Page 111 of Fumbled Into Love

“Basically.” Maren shrugs.

“I really didn’t think I was going to have such a strong opinion on tableware,” Jack says apologetically and I force back a giggle.

Uh oh.

The alcohol is taking effect.

I shove a handful of stale, cold french fries into my mouth, but I fear it may be too late. Reaching across the table, I steal Sawyer’s water, chugging it in two gulps. As I’m wiping the dribble from my cheeks, Declan saunters through the door holding hands with the woman he showed us on the dating app.

His eyes search the bar and they brighten when they find us. Declan leads her through the crowd and I watch like a hawk, assessing them together as a potential couple.

Did he zing with her?

“You’re frowning,” Deon comments quietly, leaning into my space. I turn my frown in his direction and his fingers jab my cheeks. “You’re cute when you frown.” My lip jerks upward as my small smile slips out and he beams. “You’re beautiful when you smile like that.”

Turning away, I hide my blush as Declan and his date slip into the large booth. He greets us and turns to the woman, whose smile is small.

“Everyone, this is Gia.”

A chorus of greetings rings through the air and my focus lasers in on Gia’s bland, uninterested smile as Maren explains what she does for work.

Slithering my hand across the table, I steal Henry’s cocktail and chug it in two sips.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, bewildered as I slide the empty drink back in his direction.

“I think I need to be drunk right now,” I say apologetically. I dig through my bag, searching for cash when Deon leans over and gasps.

“What the fuck is in that thing?”

His question is so loud the entire table quiets.

Oh, dear.

If they think my living quarters are bad, they’re not going to like the inside of my bag.

My head spins from the alcohol, and I bribe Deon with the first thing I can think of to let this go.

“I’ll give you a blowjob when we get home if you never speak about my bag. Ever. Again.”

His gaze darkens, and his hand lands on my thigh, dangerously close to the apex between my thighs, but he shakes his head and steals my bag.

He keeps breaking the no-touching rule, but I can’t say anything without admitting we have rules in the first place.

In ten seconds, he flickers between horror, disgust, and awe. By the handful, he drops my possessions onto the table.

“Let’s place bets,” he says, eyes sparking with humor. I whack him in the chest, and it only worsens his laughter. In one swoop, he flips my bag over, and the contents tumble out.

“That is a nightmare,” Jack mumbles, rubbing his jaw.

“I bet twenty dollars she has four or more lip products,” Sawyer says, dropping a twenty on the table.

My cheeks flame when Declan counters her bet. “I’ll say there are less.”

He drops his cash, and Deon digs through the pile, pulling out chapsticks and lip glosses one by one. There are six sitting at the table when he finishes.

Sawyer snatches the cash, and I flop back in the booth, annoyed with my friends, but when Deon smiles at me, the annoyance flutters away.

They bet on how many pieces of candy they can find and the age of my oldest receipt. Jack wins a hundred dollars by correctlyguessing how many pens there are, and Declan keels over in laughter when Deon reveals there are twenty-seven hair ties.

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