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The table goes through their drink order, and when it finally gets to me, I wave my hand. “Just water for me.”
“Come on, Hal, it’s your birthday!” Blair encourages.
“I know, but I don’t usually drink much, and I’m pretty sure I drank enough last Saturday night to cover me for a while,” I tell her, trying to ward off the memories of Logan and me after all the tequila was consumed. “Plus, you’re not drinking. Friends drink together.”
“Well, we can have a celebratory belated birthday drink in nine months,” she says with a small shrug.
“Nine months? Why so? Oh my God! You’re pregnant!” I holler, jumping up from my seat and tackle-hugging my bestie in her chair. “I can’t believe this! I mean, I can and was really hoping it would happen soon, but I thought you would wait until after the wedding.”
“Me too,” my brother grumbles, but I can tell by the smile on his lips, he’s incredibly excited about becoming a dad.
He stands up when I hug him and squeezes me extra hard when I whisper, “Love you, big brother.”
“Love you too,” he murmurs.
A few minutes later, a tray of drinks shows up. There are glasses of water, a few bottles of beer, and two margaritas in a sugar-rimmed glass. “All right, so we’re doing lots of celebrating tonight,” Logan starts, passing out the drinks. He places one of the margaritas in front of me, a drink I didn’t order, and holds up the final beer. “To TD and Ellie’s marriage, Gabe and Blair’s new addition and upcoming wedding, and Hallie’s thirty-sixth birthday.”
We all clink glasses and take drinks. The tequila in mine instantly starts to warm my blood as recollections start to flit through my mind of the last time I consumed tequila. I’m sure this brand isn’t nearly as smooth as the one at Logan’s house, but paired with the rest of the fruity concoction, it’s still pretty tasty.
Gabe claps his hands together. “All right, everyone. Let’s eat!”
“What do you say we make this round interesting?” Logan asks, tossing the ball up in the air and easily catching it in his hand. He steps up way too close for my liking, invading my personal space. His eyes are cast down, and I have no doubt he’s looking at my cleavage, which is clearly on full display. I would never admit this aloud, but I might have had him in mind when I chose my flirty dress for tonight.
“You mean more interesting than me beating you?” I taunt, even though we’ve both technically won a round.
We’re at the Skee-Ball machine, trash talking like it’s our jobs and having a surprisingly good time. “I believe we’ve each one a game. How about we make a bet on this game?”
My eyes narrow. “What are we betting?”
His eyes move down to my thighs and slowly caress their way back up to my face. “You pick.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, reaching for one of the balls. “How about if I win, you have to wash my Jeep?”
His left eyebrow rises toward the heavens. “Seriously? That’s what you want?”
I nod smugly. “Yep. Of course, you’ll have to wear what I pick out for you and do it in my front yard for all the neighbors to see.”
A gravelly chuckle slides from his mouth. “All right, then I choose the same. You’ll wash my truck in my front yard wearing what I pick.”
“Deal,” I boast, reaching out my hand to shake. Electricity zips through my veins the moment we touch, but I’m able to hide any reaction.
“Five throws, alternating players. At the end of the five, we tally the scores. Ladies first,” he says, stepping aside and holding out his hand for me to take my position in front of the board.
I let my first ball fly, earning a quick thirty points. Not my best score, but I’ll take it. Stepping aside, Logan moves into position and throws his ball down the lane, sending it flying. It hits off to the side and drops into the ten-point hole.
“Aww, too bad,” I sing with mock sadness.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m just getting started.” He claps his hands together and slides them against one another like he’s warming them up. The sound of his hands hitting together makes my thighs clench and my ass burn, almost as if I can recall exactly what said hand felt like smacking against my bare behind.
By the time I grab my fifth and final ball, I’m only ten points ahead. It’s anyone’s game right now, and the last thing I want to do is lose to Logan. There’s no telling what outfit he’ll make me wear to heighten the humiliation, and I have no intention of finding out.
I take aim and launch my ball up the lane. My breath is stuck in my throat as I watch the ball leap into the air, dead center for the holes. It hits the inside of the fifty and falls in with a loud thud. “Yes! Fifty points, loser! You’ll never be able to beat me. You need sixty,” I boast, doing a little victory shimmy in celebration.
His eyes caress my body as the corner of one side of his mouth curls up. “I can still win.”
“What? There’s no way.”
Logan gives me a confident nod. “The one-hundred-point hole.”
