Page 61 of From Air

“Now, now ... that was a scientifically proven method.”

I giggle while we exit the sports bar. Fitz holds my hand as we stroll past shops and restaurants down the street. I’m gloriously buzzed, but I’m unsure if he’s affected.

“Oh, look!” I tug on his hand to stop him and point at the window. “You know what we should do?”

He scowls at the neon sign. “You think?”

“I do.” I pull him toward the door.

My phone chimes from somewhere in the room, rousing me from a deep sleep. When I sit up in bed, my stomach twists, squeezing its contents into the back of my throat. I lurch out of bed, sprinting to the toilet.

The souvenirs of my day drinking splatter into the toilet bowl. Then I collapse on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Day drinking might not have been the best idea.

“Oh god.” I look down.

I’m topless and braless, and my jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped. Closing my eyes, I piece together the events that led me to worshipping the toilet. Everything plays in reverse order.

We were messing around on Melissa’s bed. Then he started to nod off to sleep, and I did too. Before that, I remember laughing when we returned to the apartment. I don’t know what we were laughing about, but I laughed so hard I cried. Then Fitz kissed me as only he does.

Hands claiming my face.

Tongue in my mouth.

All consuming.

“I want you,” I shoved his shirt up his chest, kissing and licking his abs before he could close the door behind us.

“Fuck. What are you—” His back hit the open door, holding it open, as I dropped to my knees and released him from his jeans, eagerly sucking him into my mouth and humming my pleasure. “Jesus Christ.” He panted, one hand pressed flat to the door, his other hand on the back of my head.

“Oh no, no, no ...” I cover my face, remembering the elderly lady who crept past the door and gasped.

Climbing to my feet, I grip the edge of the vanity for a few seconds before washing my hands and face. Then I brush my teeth and comb my fingers through my hair. “Oh fuck ...” My fingers graze the bandage over the sensitive area on the back of my neck, and I remember ...

We got tattoos.

I return to the bedroom, where Fitz is asleep with one arm draped over his face, pants still open. No shirt. “Wake the hell up! Why did you let us get tattoos?”

I have three missed calls from Melissa and a handful of texts. While Fitz grumbles, slowly waking up, I exit the bedroom and return Melissa’s missed calls.

“What the heck have you been doing?” she asks.

“Nothing. I mean”—I rub my forehead—“we ... grabbed lunch and meandered around.”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I was in the bathroom. Where are you?”

“We stopped by the marina to ensure everything was ready. I’m leaving now. But when I get there, I’ll quickly change into my dress, and we’ll have to go. Are you two ready?”

“Yes, uh ... totally.” I gather my shirt and bra from the floor and dart into the bedroom.

“Cool. I’ll be there in twenty.”

I end the call without a goodbye.

“Wake up! Melissa’s on her way.” I shake Fitz’s leg. “Dammit, Fitz.Wake up!”

He grumbles and rubs his eyes before opening them.

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