Page 121 of Accidental Theirs
“Drink more!” I shove a glass of what appears to be whiskey at him.
The room is spinning already, and I’m not sure I should drink anymore. But the drinks keep coming, courtesy of a little redheaded bartender named Aimee, with two e’s, she was sure to tell me.
She’s cute enough, but there’s something off about the way her eyes are spaced or maybe it’s that they’re cornflower blue instead of pale green.
Plenty of women come up to me. A couple of them even put their numbers into my phone, and if I so much as winked at one of them, I could have them in my bed.
But I can’t seem to do anything but stand there and drink.
Dominic is doing much of the same and after a blur of time I can’t remember no matter how I try, I find myself with a microphone in hand.
This is strange for two reasons. A. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, and B. I don’t do karaoke.
But yet here I am, belting out classic rock with Dominic’s shoulder socked up next to mine.
“Gonna call her.” Dominic’s words are beyond slurred, and it takes me a moment to realize what he’s saying.
I clutch at him like a lifeline, fumbling with his phone.
It drops to the ground, but he picks it up without falling over.
Impressive.
“You shouldn’t.” I’m not sure it even comes out coherent.
We’re standing outside now, and I gulp in cold air to try and ground myself.
The next thing I remember, a stern-faced Olivia is shoving me into the backseat of her car.
She closes the door nearly on my foot.
Dominic sways in the front seat. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Oh, no, you’re not,” Olivia manages before Dominic opens the door and throws up onto the street.
She sighs heavily but goes to hold his hair back. It’s sweet, really.
Jealousy boils in my stomach, and I wonder if I’m going to be sick next.
Somehow, we make it to her apartment, and I’m proud to be the more sober one, making it as far as her couch before falling facedown on it.
Dominic heads directly for her bed, the bastard, but Olivia grabs him, tugs him toward the guest room.
“Oh, no, you don’t. You don’t get to cuddle up with me after you went out and got shitfaced.”
“Liv,” he mumbles. “Don’t. I love you.”
“Those words mean nothing when you’ve got whiskey coming out of your pores.” She shoves him into the guest room, shutting the door.
I grin at her from the couch, and there are two of her but she shakes her head, smiling lightly.
“You got a good excuse for getting so drunk?”
I shake my head. “Not this time.”
She sits down on the couch, exasperated. “How did you two even end up out together in the first place?”
I shrug. “Guess we were both tired of seeing you and Damien do your little mating dance.”
