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“I bet you have,” I murmur just loud enough for him to hear, slowly removing the plastic stick from my lips after eating the last olive.
I watch his powerful Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows, but that cocky-ass smirk never leaves his face. I want to kiss it off as his eyes hold mine.
Our food arrives and we chat while we eat. It’s easy and comfortable, but with an air of electricity crackling between us. It’s undeniable and never goes away no matter what we’re doing, and I wonder how powerful it’ll be when we’re alone and naked. What it would be like if we got married and went to some tropical island and had the raddest honeymoon ever, fucking on the balcony of some outrageous resort?
Stop thinking about sex and marriage, you maniac!
I take a bite of shrimp and lift my second vodka martini to my lips. I’m well and good tipsy now, and I need to stop after this one.
“So, how are the wedding plans coming along?” he asks.
I choke on my shrimp and cough a few times before the food goes down. I set the martini down and grab my water glass, chugging it. My face must match my dress now. “What?”
“Damn, are you okay?” he asks, the smirk gone, replaced by genuine concern.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m fine. Sorry about that.”
Concern and worry color his features. “Why did you choke when I asked about the wedding? Is being the maid of honor super stressful or something?”
Then, it dawns on me. “Oh, yes, I mean no. I mean... it’s fine. Just very busy. Taryn’s pretty particular with what she wants for décor and such. Carter couldn’t give a shit less.”
With that, he chuckles. “That’s definitely Carter. You’ll let us know where to get the tuxes and shit?”
I nod, sipping my martini and am done eating for now. “Absolutely.”
We sit in silence for a bit, then he says lowly, “Wanna get out of here?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately.
Two
Eric
She cannot drive, thisI know. I didn’t purposely ply her with alcohol to get her to sleep with me, she chose to drink. I just didn’t stop her.
Truth is, I was tempted myself, but I didn’t want her to know. I deny I have an actual addiction, but I did miss drinking while I was down. The other inmates would make “hooch” from rotted fruit, sugar packets, and water, and I never understood how they could put that shit in their pie-holes with the horrific way it smelled. I would have rather been sober—and I was.
