Page 39 of Sass

“Who th’ fuck turned th’ music down?”

I spun back, the slurred string of words coming from the, apparently, not-so-empty office. What the hell? “Chris?”

A familiar face along with a hand clutching a bottle of Deutz bubbly slid into view at about knee level.

I’d found Chris.

I bit back a laugh because... balls ripped out and all that.

“Well?” He glared at me, kind of. Eyes, glossy and unfocused, drifted on and off my face. “Turn it back up,” he slurred and began a slow sideways slide toward the floor.

“Whoa.” I raced across and pushed him firmly back against the office wall next to the door. He sat with his legs splayed out and the bottle of Deutz planted firmly between his thighs.

“Thanks.” He grinned up at me, none too soberly.

No wonder I hadn’t seen him.

When I was sure he was steady, I carefully let him go. Then I rested back on my heels and studied the small room, registering a second bottle of bubbly, that one empty, along with two mini bottles also minus contents. Good grief. No wonder he was in a state.

I reached above Chris’s head for the light switch. It took a few seconds for the state of the room to truly sink in, but when it did, holy smokes. A paint roller and tray of burnt sienna with a telling skin on top sat drying on the tarp alongside used cleaning cloths, two balled-up empty bags of potato chips whose remnants lay strewn about Chris’s legs, and a large puddle of something that looked like chocolate milk, or at least I hoped it was chocolate milk.

“Having yourself a party for one, huh?” I brushed a cowlick off his forehead and tucked it behind his ear. Chris half-grinned, half-leered up at me, his expression bearing more than a passing resemblance to Pennywise the clown in the movie,It.

“Yep.” He popped the p and began singing along with Christina who was obviously set on repeat.

I watched with a smile on my face. Drunk Chris was pretty fucking cute.

“Do ya think she’s hot? Chrissy?” Chris tried for an exaggerated wink which sent him lolling sideways... again.

I tipped him upright and patted his chest. “I wouldn’t give up your day job if I was you.”

He pouted. “Waddya mean? I can sing.”

I tried to hold his gaze, but not gonna lie, it was a mission. “Damn, Chris, how much have you had to drink?”

He pouted adorably then held up his hand up with his finger and thumb close together. “No’ enough. See.” And before I could stop him, he’d tipped the bottle on its head, pouring its contents between his legs to fizz and bubble on the tarp. “Oops.” He snorted with laughter and made a wayward grab for a paint cloth to mop it up. His clumsy efforts only succeeded in making more of a mess since the cloth was already laden with drying paint. “’S not working.” He fell back against the wall and started to giggle.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I grabbed the not-quite-empty bottle and the cloth and set them well out of reach. “That’s enough of that.”

“Hey!” He flailed a hand in the direction of the Deutz. “Give’t ’ere.”

“Nope.” I gave Chris the tiniest poke in his chest and he slumped back against the wall. The whole thing would’ve been hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact he was making such a damn mess. He was gonna hate himself in the morning. “I’d say you’ve had quite enough. What the hell have you been up to in here?”

I considered one of the half-painted walls and shook my head. Random roller marks cut across the surface, and long runs of paint bled to the floor. I sighed. “If there isn’t a law that says don’t drink and paint, there damn well should be, because holy moly. What a fucking mess.”

“’S good colour, right?” He tried to follow my gaze, his eyes squinting against the light. “Youuuu picked it.” He stabbed a finger into my chest. “Bird shit,” he slurred, then roared with laughter.

I snorted and patted his cheek. “Burnt sienna. Not bird shit, you chook.” I winced as yet another round of Candyman geared up in the store. “For fuck’s sake.” I scrambled out to the service desk and hit stop on the sound system before returning to the office. “Stay put.” I held my hand out to him, although to be fair, Chris looked well past going anywhere under his own steam. “I’m gonna do something about this mess.”

“What mess?” He looked around and shrugged. “’S fine.” He flapped a dismissive hand. “I’ll clean t’morrow.”

“I don’t think so.” I secured the lid on the paint can, then gathered the brushes and tray and walked them outside for a quick rinse before soaking them overnight. The half-painted mess on the office wall could wait until morning. It was nothing that a sand and repaint couldn’t fix. I grabbed the kitchen bin and a couple of towels I found under the sink and returned to the office to clean up the rubbish. I arrived just in time to watch Chris empty the last of the Deutz down his throat.

“Goddammit. Give me that.” I whipped the empty bottle from his hands and threw it into the bin along with the empty chip packets and other bottles. Then I threw the towels over the mess on the floor to soak it up, figuring Chris could spring for new ones. I knelt beside him and nudged his legs aside to get the towel under them.

He shot me a sly grin. “Ya gonna spank me, Mista Tattoo Man?” His mouth curved up in a slow sexy grin, or it would’ve been if his gaze hadn’t slid almost cross-eyed and there wasn’t a run of drool making its way out the left side of his mouth.

I chuckled and shook my head. “As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll give that a hard pass.” I lifted his damp T-shirt to wipe his mouth and he stared up at me, the alcohol fumes almost knocking me sideways. “Man, you’re gonna have one hell of a hangover. What idiot gets drunk on champagne? That’s the fucking worst idea ever.”

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