You have no fucking idea. “Grab your laptop. We’ll start setting up after we eat.”
The playfulness fades from her voice. “I don’t remember agreeing to this.”
“Then don’t.” I shrug, playing coy. “Grab drinks. I’ll bring the food to the table.”
She rises to her tiptoes to open the top cabinet. “Bourbon or water?”
“Water.”
“Me too.”
“You don’t drink bourbon.”
“But you keep Belvedere here for me.”
I do. I keep a lot of shit here for Leighton, even though we do most of our hanging elsewhere.
“It’s wrong when it’s too hot for vodka.”
“I thought it was as cold as my soul in here?”
“It is.” She smiles. “There’s this vodka lounge in Vegas where everything is made out of ice.”
“Is there?”
“Yeah. Even the glasses. They give you a parka so you don’t freeze to death.”
“And?” I play the straight-man.
“It was much warmer than your apartment.”
I laugh. It’s a cheesy, obvious joke. It wasn’t funny the first time. Or the second. But the fiftieth time? It feels like home. “Still don’t believe this place exists.”
“We can go right now.” She looks to the time on the microwave. “Be there by midnight.”
“Is it open?”
“It’s a bar.”
“That isn’t a yes.”
“If not, we can wait until tomorrow.” She grabs two glasses from the shelf. Her ass brushes mine as she moves to the sink, fills the cups with water. “We can one-up Penny. Get married there.”
“Crash her bachelorette party to announce it?”
“Yes. Perfect.” She brushes against me as she moves out of the kitchen. Into the main room. She sets the glasses on the table, slides into a dining chair, sits cross-legged. “Is she having a bachelorette party?”
I shrug like I don’t know.
“Ryan Maddox.” Leighton laughs. “You stalked her, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“You did.” She shakes her head with a faux tsk tsk. “And you say you’re better than all this pretending bullshit.”
“Dean informed me.”
“Is that reverse psychology?”