Page 3 of The One I Need
I should say no to the shots if I have any wish to drive home tonight, but I can’t seem to find the words to protest. It’s like every time this man opens his mouth, his voice puts me into a trance. I can tell from his cadence he’s a little drunk, but that doesn’t hinder the immediate effect his voice has on me. It’s why I even responded to him in the first place. It’s deeper than I thought, based on his outward appearance. Which I know is a shitty thing to do, to judge a book by its cover and all, but it’s human nature. And if you say you don’t do it, you’re a liar.
His long, honey blond hair is the perfect length to run your hands through while also giving off the vibe that he’s a surfer boy. His lean, yet filled frame only adds to that assumption. His hazel eyes seem kind and sincere. And that’s based on the fact that this dress practically dares men to look at my cleavage, but not once have his eyes wandered. Which is more than I can say for the single football players I was sitting with earlier.
On the outside, everything about this man screams golden boy. That’s why I’m thrown by him. This man didnotstrike me as the kind who would make your pussy clench just by the sound of his voice. But here I am, clenched as fuck.
Maybe that’s why I asked him for a drink. Because I could listen to this man talk to me all night long.
I could also listen to him growl into my ear. You know, if he’d be up for that.
“Bride or groom?”
I jump a little, not realizing how much I had drifted off into fantasy land. I guess that’s what happens when you let your imagination venture into naughty thoughts about being called a good girl.
“Um, neither?”
He gives me a confused look as the bartender places the round of drinks and shots in front of us. We each hold up our tiny plastic glasses, filled with what I’m assuming is whiskey, and slam them back. The booze stings only for a second, which tells me that I’m more than halfway to drunkville. I wish I would have gotten a hotel tonight. No way am I going to be able to drive now.
“So how do you not know the brideorgroom?” Oliver asks. “Wait! Are you a wedding crasher? I’ve always wanted to meet one of you.”
“I am.” I go along with his question, because why not? He seems fun, and this sure as hell beats sitting at the table with the horny football players. “I’m a venture capitalist from New Hampshire.”
“Impressive,” he says as he leans against the bar on his elbow. “Though I was hoping you ran an emerging maple syrup conglomerate in Vermont.”
“And I was hoping you were a pimp from Oakland.”
Our smiles grow as we realize we each played into the bit from one of the best comedies of all time, and then we both burst into laughter. And I’m not just talking about polite chuckles; I’m talking hunched over, might pee myself laughter. The bartender is looking at us like we’re crazy, which only makes us laugh harder. I’m about to fall over, so I quickly stumble back to my table, which isn’t far from the bar. Oliver follows me and we both plop into the chairs, each of us needing deep breaths to get ourselves under control.
“I don’t know the last time I laughed that hard,” I admit as I wipe another tear from my cheek. And it’s true. I laugh often with my best friend, and boss, Hazel, and her husband Knox. I laugh at the comedians I follow on social media, especially that hot as fuck young guy who has abs I want to lick.
But laughing with a man? This is new. Usually I’m laughing at men due to their audacity.
“Marry me.”
My whole body freezes at the sound of those two words. Two words that I’ve vowed to never hear again. Two words that send me to an immediate state of panic.
I stare at him, because he has to be joking. Right? No one says those words after meeting someone fifteen minutes prior. Yes, that’s it. I try not to laugh, because Oliver has such a serious face right now, but I can’t hold it in. I feel it starting to bubble in my stomach. Wow, he’s really playing into this. His face is completely flat, but his eyes haven’t left mine, like he’s searching for an answer in them. The more I sit in silence, the more I feel like I’m keeping him waiting for an answer.
This guy is freaking hilarious.
“Izzy? Will you marry me?”
That’s it. I can’t hold it in any longer. If I had a drink I’d be spitting it out at the ridiculousness of his question.
“You’re fucking hilarious!” I slam the table between howls. My other hand wraps around my stomach because it’s starting to hurt. Holy shit I haven’t laughed like this in a long time. “Marry you? Sure. I bet the officiant from earlier is still here. Maybe Whitley and Jake won’t mind that we just take over their reception and have one of our own. And, you know what, how about after this we head upstairs and start trying for the baby?”
My laughter is about to turn into a roar when I realize Oliver isn’t laughing. Not even a little bit. He actually looks like I ran over his dog. He’d probably have one of those cute Yorkies.
“Shit, were you serious?” I ask, suddenly sobering up.
He shakes his head and lets out a forced chuckle. “No…of course I wasn’t. Totally kidding.”
His lips might have just said those words, but I don’t think he means them.
“Hey,” I say as I reach over for his hand. “I’m sorry I laughed. I just…well, I wasn’t expecting that.”
He shrugs, giving my hand a squeeze back. “And you shouldn’t have.” He chuckles under his breath, like he’s telling himself a joke. “That might have set a new world record for fastest proposal. And definitely a personal best.”
“A personal best? Do you propose often?”
