Page 65 of King of the Crease

“You better,” Bill says. He and Jack pound fists. “I think I’m going to head out. I’m tired of babysitting everyone. Night.”

Bill waves goodbye and strolls out. Another one bites the dust.

Jack kisses his boyfriend’s arm. “Griffin, are you sure you’re okay? It’s totally cool if you want to switch to water or even go home.” It’s the most sincere I’ve heard Jack be all night.

“I’m not going anywhere. We still have four more bars to go,” Griffin says.

Four more bars? The thought of that makes my beer-filled stomach turn.

“Are you sure?” Jack wonders.

“Did I stutter?”

“Okay.” Jack puts his hands up. “I’m going to ride the bull and then have another round. Griff, another?”

“Yeah. I’ll have another,” he says.

“Why don’t you come with me?” I take Nick by the arm and beeline to the neglected water cooler. I pour him a cup, then myself.

“I’m good,” he says.

“Drink.” I hold the cup to his lips until he takes a sip. He winds up downing half of it. “If we drink water for the next few hours, our hangovers should be minimal.”

“You drink, too.” Nick tries to hold up a cup to my lips. He winds up spilling down my shirt. “Oh, bloody hell.”

I jut my head up at the new accent Nick is using. He sounds quasi-British, or at least quasi-European.

“I am not to operate any machinery, including water glasses,” he says, again in an accent. He wipes off my shirt with a stack of napkins. It does nothing to help, and the napkins shred into little balls.

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?” Again with the accent. I’m not complaining. It’s very sexy. Like an even gayer version of Scar from The Lion King.

“You sound…not from here. Like you should be in a historical drama.”

“Heavens no. I’m from Baltimore.” He leans into me and plants a kiss on my lips. Even though it’s sloppy, it melts me from the inside. “But I might’ve gone to British boarding schools.” He lets out a tiny burp.

“You are trashed, my man.”

He kisses my neck. “I am your man.”

The alcohol has turned Nick into a flirty, PDA machine. Better that than an angry or depressed drunk. He’s so cute and sexy and touchable that I can’t help flirting back.

And being called his man. Yum!

I run a hand through his lush hair, let my thumb caress his cheek. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

“And you are very sexy!” His accent is really turning my crank.

“You’re one of those drunks.”

“What do you mean one of those drunks? I’m not drunk! I’m inebriated!” He takes a sip of water. “Oh no, I’m less inebriated now.”

Using big words while smashed? A total turn on. I want to permanently live in this moment.

“You’re so smart! Not sure what you see in me. I didn’t even go to college.”

“Shut your hot mouth!” He takes my lips in between his thumb and forefinger and literally presses them shut. “Don’t say that about the man I’m falling for!”