Page 4 of Drunk Dialing My Enemy

“I already paid rent this month,” she says, her words running together but still intelligible. “So you can get your dumb gorgeous face out of mine.”

“You think I’m gorgeous?” I grin.

“Shut up.”

“Can you stand up?”

“What kind of question is that?” Katie snaps, pushing off of the wall. She teeters dangerously in her cowboy boots, then falls forward into me. Her curves press against my body and I hold her up, looking around the crowd. Dot is chatting with friends now.

“Come on,” I tell Katie. “Let’s tell your friends you’re leaving for the night.”

“What? No.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Am not. I haven’t drankened anything in hours.”

“You’re aware you just said drankened, right?”

She frowns and I sigh, guiding her through the crowd, careful to let her lean on my arms for support so she doesn’t fall down.

“I’ll never allow you to get this drunk again,” I tell her in a low voice.

“Allowme? You might own the roof over my head but that doesn’t mean you’re in charge of everything I do.”

“Well maybe I should be. You sound like you’ve had a whole bottle of liquor.”

“Look at us. Squabbling like an old married couple. We should just tie the knot and make it official, don’t you think?”

Oh, I think so.

The idea of putting a ring on Katie’s finger and planting my seed in her belly has never been more appealing than right now, knowing the new information that she confessed over the phone.

She was in love with me. She’s a virgin. I could be her first and only. She could bear my children and my last name, too.

We make it to Dot and her friends. She looks at me in confusion, then to Katie.

“Katie! What happened?”

“Darren’s theory is that I’m drunk.”

“As much as it pains me to say this, I agree with my brother.”

Dot looks at me with a puzzled expression.

“Why are you here? I told you we’ve got it covered.”

“She’s even drunker than when she called me,” I reply accusingly.

Dot looks at Katie.

“Katie, what the hell? Have you been sneaking drinks?”

“Of course not,” Katie says, her voice nearly as wobbly as her legs. “Just the strawberry lemonade.”

Beside Dot, a woman that I can only describe as pointysmirks at Katie.

“Non-alcoholic strawberry lemonade?” I ask, looking between Dot and Katie.

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