“What the fuck, Sloan?” Roman asks incredulously.
“I meant that the drinks will lube up her rusty parts for dancing. What do you think I’m talking about?” Sloan gives him the side-eye. “Relax.”
“This is not a conversation I’m trying to have or hear.”
“Good, it wasn’t meant for your sensitive ears anyhow.”
Roman looks at me, and I give him a stilted smile. It’s clear that he is trying his level best to be on his best behavior and Sloan is just being Sloan. He knows better than anyone that I’ve been looking forward to the prospect of going out for a little baby-free fun, and he doesn’t want to ruin it for me. I just wish the two of them wouldn’t antagonize each other so much. I’m already on edge about leaving Knox tonight.
“Let me get my heels and we can go, Sloan. I’ll be right back.”
“Wear the fuck ’em heels. You know, the nude colored ones with the crisscross straps. Those will look great with the jeans.”
I can hear Roman growling from here.
“I’m wearing the wedges,” I tell her.
“Borrrrinnngggg.”
I take a second to pop in on Knox to make sure the temperature in his room is comfortable and that he’s sleeping soundly.
He looks like an angel.
He’s flat on his back with his arms spread high above his head and his head tilted to the side. His eyelashes are long and flutter slightly when I graze my finger down the side of his face.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I’ll be home soon.”
I can’t explain the feeling in my stomach as I grab my shoes and my handbag. I’m excited to spend the evening out and have a little mindless fun, but I don’t feel entirely good about it either.
When I return to the living room, Sloan is searching for another bottle in our bar and Roman is sitting on his favorite chaise lounge, legs spread, and arms crossed in front of his chest, quietly watching. He’s annoyed, but I’m not surprised. I love her, but Sloan has that effect on many people.
“What are you looking for?” I ask her.
“Shots! Shots! Shot, shot, shot, shots!” she replies with a chant we used to say on our way bar hopping in college.
Roman rolls his eyes with disapproval. “Would you quiet down? My son is asleep and you’re agitating Mr. Tibbs.”
Sloan bends down to scratch our dog’s tummy. He’s flat on his back with his legs spread wide like he hasn’t a care in the world.
“Oh yeah, he’s really agitated,” Sloan mocks.
“You want tequila, right?” I point to the bottle of Silver Patron. “It’s right in front of you.”
“No, we should drink the expensive stuff. I know the dark knight of yours is holding out on the grand tequila. Where do you keep the good shit, Roman?”
“The good shit is for special occasions,” he answers flatly.
“But this is a special occasion. It’s Zoe’s birthday.”
“That’s not a special occasion for me.”
“You can be so selfish sometimes. Zoe is your baby mama’s friend, so that makes it a special occasion.”
“Still not special.”
“Ugh, I just want to have a shot with Bitsy before we go. This is just as much a celebration for her as it is for Zoe. It’s the first time you’ve let her out of her gilded cage since my gorgeous godson was born. That’s something to celebrate.”
Roman raises his eyebrows in reaction to Sloan’s comment, although I’m not sure which part of it he takes more issue with. On one hand, for whatever reason, Sloan has convinced herself and probably our immediate circle of friends that Roman has been keeping me captive in here since delivering Knox. That’s because single women without kids do not understand how busy mothers really are. On the other hand, he could be reacting to the comment she made referring to herself as Knox’s godmother. In fact, I’d bet a hundred bucks that his issue is with the latter.
We’ve been discussing for months whether Knox needs official godparents and if we were to pick some who’d they be. He, of course, would struggle to select between the King brothers since he adores all three of them, although I’m pretty sure it would be Camden if he had to choose. My pick would obviously be Sloan (in fact, I’ve always promised her she’d be my first child’s godmother), although Roman has expressed to me on more than one occasion that she would be Knox’s godmother over his dead body. The thing is, Sloan doesn’t actually know that there’s a debate about it at all. So, needless to say, I’ve left that conversation behind for another day.
Plus, the reality of the situation is that if anything ever happened to Roman or I while Knox was still young, my parents or Joseph and Juliette would get custody and we both agree that Knox would be in expert hands with either of them.
“Let’s just go, Sloan. I’d rather start drinking when we get to Zoe’s. She’s mentioned that she’s going to have some sort of signature drink made with rum, and I don’t like to mix my liquors.”
“Smart thinking, Bitsy. That’s why you’re the brains and I’m the beauty.”
“Elizabeth is the brains and the beauty. You’re just—”
“Roman,” I cut him off with a warning.
“He knows what I meant.” Sloan scoffs. “I’m in such a good mood that nothing you say will bring me down, Roman Masterson. Your control freaky ass is just pissed that you won’t be around when Bitsy gets drunk off her ass tonight.”
Roman shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he shoots daggers into Sloan with his eyes.
“Be quiet, Sloan,” I warn her.
“What did I say now?” She feigns ignorance. “There was nothing disrespectful about what I just said. It’s all truth.”
While I’ve long since accepted the fact that Roman and my best friend have two forceful personalities and a contrary relationship which sometimes makes moments like this funny and other times awkward, tonight their verbal sparring has me virtually at the point of tears. I’m emotionally exhausted.
“I’m leaving my son for the first time to do absolutely nothing of any real importance and all this back and forth between the two of you is seriously getting on my nerves!” I explode. “Just shut up.”
Roman stands from the chaise and walks toward me in several powerful strides. He slides his hand into my hair, cradling the side of my face, and tilts my eyes toward his.
“First, Duchess, you look fucking hot tonight.”
The unexpected compliment makes me crack a small smile.
“Thank you.”
“Second, you’re wrong. You’re not going out to do absolutely nothing. You’re going out to have some fun because you deserve a night out with your friends and your happiness is as important as a motherfucker.”
“Exactly,” Sloan adds.
I ignore her two cents and concentrate on the man I love, who at this moment makes me wish I was staying home for a little private picnic in our bedroom. We haven’t done that in a really long time. Those are always so fun.
“Maybe I should stay home and just lay like broccoli with you,” I say, laying my hand on his chest. “We never took that shower, I promised.”