Page 109 of Fumbled Into Love

“As you should,” Maren responds, speed racing through Seattle to get to the bar.

Twenty minutes later, we’re all happily sitting inside the nautical-themed sports bar, drinks in our hands and platters of fried food on the way.

“I usually wouldn’t break the secrecy of Secret Santa,” I say, “But I need to know if you bought things for the puppy yet, Maren.”

I have Jack for Secret Santa, and I want to get him things for the new puppy Maren plans on gifting him, but I don’t want to buy duplicates of what Maren already purchased. I have a pseudo gift to give him at the exchange, but this is for after he learns about the terror of a puppy Maren picked out.

“None of the small things,” Maren pulls out her phone, bringing up a list, “I have the crate and a collar and food, but I haven’t gotten toys or treats yet.”

“I’ll get those and give them to you for Jack’s gift if that’s okay.”

I’m usually great at giving gifts, but I spent hours thinking about something for Jack, and all I came up with was plant. Not a specific plant, justplant.

“I can hide it at work until Christmas,” she says, and I mentally add ‘raid a pet store’ to my pre-Christmas to-do list.

“And you are both still able to help with my surprise?”

I’ve been planning it for weeks, and everything is beginning to fall into place, I only need them to hide things for me so Deon doesn’t find them before he’s supposed to.

“The decorations are in my office at work,” Sawyer says, gulping down her vodka cranberry.

“You can keep the food in the fridge in our garage and sneak over to grab it,” Maren adds.

“I’m excited,” I admit, with a small blush. I’ve never celebrated a birthday with a boyfriend, well, because I haven’t had a real one, but I want Deon to feel special on his birthday.

I slowly sip my seltzer, snacking on the french fries and onion rings to avoid getting drunk and trying to wack anyone who comes close to Deon.

The game ends, and I pull out my phone, waiting for Deon to text me like I’m some love-sick girl in high school. I am love-sick, but I am a fully grown woman. I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.

I slap it face down on the table, trying not to flip it over every thirty seconds to check if he texted me. My phone dings, and I nearly jump out of my seat, snatching my phone.

Deon: Are you still at LongBoards?

Yes. Do you want to go home?

No. I’ll come hang with you.

I unsuccessfully try to banish the wildebeest stampeding in my chest, knowing I’ll be beside him soon.

“Do you remember the last time we were in a bar together?” Deon asks, breath dancing along my skin.

“No.”

I don’t remember anything from the night we went to the bar for Henry and Sawyer’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party. I remember the Jell-O shots I took with Maren before arriving, and I vaguely remember my first Long Island, but everything after is dark.

His chest rumbles with laughter and he pulls me into his side.

“I wasterrifiedof you,” he admits with a laugh and I poke his side. “You were pissed I stopped your drunken engagement, asked if I would marry you instead, and then made me promise to feed you Twizzlers like a princess.”

My jaw drops. I do not remember that at all. I throw my hands over my face in embarrassment. No wonder he avoided me.

“That’s horrifying. I can’t believe I said that.”

“Made me feel good,” he admits. “I like it when you drunkenly admit what you feel.”

Deon kisses the crown of my head and the small bubble around us bursts when Sawyer squeals, slapping the table. “Pay up, sucker!”

Maren shakes her head, dropping a twenty-dollar bill onto the table. “You failed me, Adams.”

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