Page 11 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
“If you tell him, I’ll divorce you,” I say. “Best friend divorce. We’ll have to share custody of our Mexican place.”
Imogen snickers. “She got hammered at a sorority party, passed out in a flower bed, and woke up having peed herself.”
Jesse frowns. “You were in a sorority? I didn’t take you for the type.”
I blow a raspberry. “Hell no I wasn’t in a sorority. I just went their parties because those crazy bitches knew how to put on a bash.”
“Ah, that makes more sense.” He shrugs, laughing. “Hey, we’ve all done that. In fact, I can do one better. I went to a party in college, got hammered, and also got food poisoning. So yeah, I woke up in some random dude’s spare bedroom and I’d had food poisoning diarrhea everywhere. I barely made it to the bathroom before I blew chunks. It was…god, that was awful. Being drunk and having food poisoning is basically the worst combination on the planet.”
I wince. “Oof, that sucks.”
He laughs. “Fortunately, the party was at a college I didn’t go to, so I didn’t know anyone. I managed to get myself cleaned up, stripped the bedding off the bed and shoved it in a trash can outside, and went home.”
Imogen shakes her head. “You guys are crazy. I’ve never done anything like that.”
I laugh. “Yeah, because you’ve always been a goody-goody.” I eye her with a mischievous twinkle. “Although…”
Imogen’s eyes widen. “No! Don’t you dare!”
Jesse eyes us both. “What?”
I shrug. “Oh, nothing. Just…she’s not exactly telling the truth when she says she’s never done anything like that. Her bachelorette party was…um, a little out of hand.”
“Audra Donovan, don’t you dare tell him that story!”
“Tell him the story!” Jesse says, grinning. “It can’t be any worse than me shitting the bed.”
I grin back. “She was stupid enough to let me be in charge of her bachelorette party.”
Jesse’s eyes widen. “Oh boy. Big mistake.”
I laugh. “Right? You’d think she’d have known better by then. I rented a giant bus with blackout windows and a stripper pole in the middle, and hired a male dancer…we may or may not have gone through a case of vodka that night. And your girl, here, little miss Goody Two-Shoes, she was the drunkest of all.”
“It was my bachelorette party.”
“Yeah, to a raging cockhead you had no business marrying, and I told you as much several times that night, but we won’t talk about that. So yeah, she was hammered. I’m talking quintessential white girl wasted. When she was sober, and even just mostly drunk, she wasn’t super into the stripper. Who was, let me add, super sexy. But she was all, no I love Nicholas, blah blah fucking blah. Asshole. Anyway, she finally reached super drunk status and finally showed interest in the stripper. Who was, by that point, more of a, um, gentleman of the night, shall we say. Which was part of the reason I hired him, specifically, because I’d heard he was willing to go beyond the mere removal of clothing, if sufficiently financially recompensed.”
Jesse rolls his eyes. “So he was a whore, you’re saying.”
I laugh. “My point is, I convinced Imogen to let him give her a lap dance, and she was really into it. And I was, honestly, hoping something hinky would happen just so she’d call off the wedding. But alas, instead of getting all up on his jock, she blew chunks all over him and peed herself.”
Jesse laughs. “The truth comes out!”
Imogen is blushing, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t even remember it.” She points at me. “You promised you’d keep that a secret, you slut!”
“You said you share everything with Jesse! I figure if he knows the worst, most embarrassing moment of your life, then your relationship is solid. I’m doing you a favor.”
“Gee, thanks,” Imogen deadpans. “How kind of you.”
I pretend to not realize she’s being sarcastic. “You’re welcome. I just want you and Jesse to succeed as a couple.”
Jesse laughs, rubbing Imogen’s back. “Like I said, everyone’s done it at least once. It’s basically a rite of passage to adulthood. Neither of us thinks any less of you for it.”
“When she told me the next day what had happened, I swore I’d never get that drunk again,” Imogen says. “And, honestly, I haven’t.”
Jesse nods. “Do that once or twice, and you’re basically cured. It’s not really all that fun waking up and having to ask what you did the night before.”
The conversation veers, then, and I stay at Imogen’s well past when I should, especially considering how little sleep I got last night and that I have a client pretty early tomorrow, but it’s better to be here with them talking and reminiscing instead of letting my doubts, fears, insecurities, and desires keep me stuck in a cycle of anger, lust, and self-doubt.
