Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
“Cuz we’re gonna bone! Tells Gorilla that, babes!” Thatch shouted at the top of his lungs, and that only made my best friend laugh harder.
“I take it I’m Gorilla?” she asked through snorts and giggles, and I grinned.
“Peace out, Gorilla. Gotta go!”
“You better call me—” she started to say, but I hit end on the call before she could finish.
But it wasn’t because I wanted to be rude. In that moment, my top priority was getting my husband back to our suite as soon as fluffing possible.
“C’mon, baby,” I said and let out a relieved breath when a notification popped up on my screen for our Uber driver. “Tim is here to pick us up.”
“Timmmmmy!” Thatch slurred on a shout. “Lez hits a road, Jackie!”
Holy fluffing tequila shots. Thatcher Kelly was drunk as shit, and it was definitely all my fault.
Lettuce pray that, when he sobers up, he’s not too pissed at me for today’s events…
When I opened my eyes, the room was cloaked in darkness, and it took a good two minutes for me to even understand who or where I was.
Once my brain established that I was, in fact, myself, Thatcher fluffing Kelly, and I was lying in the bed that was located inside Cass’s and my Panama City hotel suite, I scrubbed a hand down my face and slowly eased myself off the mattress.
But the instant I went from lying down to sitting up to standing up, my head started to throb like a son of a bitch.
Good God. Did someone beat the shit out of me while I was asleep?
I felt as if my open mouth had been dragged behind an Escalade through the desert, hitting every cactus we passed along the way, and my stomach roiled with empty anger. I stumbled and trotted, aimlessly circling the room like a newborn colt, trying to make sense of time and space and earth and wind and fire and shit.
Eventually, I managed to find my phone inside the back pocket of the ridiculous shorts Cass laid out for me, and that was when I started to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
Gill’s Bar and Grill.
Wet T-shirt contest.
Britney Spears.
Tequila shots.
My fluffing wife had gotten me fucking drunk.
And not just a little drunk, but, like, I hadn’t consumed that much tequila since I was a twenty-two-year-old idiot with nothing better to do than start bullshit at bars and nightclubs. And for the love of God, I’d done it on an empty stomach. I was in my thirties. That wasn’t the kind of shit I could just do anymore.
When I glanced toward the bed, I noted that my beautiful but fucking crazy wife was sound asleep, her body flailed across the mattress like a toddler.
Truthfully, it was so adorable it almost made me smile.
But when my lips started to quirk up at the corners, my entire face protested in pain.
I groaned and held my head as I tapped on the screen of my phone to check the time.
The numbers showing 9:00 p.m. glowed far too bright in the dark room, and I grimaced at the way the influx of light made my eyes feel like they wanted to wobble right out of my skull.
Careful not to wake Cassie, I tiptoed into the bathroom and didn’t turn on the light until I could lock myself inside it.
It wasn’t that I wanted to stay away from my wife; it was more that I wanted to stay the fuck away from her plans. In my defense, though, nothing good had come from her itinerary since I’d told her she could plot out our honeymoon.
With two hands on the sink counter, I stared at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were still bloodshot, my hair was a fucking mess, and my lips looked drier than the Sahara. There was no doubt about it; I was hung the fuck over. Hell, considering it was still the same damn day on which the tequila consumption had occurred, I might’ve still been drunk for all I knew.
I was thankful I didn’t feel like shoving my face in the toilet.
I just felt hungry. Ravenously.
Once I took a piss, washed my hands, and splashed some cold water on my face, I started to work out a plan that allowed me to sneak out of the hotel suite and find some fucking food.
Of course, I’d make sure I included Cass’s current cravings in that plan, but I just wouldn’t tell her about any of it until I was safely back with the takeout in my hands.
There was no way in hell I’d let her derail me from eating this time.
A man could only take so much alcohol and chesticle-shaking on an empty stomach before he kicked the goddamn bucket.
I’d like to live long enough to see my son’s birth, thank you very much.