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“Are you trying to take care of my sister?” Cora asked. “It’s a waste of time.”
“Is this normal behavior?”
Cora shrugged. “It’s Margaret. She believes anything that can be done should be done over the top.”
“Well, I don’t disagree with that.”
“She probably shouldn’t be smacking that guy’s ass days before she marries someone else.”
I patted her shoulder. “Maybe. Maybe not. Probably depends on the boundaries already set in the relationship.”
“Would you be okay with Gavin going to a strip club?”
I laughed despite myself. I still wasn’t used to thinking of Gavin as mine, but this question was easy. “Honey, I’d go to the strip club with him and buy the lap dances.”
Cora laughed. “Oh. Well, never mind. Maybe it doesn’t matter about Margaret and Locke, and I’m the only one who is upset.”
“What do you mean?”
Cora came to her feet and waved her hand. “Nothing. I’m a downer. I’m going to head home. Make sure she drinks all of this water. She has the worst hangovers.”
I was too drunk for this conversation. So, I let her go, brought Margaret some much-needed water, and closed down the bar.
It was three in the morning when I finally stumbled back into the downtown hotel. I took the elevator up to our suite, fumbling with the key in my purse. I dropped it and nearly collapsed on the floor in a heap of laughter before getting the card to tap correctly against the door. It swung inward, and I tiptoed into the room with my heels dangling in one hand.
I made it halfway across the room before hitting something in the dark. “Oof!”
My body pitched forward. I tipped over and went sprawling, landing hard on my hands and knees. I laughed maniacally as I realized there wasn’t anything at all in the middle of the room.
I needed to stand up and figure out where the hell the bed was in all of this, but I was still too tipsy for that. I was reaching for my phone to try to figure out the flashlight when a light flicked on, silhouetting a figure in the doorway.
“Hi,” I said with a Harley Quinn–esque grin.
Gavin King stepped out of the bedroom in nothing but fitted boxer briefs. My mouth went dry. He was … a god. Literally. His physique was cut from stone with so many abs that I couldn’t even count them. Or maybe I was seeing double. But I could tell that his chest was broad, his waist was tapered, and he was as fit as I’d ever seen him.
“Hi,” I repeated, a little huskier.
He smirked. “Have a good time?”
“The best.”
“Do you need help?”
I held my arms out. “Please.”
Instead of taking my hands and helping me to my feet, he stooped down and lifted me into his arms in a bridal carry. Aptly named.
“What?” I gasped before he straightened and raised me clear into the air.
“You’re wasted.”
“I … am.”
“Were there actual strippers?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m surprised you came back at all,” he teased.
