He laughs uproariously. “I thought we could share.”
I point a finger in warning at him like I’m scolding a small child. “No.”
Even the other guys snicker—naturally I give them all glares for it.
I drink the water the waitress brings me. I guzzle it down, not having realized how my mouth turned into a cotton ball from all the alcohol. This is the only night of the year I let myself go all out. Any other time I drink two is my limit. There’s a reason for it too—I’m a mean drunk, obviously.
“More water?” Hollis asks.
“Yes, please.”
“Give me a fry.”
“There’s a whole platter! Why do you want mine?” I whine.
He levels me with a look.
“No.” I hiss like a cat at him.
Oh my God, I am officially out of my mind.
Hollis busts out laughing. “God, this is the most entertaining fucking thing ever.” He stands and pushes back his chair. “One water coming right up.”
Before I can speak the sneaky nut-waffle swipes three of my fries.
I bare my teeth at him, but he merely dances away and through the crowd.
I grab another chunk of cheese fries—I deserve triple the amount for those three he took—and take two potato skins, and some chicken tenders. Yeah, I ordered a meal, but I’m starving and need food in my belly now before I turn into a real witch.
Hollis returns with two glasses of water and slides them both over to me before he sits down.
I sip slowly at the water this time, trying to make it last.
By the time our food comes, I’m stuffed, and ready to fall over asleep. I end up sitting with my head on Hollis’s shoulder while he eats, my heavy eyes threatening to drift closed.
“I think Halloween was better with candy than alcohol, at least where you’re concerned,” he jokes to me.
“Mmm,” I hum, neither in agreement nor disagreement. I’ve officially reached the point of not giving a fuck. I like this place.
He chuckles, his laugher rumbling against my ear.
“I’m sleepy,” I mumble.
“I’ll take you home,” he promises.
“Mmm.”
Waiting for him to finish eating and get the check to pay our massive bill takes so long I nearly come alive long enough to go off on management—which it’s not the restaurant’s fault there are a bunch of drunk adults in costumes demanding food left and right.
And more alcohol—always more alcohol.
Once the bill is paid and leftovers boxed up—you bet your ass I’m going to want snacks later—Hollis takes my hand and starts to lead me away.
I stumble in my heels and quickly pull those suckers off.
“You can’t walk barefoot,” Hollis scolds.
“I have tights on.”