Page 86 of When We Were Us
“Sort of? What the hell does thatmean?” She’s simmering with anticipation. I swear I am not keeping her in suspense on purpose, I just can’t seem to form a coherent thought at the moment. “What. Does. That. Mean??” She’s practically squealing and having her so invested in me and Hank makes me so happy.
“He barely touched me, but Finnley, I swear to God, I have never been more turned on in my entire life. And the mouth on that man…Jesus.”
“Ohhh, damn,” she whispers reverently. “It’s always the ones you’d least expect who have the filthiest mouths.”
I widen my eyes and nod slowly. “So filthy.”
Maybe it’s the whiskey, or the delicious things he said to me, but I’m suddenly giggling, and then Finn is, too. When Duke and Emily come into the kitchen from outside, we both stop laughing and straighten ourselves out. We’re standing at attention like we’ve both been caught with dope.
I can’t help but think about the fact that I’m standing in the exact spot where their son just whispered the filthiest things into my ear. I hope my face isn’t giving anything away.
“Girls, is everything ok?” Emily asks.
“Yeah,” I blurt at the same time Finn says, “Yep! Great!” and I swear we’re both yelling.
I stifle a laugh and Finn grabs my arm, holding up my glass. “Just getting another drink.” She takes a big sip and grimaces.
Duke and Emily share an amused glance, and then they are heading to the other side of the kitchen, hand in hand. “Ok, we’ll turn in for the night. You girls have fun.”
“Thank you. You, too!” I’m definitely feeling the effects of the two glasses of wine I had at dinner plus the whiskey.
Did I just infer to Hank’s parents that they should have fun? Together? When they turn in for the night!?
Finnelbows me in the ribs, and I let out a gasp that turns into, “Dinner was lovely! Oh, and happy birthday!”
Then, she grabs my hand and pulls me across the kitchen and out the door.
CHAPTER FORTY
wrenley
The morning sunfilters in through the curtains, hitting me square in the eyes as I roll over. My head pounds with the movement and my mouth feels like I swallowed a bag of cotton balls.
Jesus.
“How much did I have to drink last night?” I moan into the silence of my bedroom and try to look around. I’m dizzy and the movement makes me nauseous.
I remember two glasses of wine at dinner and the glass of whiskey in the kitchen with Hank. My cheeks heat as I think about that. I think I also remember one or two shots of something else that Hutch insisted I drink, and I vaguely remember Finn helping me up the stairs and into bed around two a.m.
I reach for my phone and lift it to my face, but it doesn’t light up. I must have forgotten to charge it in my state of drunken debauchery last night. I remember lots of laughter, s’mores, and a couple rounds of cornhole, but not much else. Well, not counting the filthy things Hank whispered into my ear before leaving me standing there with wet panties and a racing heart. That, I remember.Vividly.
Gingerly, I push up to my elbows and slide my body up to sit against the headboard of my narrow twin-size bed. The room tilts wickedly, and that’s when the scent of bacon hits my nose, sending another wave of nausea rolling through me. I push back the blankets and manage to plug my phone in. Then, as quickly as possible, I gather some clothes and stumble down the hallway to the bathroom.
The nausea passes some as I sit on the closed lid of the toilet, taking in great gulping breaths of air. I hear movement on the stairs and let out a low groan when Finn steps into view, looking ridiculously chipper and decidedlynothungover as she smiles down at me.
“How you feeling, champ?” she asks, leaning a hip on the doorframe with a smirk.
“Like death.” Dropping my head into my hands with another low moan, I watch as Finn crosses the bathroom on bare feet and runs a washcloth under the water. “How much did I have to drink, anyway?”
She wrings out the rag, folds it in thirds, and hands it to me with a chuckle.
“You had enough.”
“Thanks,” I say around a burp and press the rag to my forehead.
“You gonna puke again?” Eyeing me dramatically, she reaches for the garbage can.
I look up at her helplessly from my perch on the toilet. “Again?” I groan internally. I haven’t drank to the point of puking since college.
