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“Tell her that one story,” Felix says.
Saint chuckles. “Do you want to hear a story about a drunk?”
I nod and shift to watch him.
“It was a Tuesday night, quiet as a graveyard at the bar I worked for, until the door swung open, and in walked this guy.”
“He was so drunk already,” Felix adds, wobbling his hands in the air like someone trying to keep their balance.
“He was wearing a bright pink suit, I swear to God,” Saint continues, chuckling at the memory. “And his hair—oh boy, his hair was a masterpiece. A neon pink Mohawk that practically glowed in the dark—Not even Felix has gone for that color—He sauntered up to the bar, all wobbly and disheveled, and he looked me dead in the eye.”
I use my arms to prop myself up on the couch as he tells his story. “And then what?” I giggle, enjoying his storytelling.
“He orders a... wait for it…” he holds out his hand, a wide grin spreading over his face, “A glass of milk!”
I burst out laughing. “Milk? In a bar?”
“Milk,” Felix laughs, “So, Saint pours him a glass, hands it over, and he raises it high in the air like he’s toasting the milk gods. Then, he sings ‘We are Never Ever Getting back Together’ at the top of his lungs.”
I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter, but tears are forming as I imagine the scene playing out. “That is unreal.”
“I wish it was. The entire bar goes silent, and this guy is belting out a Taylor Swift song like he is on stage. People were dying of laughter. The place went from quiet to loud in a matter of seconds.” Saint shakes his head.
“Dang, what happened next?” I ask, propping my arm along the back of the couch.
Saint takes a breath, his gaze far away as he remembers. “Well, the guy finished his milk, set the glass down with a dramatic flourish, and declared, ‘I’ve had enough for one night!’ Then, he winked at me, tipped his imaginary hat, and waltzed out of the bar without a care in the world.”
“That is nuts,” I say with a shake of my head. “Did he ever come back?”
“Not while I was there. I think about him sometimes, he was completely sloshed and milk on top of that,” he says with a shiver. “Coming back up would be gross.”
He finishes making our drinks and brings them back into the living area, setting them down with a flourish. “Made especially for you, fruity for my little hellcat.”
I sink back to the floor and curl my legs criss-cross in front of me, while Saint settles at my left, and Felix is across from me.
We pick our seven tiles, and I place mine on my holder, barely controlling my squeal of excitement. There is no way I’m losing the first word if I can play it right. The guys grab their tiles, and the sigh from Felix tells me he didn’t pick good.
“You can go first, Felix,” I say sweetly.
“Yeah, Felix, you go first.” Saint rearranges his letters, and I can imagine he is spelling a word he wants to use.
“I’ll go easy on you two this first round,” he says. Then he spells out I-N-E-R-T. “Six points.”
I hold in a laugh, and he pins me with a fake glare.
Saint grins and uses the T to spell out his word. T-R-A-C-E-R. “Tracer, seven points. Looks like you are losing a piece of clothing.” He wiggles his eyebrows teasingly at Felix.
“Audrey still needs to go,” he grumbles.
I bite down on my lip, attempting to hold in my grin. My word is worth ten points, and if I was close to a triple square or a double square I’d hold it for them. But I’m not, so I lay out Q-U-I-Z-Z-Y.
“Quizzy?” Felix asks, disbelief in his tone.
“Yeah, super lucky this time.” I push a strand of hair behind my ear and eye Felix. “Do I get to pick what you lose since I’m the winner this round?”
He chuckles. “Sure, if I get to pick what you lose when I’m the winner,” he flirts.
Between their musk and my perfume, I’m in a haze of continuous lust. Riding that edge making inner promises to my omega that we’ll be satisfied soon.
