“Hell no.”
“Do you want kids?”
“Nope.”
I arch a brow. “Not ever?”
“Never. You?”
I shake my head. “Never.”
“Cool. So we agree, when I’m thirty, if I’m not married, and you’re not married, we’ll get married and never have kids.”
“Gabe!”
“You’re my fuckin’ soul mate, Lo.” The raw honesty in his voice makes me stare up into those beautiful green eyes. “I’ve never felt the kind of peace with anyone else that I feel when I’m with you.”
I suck in a sharp breath because somehow, he just stole all of the fucking oxygen from the room.
“I feel the same. You know I always have, but marriage?” I say, swiping the bottle of whiskey from his hand and taking several long pulls. The spirit burns as it slides down my throat and spreads its peaty warmth through my belly. “I never wanted to get married. Not after my parents. My Mom was addicted to popping pills with the luncheon ladies, and my dad? We don’t talk about him.”
I shake my head, not wanting to visit that cold, miserable house of horrors again. Especially during a goddamn proposal from my best friend. “What would we do, anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when we’re married. What the hell would we do?”
His brows furrow and he leans back against the sofa. “What we do now.”
“Then why would we get married?”
“I don’t know, so we’re not alone our entire lives.”
I nod as if that makes perfect sense, because it does.At least, it does to my alcohol-addled brain right now. Gabe is my best friend. He’s ... well, he’s my whole world. Marrying him wouldn’t really be all that different from what we are now. Except ... “Would we have sex? I mean, I don’t fuck my friends but technically you’d be my husband.”
“Probably not, it is a marriage after all.”
I screw up my nose. “I don’t know, Gabe. I’m gonna need regular sex, so if I’m not getting it from my husband than—”
“Fine.” He groans, but his smile is too wide as he presses the rim of the whiskey bottle to his lips. “I’ll fuck you. Jesus. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”
“I’m going to need more than that.”
“When do you women evernotwant more?”
“I’m serious.”
“Okay, then, what more do you want?” He takes another swig.
“I want you to eat me too.”
He sprays liquor all over me and proceeds to choke on whatever is left in his mouth. “Fuck.”
“Ew.” I grab the hem of his T-shirt and use it to wipe off my face, uncaring that I’m probably ruining my perfect smoky eye.
“I thought cunnilingus was a given with the sex thing?”
“Not for most guys.” I shudder. “And please never say cunnilingus again.”