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I cocked my head. “How come you’re not so drunk as I—hic—” I hiccupped. “Feel?”
He patted my shoulder, “Because I actually ate my dinner and you’ve had all of three French fries tonight. We should get something else in your stomach.”
I hiccupped again and laughed. “I’m not supposed to be eating this crap. Everyone keeps saying I need to watch my figure for the wedding.”
He frowned. “Who said that?”
“The people.” I took another sip of my drink then mimicked. “Go to the gym, Rayne. Don’t eat fried foods, Rayne. Cut out sodium, Rayne. Here’s some ass fat to inject in your elevens.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“My elevens.” I swung around to face him and pointed to the oh fuck creases between my eyebrows. “These indents right here.”
His silver eyes rolled upwards as he looked where my fingers pointed. Then he glanced down at my mouth. We were very close.
Barrett looked so much like Hale in so many ways, yet they were completely different. He had a rugged style about him, stubbled and outdoorsy. Hale was all smooth lines and sleek luxury. Both men had incredible bodies, but carried themselves in completely different ways.
“You don’t need any of that shit,” he said softly. “You’re beautiful just the way you are.”
I meant to say thank you but it came out as a burp. I turned my head and blew out a breath. “Sorry.”
“Jesus. Stay away from open flames.”
Just then, my phone vibrated and I gasped. “It’s Hale. I’m in trouble.”
“Why?”
“I ran away from Marty.”
“Who the fuck is Marty?”
“Martel. My driver.”
“You mean Sharoski?” He laughed. “Please tell me you call him Marty to his face.”
“Of course I do!”
He laughed harder. “Meyers, the guy’s an ex mercenary.”
“Well, he’s my buddy. I bought him a hot cocoa and potato tots.”
He nearly doubled over with laughter. My phone buzzed and vibrated across the sticky tabletop. Barrett grabbed it and answered, laughter in his voice. “She’s with me.” He paused and scowled. “It’s Barrett, you maniac.”
I giggled, only able to hear a slight chirp on the other end.
“She’s had a bit too much to drink. You’re lucky I found her.”
“No!” I hissed, covering his mouth.
He pulled away my hand and laughed. “She escaped Sharoski and was running around New York unsupervised. That’s the fastest way to lose a fiancée, Hale.”
I gripped my head and plopped my elbows on the table.
“No, we’re not far. I’ll see that she gets home safely. Do you want to talk to her?”
Alcohol curdled in my empty stomach as he handed me the phone. Drunk guilt was the worst because I was usually too intoxicated to remember why I felt guilty in the first place.
“Hi, babe,” I said, sheepishly taking the phone.
