Page 40 of Sully

And as illogical as it was, since I was someone who did very much enjoy their own company, the longer he was gone, the more I felt my anxiety growing. It was the complete opposite of how I usually felt around people.

I went to bed early, just wanting an escape from the swirling negative thoughts that buzzed louder and louder in my ears with each passing moment.

I figured a nightmare would wake me up.

But, no.

It was music.

I grumbled at it, too sleepy to remember it wasn’t just my loud neighbors.

But this wasn’t their usual screamo music.

No, this was something vaguely familiar—about limes and coconuts.

My eyelids fluttered open just in time to see Sully throwing open the door holding a Bluetooth speaker in his hand and wearing—I kid you not—a women’s purple and black silk duster.

“What…” I started, sitting up.

“Come on. We have limes to put inside coconuts.”

“Am I drunk?” I asked, his words not making any sense.

“Not yet. But that is the goal,” he declared, dancing closer, then thrusting out his free hand to reveal another duster, this one in a baby yellow with lots of lace fringe. “We’re having midnight margaritas. And you have to put this on.”

“Why?” I asked, taking it because he was wiggling it in my face.

“I don’t know actually. The aesthetic,” he said, wiggling his fingers in the air.

“Is it really midnight?” I asked, throwing off the covers because, well, time with Sully sounded a lot better than restless sleep alone.

“On the dot. I may or may not have been waiting in the hall until the time was right,” he added with a boyish smile as I slipped into my duster.

“Okay. Now what?”

“Now, we dance. And drink. And watch movies about witches,” he told me, reaching for my hand and pulling me along with him, his hips wiggling as he went.

There was a moment of insecurity on my part until we moved into the common area to find it empty. Well, empty of other people, that is.

While I’d been sleeping, Sully had been hard at work setting up the living room into a perfect little movie night, complete with a bunch of burning candles instead of overhead lighting, blankets, pillows, and snacks.

The TV was frozen on the selection ofPractical Magic.

“Come on, we drink!” Sully declared, pulling me into the kitchen where he had the blender set up with a bunch of ice. Beside it were two bottles of premixed margarita bottles. “We have regular or strawberry,” Sully said, picking each bottle up as the speaker played another song. This time, Stevie Nicks.

“Um, I have no idea. I guess you can’t go wrong with strawberry.”

“Why does it sound like you haven’t had a margarita before?”

“I haven’t,” I admitted.

“Wait… seriously?” he asked, looking suddenly very concerned. “Youhavehad alcohol before, right?”

“Yeah. I mean… here and there. I’ve never really liked anything, though.”

“I think that will end tonight. These taste more like treats than alcohol. But I could make virgin ones if you’d rather that.”

“No,” I said, a little too fast. “No, I want to try it. I don’t really drink because I’m, you know, alone most of the time. Drinking alone isn’t a good thing.”

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