lil?” He studies me with curiosity and a touch too much seriousness.
“No.” I burp. “No, not at all.” I touch the end of my Big Bite to my nose while I lift one foot then the other. “Not even tipsy.”
He can’t stop the smirk that lightens his face as he brushes his finger over the top of my nose. Showing me the tip of his finger, which is now yellow, he says, “You’ve got a little mustard.”
A normal person would say, oh right, and thank him while double checking that he got it all. Not me. No, my first reaction is that he’s stealing my mustard and I must get it back at any cost. I lurch forward and suck the condiment off the top of his finger. Flick my tongue over the thick, blunt tip. “Thanks.”
“Okay, then.” His brows are somewhere under his floppy hair line as he wipes his hand on his jeans. His pupils are black holes that I could get lost in. If I was an astronaut, that is. “Why don’t you tell me how much you’ve had to drink.”
“Um, six.” I shrug.
“Six what?” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and directs me back into the store. “Beers? Glasses of wine?”