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“Panama City Beach, Wheorgie,” I corrected and waggled my brows. “We’re in Florida. For our spring break honeymoon.”
“But…it’s October.”
Before I could even respond to her, Thatch started to nuzzle his face between my boobs. “Yous got these best titties, babes. Hello, mine pretties. Daddy lubs you. I lubs you so much.”
“Holy hell, he’s rocked,” Georgia said through a giggle, and I snorted and met her eyes.
“Yeah, I might’ve overserved him a little.”
“A little?” Georgia cackled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Thatch that boozed up,”
“Me either.” I patted his head affectionately while he kept motorboating my cleavage. “Which is why I’m going to have let you go, G. I gotta get my husband back to our hotel.”
“Cuz we’re gonna bone! Tells Gorilla that, babes!” Thatch shouted at the top of his lungs, and that only made my best friend laugh harder.
“I take it I’m Gorilla?” she asked through snorts and giggles, and I grinned.
“Peace out, Gorilla. Gotta go!”
“You better call me—” she started to say, but I hit end on the call before she could finish.
But it wasn’t because I wanted to be rude. In that moment, my top priority was getting my husband back to our suite as soon as fluffing possible.
“C’mon, baby,” I said and let out a relieved breath when a notification popped up on my screen for our Uber driver. “Tim is here to pick us up.”
“Timmmmmy!” Thatch slurred on a shout. “Lez hits a road, Jackie!”
Holy fluffing tequila shots. Thatcher Kelly was drunk as shit, and it was definitely all my fault.
Lettuce pray that, when he sobers up, he’s not too pissed at me for today’s events…
When I opened my eyes, the room was cloaked in darkness, and it took a good two minutes for me to even understand who or where I was.
Once my brain established that I was, in fact, myself,Thatcher fluffing Kelly, and I was lying in the bed that was located inside Cass’s and my Panama City hotel suite, I scrubbed a hand down my face and slowly eased myself off the mattress.
But the instant I went from lying down to sitting up tostanding up, my head started to throb like a son of a bitch.
Good God. Did someone beat the shit out of me while I was asleep?
I felt as if my open mouth had been dragged behind an Escalade through the desert, hitting every cactus we passed along the way, and my stomach roiled with empty anger. I stumbled and trotted, aimlessly circling the room like a newborn colt, trying to make sense of time and space and earth and wind and fire and shit.
Eventually, I managed to find my phone inside the back pocket of the ridiculous shorts Cass laid out for me, and that was when I started to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
Gill’s Bar and Grill.
Wet T-shirt contest.
Britney Spears.
Tequila shots.
My fluffing wife had gotten me fucking drunk.
And not just a little drunk, but, like, I hadn’t consumed that much tequila since I was a twenty-two-year-old idiot with nothing better to do than start bullshit at bars and nightclubs. And for the love of God, I’d done it on an empty stomach. I was in my thirties. That wasn’t the kind of shit I could just do anymore.
When I glanced toward the bed, I noted that my beautiful but fucking crazy wife was sound asleep, her body flailed across the mattress like a toddler.
Truthfully, it was so adorable it almost made me smile.
