“It’s hard to feel that way when he just had to announce how many times he thinks about fucking me in a single day.” Charlie made us flip a card an hour ago, and it’s not like either of us has kept a count of our impure thoughts. So we did our best to estimate an average.
“Last I checked, we’re not normal, everyday people,” Moffy tells me. “Unless we’ve left this universe and entered one where our faces aren’t plastered on every amazing tabloid that I just love reading front to damn back.”
I tip my head. “We are excruciatingly abnormal.”
“And your boyfriend has to do abnormal things to be with you,” Maximoff says. “And I saw you smiling when he answered 102 times a day.”
I did.
And Thatcher looked enamored by me when I answered, 81 times.
I breathe in more, and I rest my hands on his shoulder, my chin on my knuckles. Feeling better. “Did you ever imagine our first time in Scotland would be with your fiancé and my boyfriend and we’d be preparing for your wedding?” It bursts love into my heart just thinking this.
Maximoff tries to restrain an uncontrollable smile. “No.” He licks his lips. “Because I never thought I’d get married. If anything, I thought it’d be your wedding, and I’d be over here a forever bachelor.”
“I like this better—and I’m not hijacking your wedding,” I note. “Don’t fret.”
Media and tabloids keep speculating that Thatcher and I will marry first. Based off a complicated history where my mom and dad sort of commandeered Aunt Lily and Uncle Lo’s wedding.
Their past choices keep affecting us in strange ways.
“I’m not worried about that,” Moffy says with a weird look.
“What is it?”
“You know if you want to marry Thatcher before I walk down the aisle, I get it. It’s not like I’m planning on marrying Farrow tomorrow. It’ll be a couple years.”
My eyes bug. “I just started calling him a boyfriend, and he just moved in. I’m not ready, and I doubt he’d want to put a ring on a girl who can barely utter I love you.”
“Okay, okay,” Maximoff nods. “I just don’t want to be the reason you’re holding back.”
I give him a weird look now. “Would you really want Thatcher to be the man I’m with forever?” Thatcher has been Farrow’s least favorite person, and Maximoff hasn’t been too fond of him in the past either.
“Weirdly, yeah. He’s good to you, and he makes you happy.” He nods. “But if he hurts you, I’ll slit his throat with a hacksaw—a rusted hacksaw.”
I laugh at his amendment.
Maximoff smiles. “This is surreal—you and me in serious relationships and traveling with our men.” He shakes his head in disbelief, and I feel that same overwhelming feeling breach the surface inside me. “I’m glad you’re here, Janie.” His chest rises. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
Emotion wells my eyes. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
I’m drunk.
Scottish whiskey is delightful, and I nurse my third glass. Or is this my fourth? My head floats, and the noisy pub sounds melodic to Feel-Good Drunk Jane. Seventeen bodies pack in, our group overrunning the establishment.
A glittery sequin on my sweater snags my blue tutu. I rip them apart with one hand, and the tulle tears.
Oh well. Torn skirt, missing sequin—life could be so much worse. A rumor could hit the internet that I’m fucking my cousin.
I sip my whiskey with a smile. I never thought I could even mentally joke about the incest rumor, and one year later…
I smile more, huddled around the warm fireplace with my two female cousins. The sofa and bar area are crowded with bodyguards who stay on-duty, unable to drink alcohol. But they mingle with each other.
“I really fucking love that he never put pressure on me to kiss him.” Sulli bites her lip, as though she can feel Will Rochester on them. “I was so comfortable with him last night. It was perfect.”
My little sister would’ve swooned for eternity just hearing Sulli describe her make-out session with Will. How he brought extra blankets to the living room of Mackintosh House. How they cuddled by the fire and he caressed her cheek and drew her in slowly.
I wrap an arm around her waist. “That might be one of the most romantic first kisses I’ve ever heard.”
“Uh-huh,” Luna nods, popping the tab to an energy drink. “Fan-fiction worthy.”
“Really?” Sulli grins, gripping the neck of a beer. She hasn’t loved the taste, but she’s still been timid to sip mixed drinks after passing out so quickly. Sulli feels comfortable enough here, surrounded by family and SFO, to drink though. “I bet your first kisses were fucking rad.”
Luna bobs her head to the top-hits channel that plays throughout the pub and smiles into her sip of energy drink. “He made me a sandwich afterwards.”
“Is that a euphemism?” I wonder.
“Nope. A real peanut butter and banana sandwich. Eliot, Tom and I crashed some senior’s party, and I hung out in the kitchen with this guy named Mike…or maybe it was Rogan.” She shrugs, unconcerned. “Never saw him again.”
“You’re a badass.” Sulli fist-bumps Luna, then asks me, “What was your first kiss like—oh fuck…” She reddens in embarrassment, hand to her mouth. “I forgot. I’m so fucking sorry.”
My first kiss was with Wesley Rochester, Will’s younger brother. “It was a kindergarten kiss. It meant very little.” I squeeze her in another side-hug before letting go, and I accidentally slosh whiskey out of my glass.
Merde.
The Four Drunk Stages of Jane Eleanor Cobalt are as follows:
Feel-Good Drunk Jane
Flirty Drunk Jane
Sloppy Drunk Jane
Black-Out (SOS) Jane
My sloppy-drunk-self can’t come out. I haven’t reached Flirty Drunk Jane yet. Skipping from one to three is like sipping the milk froth of a cappuccino and dumping out the coffee.
The actual coffee is undoubtedly the best part.
“Is it weird that we both kissed brothers?” Sulli asks me.
I’m about to mention how Uncle Loren and Uncle Ryke are brothers and their wives are sisters, but Luna already sing-songs to Sulli, “Our moms married brothers.”
“Fuck, duh.” Sulli shakes her head and swallows more beer.
I pet her long brown hair. “She’s lovesick; she’s not thinking straight.”
“She’s infected.” Luna sticks out her tongue, neon-green piercing in the center. “Should we amputate?”
Sulli elbows us with a giddy smile. “I seriously think I could lose my virginity to him.”
My eyes brighten. “In Scotland.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, unable to stop smiling. “Maybe. I’m comfortable with him.” Her smile gradually fades at another thought.
“Uh-oh,” Luna says. “She’s losing the love vibe.”
I sip my whiskey, my lips down-turning too. I wonder if it’s possible to make yourself fall out of love with someone, as a precautionary measure. Like a button you can press to evacuate in case love goes too far, and I find myself sweeping the pub for him.