Page 147 of On The Rocks

His lips twitched. “Soph hardly noticed. She was too busy strutting across the bartop doing a floorshow with Kennedy, who decided to come out of stripper retirement and show,” he did speech marks with his fingers, “‘all you bitches’ how it’s really done.”

“Oh Jesus,” I whispered, my eyes lifting to meet his. “How much did I have to drink?”

“I cut you off at cider number five.”

“But it only takes me three drinks to pull out my “Pony” moves,” I cried.

“I know, Maeve,” he told me pointedly.

“Is it possible to die of shame?” I asked him in a small voice.

“You did nothing to be ashamed of,” Callum countered. “It was good to see you let your hair down. I was there, and none of the guys would’ve let you do anything too silly.”

“Except for my “Pony” routine,” I snipped.

My husband rolled his lips together again, and a small squeak escaped his throat.

I glanced under the sheet to see I was only wearing the same panties I went out in. “And what’s been going on here?” I demanded. “I’m pretty sure I was wearing more than my knickers when I went out.”

“You had cider all down your top from when you tried to chug that last one down with Atlas before closing time.”

My eyes widened. “Oh shit.”

“That was number five when I cut you off,” he confirmed. “You got more down your front than down your throat. I had to bring you up and make sure you were okay. You begged me to stay for a sleepover. At first, I had every intention of putting you to bed and leaving. But then you thought you’d puke, and I worried you’d throw up in your sleep and choke on your own vomit or something.”

I closed my eyes again, cheeks aflame, and my shoulders sagged. “So, nothing happened?”

“No,” he assured me. “Nothing happened.” He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, giving his ass a scratch through his shorts.

It should’ve been a turnoff, but it wasn’t. Even though my head pounded and I felt like I needed to sleep for a week, my husband scratching his tight, muscular little arse was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen, along with the perfect placement of his chest hair.

And his eyes.

And his dick.

He had a really nice back, too. It was like something from a men’s cologne advertisement.

Callum hopped around the room while he pulled his jeans on and slipped his shirt from the night before over his shoulders. “I’ll go now, seeing as you’re okay.”

“Thanks for making sure I didn’t choke to death on my own vomit,” I murmured, wishing he wasn’t such a lying eejit. I needed coffee, but I couldn’t face getting out of bed. If we weren’t on the outs, I could lay under the sheets all day and boss him around.

But alas, it wasn’t to be.

Callum’s fingers went to his shirt, and he did the buttons up one by one while his stare hit mine and held. “Come out to dinner with me.”

I opened my mouth to automatically say no, but nothing came out. Instead, I cleared my throat. “Let me think about it.”

A huge smile stretched across his face. “Okay.”

“It wasn’t a yes,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” he concurred. “I know.” He stretched his arms out. “Hug goodbye?”

“Don’t push your luck,” I grumbled.

His hands dropped to his side, and he chuckled. “Let me know about dinner.”

My heart softened. “I’ll call you later.”

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