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“I think you're turning me into a sexual deviant,” I declare.
“Oh God, I hope so.”
We laugh together and he motions for the waitress to bring another round by the table and I know that both of us are going to be hurting in the morning. But so long as he doesn't pass out on me before we get back to the hotel and I get what I want, I'm good with it. I can endure a bit of a hangover. Given the past couple of experiences with him, it'd be well worth it.
We watch the dancers and talk – and of course, drink even more – for another hour or two. I've completely lost track of time. By now we are both leaning back in the booth and Aaron looks at me with a sloppy, lopsided grin.
“I love the way I'm feeling,” I say. “I don't want this to stop. I want to do something else. Something different.”
“I have an idea,” Aaron says, a curious expression on his face.
“Tell me.”
“Let's get married,” he slurs, laughing like a loon. “At one of the tackiest, most over the top little chapels we can find.”
“That is brilliant!” I shout.
“Isn't it?”
I laugh hysterically. It is the most absurd, most incredible idea I've ever heard. And in my current condition, I am totally on board with it.
“Let's do it. I'm ready to be the first Mrs. Aaron Steel,” I say, and I mean it.
“The first?” he questions.
“I know your type,” I laugh. “You'll have four or five ex-Mrs. Steels before you're through.”
Aaron laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. But then he looks at me, giving me the most serious and grave expression he can manage – which, given that lopsided smile he can't seem to get off his face, doesn't seem all that serious or grave to me.
“You are my one and only, Emily,” he overly articulates each and every word in the way drunks tend to do. “We're going to be married and we're going to be married forever.”
I put my hands over my heart, cackling like I've gone mad. “That sounds so romantic.”
“Right? Romantic as fuck,” he slurs. “I'm nothing if not romantic.”
“I can tell.”
“So let's go,” he presses. “Let's go do this.”
It's an absurd idea, but one that seems to fit the theme of the entire evening. Which makes it absolutely perfect.
Clinging to each other the way a man adrift at sea clings to a life preserver, Aaron and I stagger our way out of the club and back to the car. Luke, the driver, gives us both a look of amused concern as we practically fall into the back. When he closes us in and gets behind the wheel, Aaron pushes the button to talk to him.
“Luke, I want you to find us the tackiest wedding chapel you can,” he instructs the driver. “Drive around, get a good look at them all and find us one that screams tacky and tasteless.”
There's a long pause before Luke replies. “A – are you sure sir?” he asks. “A wedding chapel?”
“You heard me.” Aaron is doing his level best to sound authoritative – and sober. “I'm going to make Ms. Emily Hall here my bride. So, let's go. Let's get on with it.”
“Very good, sir.”
I don't even know how long we drive around before Luke pulls the car to a stop and opens the door for us. Aaron and I stumble out, still holding onto each other. When we see the sign for the chapel, we both erupt into laughter. Aaron slaps Luke on the chest, cackling like a madman.
“This is perfect, Luke,” he beams. “Absolutely perfect. Excellent choice.”
Luke's smile is uncertain, but he nods. “I think he needs to come with us,” I mention. “Don't we need a witness or something?”
Aaron gives me a nod and a thumbs up. “As usual, you are correct,” he confirms. “Luke, come be our witness. In fact, you can give away the bride.”
