ElizabethOliver Huxley is well-oiled tonight. I’m not surprised. He’s been drinking whisky since the party started at seven, and it’s now almost one a.m. Fortunately nobody else can tell, as he’s always been able to hold his drink. He’s one of those guys who just becomes progressively funnier with each shot he puts away.I go to put my glass on the table, miss, and nearly fall off my chair. Hmm, maybe it’s me who’s well-oiled. I’ve tried to pace myself this evening, but it’s tough to refuse Huxley when he’s at his most charming, and he’s been sending over doubles of the most expensive whiskies all evening. Earlier I complained that he was trying to get me drunk, and he replied that he was hoping I’d fall over to entertain the guests. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility considering I’m wearing my usual three-inch stilettos. Being five-foot-one in my bare feet means I nearly always wear high heels—not that it brings me much closer to Huxley’s six-two frame. He’s always teasing me
“Any person who isn’t scared of spiders needs their head tested.”“Just how drunk are you?”“I’m not drunk,” he protests. “I’m… relaxed.”“So relaxed you’ll be under the table in five minutes.”Victoria rolls her eyes. “That’s my cue to retire for the night. See you guys tomorrow. Great party, Hux.”“Yeah, thanks for all your hard work.”“No worries. Goodnight.” She nods at me, then heads out of the door.Huxley hooks his foot around the chair she’s vacated and pulls it toward us, and we both stretch out our legs and rest our feet on it. I glance across at him, unable to hide a smile. I’ve known this guy for ten years, and he never fails to make my heart skip a beat. He’s tall, and the fact that he took up the unusual sport of archery at school and has practiced it ever since is reflected in his well-muscled shoulders. He has brown hair that’s short up the back and longer on the top, and a tiny mole on his left cheekbone that always makes me want to kiss it. He’s gorgeous and irresist
“Don’t act like you’re not pleased.”“I’m thrilled. And a tad embarrassed.”“No you’re not,” I scoff.“Well, it’s better than hearing you’re all laughing because it’s so small, but yeah, it’s a little mortifying.”“Well, then, maybe you need to keep it in your pants a bit more, and we wouldn’t have so much to talk about.”He drops his gaze to his glass and swirls the whisky over the ice. “I probably deserved that,” he says before taking a sip.I close my eyes for a moment before turning toward him a little. The last thing I meant to do was hurt his feelings. He’s still my best friend when it comes to it.“No, I apologize. That came out sharper than I meant. You’re a gorgeous guy. Good looking, funny, and warm-hearted. Women are going to clamber over each other to get you. And why shouldn’t you make the most of that?”He holds my gaze for a long while. I lean my head on a hand and study his light-gray eyes. I’ve been in love with this guy since the moment I met him. It was at a party,
HuxleyHoly fuck. I did not expect that.Silence falls between us. It’s not particularly uncomfortable. We’ve known each other long enough that we can allow the other time to think.She rests her head on her hand again, watching me. Her brown eyes are hopeful. It’s an unusual expression for her. Over the years, she’s become quite cynical, the last person to express belief in notions like true love or soulmates. I know I played a big part in that, and it crushes me every time. But there’s not much I can do about it now.Instead, I try to force my whisky-addled brain to focus on what she’s asked me. She wants me to get her pregnant.I blink and grab onto the balloon of pleasure that floats up inside me. No, Huxley. She doesn’t want you to get her pregnant. She wants you to ejaculate into a cup so she can use it to fertilize her eggs. There’s a huge difference.She has a mouthful of whisky. “Say something,” she says. “You’re making me nervous.”“I’m not ready to answer yet.”“Oh.” She su
I’m sure she doesn’t think I’m serious when I ask her. I’d sell my soul for a chance to convince her how good we’d be together.And then an idea strikes me like a hammer on a bell.I loosen my tie a little. Then I pick up my whisky glass.“There is an addendum to my decision,” I tell her. “Or is pudendum?”She snorts and pushes me away. “What sort of addendum?”“I said I wouldn’t do anything in a cup. But I am prepared to get you pregnant the old-fashioned way.”“Hux, come on, this isn’t a laughing matter.”“I’m not laughing. Look at my face.” I point to it. “I’m deadly serious.”She rolls her eyes. “Jesus.”I lift a hand to cup her chin and turn her face so she’s looking at me. “I’m serious,” I repeat. I release her chin, but her gaze remains fixed on mine.We study each other for about twenty seconds.Then, eventually, she says, “Nope.”I’d expected that, and I’ve prepared my argument. “Okay. Let’s look at it this way. From what I understand, at the clinic you’d have two choices of
“Tits bigger than her IQ?”“That’s the one. I wouldn’t have minded so much if she’d been a rocket scientist. But to be passed over for a giant pair of knockers.” She looks down at her breasts. “I always thought I had nice boobs.”“You have exceptional boobs.”“Thank you. I knew you’d appreciate them.”We clink glasses and have another mouthful of whisky. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I can’t believe he cheated on you. What an imbecile.”“I thought so.”“Did he get the plate-glass window treatment too?”“No. I just turned and walked out.”“That’s a shame.”“Yeah, part of me wishes I’d kicked him in the family jewels, but hey. It’s done.”“So what about Rich then?” I ask. “What were the issues in the bedroom?”“You know I’m only telling you this because I’m drunk.”“Why d’you think I’m pouring the whisky?”She sighs. “He suffered from premature ejaculation.” She glares at me as I start laughing. “It’s not funny.”“I know. There but by the grace of God and all that. It’s eve
“Most mornings.” I sip my whisky. “You?”She sucks her bottom lip for a moment. “Most mornings.”We both smile.“We are really, really drunk,” she says.“Yeah, I know.”“I’m so going to regret this conversation in the morning.”“It’s the most honest we’ve ever been,” I tell her. “I’m loving it.”She leans forward and rests her forehead on my shoulder for a moment. “Don’t tell anyone.”“Which bit? The self-administering bit, or about Rich Halcome?”“All of it.” She sighs. “Especially the bit about Steve hitting me. Mack and Titus will get all riled up and then the Magnificent Three will go off to teach him a lesson, and I don’t want that.”“Why not?”“I dealt with it. Plate-glass window, remember? The fucker will have scars on his face for life. He won’t ever forget the day he gave me a fucking backhander.”I kiss the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”“I love you,” she says.I sigh. “You are plastered, aren’t you?”“I mean it.”“I know.”“Why aren’t you drunk?” she demands.“I am.”“Y
ElizabethI open my eyes. It’s pitch black in the room, the only light coming from a small red dot of a TV on standby. I’m confused, because I don’t have a TV in my room at home. The red display on the alarm clock on the bedside table reads 03:11.I lift my head and groan as the room spins. Ahhh… why do I do this to myself? I love alcohol, but I detest this part of being drunk.My stomach churns, and I groan again and push myself up to a sitting position. I recognize the layout of the room—I’m in one of the suites at Huxley’s. I’m shoeless but fully dressed, and lying on top of the covers.Nausea rises inside me, and I get up and stumble into the bathroom, where I vomit into the toilet. When I’m done, I lurch back into the bedroom, taking off my jacket, trousers, and shirt as I go, leaving them where they drop. In just my underwear, I pull back the duvet, collapse into bed, pull the duvet over my head, and fall asleep.At 04:16, and again at 05:27, I rise and vomit again. The third ti