Beautiful Bastard: Beautiful Boss Part 4

In her expression I could see the question: Are we game for this?

And in truth, we had a lifetime of quiet Sat.u.r.day nights together. The looks of excitement on our friends' faces were hard to resist.

I bent, kissing her once. "I fear tonight is going to get out of hand very quickly," I said against her lips.

She laughed. "I think you may be right."

Coming out with a tray of tequila shots, Chloe handed one each to me, Hanna, and George, and two each to Bennett and Max.

"Good woman," I said to Chloe.

Sara happily unscrewed the cap to her water bottle and Chloe ushered us all in closer. "Everyone get in here, raise your d.a.m.n gla.s.ses." A cl.u.s.ter of gla.s.ses clinked together. "To the newlyweds: Will and Hanna Sumner-Bergstrom. Get ready for a lifetime of being bada.s.s motherf.u.c.kers."

The tequila warmed a path from my lips to my gut, and I glanced at Hanna, catching the first shudder as it made its way through her, followed by her disgusted wince.

"Oh, G.o.d, that's horrible," she moaned.

"Then you just need to do more," George said, jogging to the kitchen and returning a couple of minutes later with another round.

"This is madness," I told them. "You got here five minutes ago and we're standing in the hallway doing shots like a bunch of fratty idiots."

Bennett agreed with a nod, but took his third shot anyway.

"You failed to be tortured on a stag night," Max pointed out, lifting his gla.s.s. "Bennett had one in Vegas. You all held mine at that dive bar in the Meatpacking District."

"An apt description, if memory serves," Bennett added. "I think more than a few patrons had s.e.x in the bathroom that night."

"Besides, when was the last time we all got hammered together?" Chloe asked.

The group fell silent.

"I think never?" Hanna offered, tossing back the next shot before gagging and squeezing her eyes closed. "I don't think I like tequila."

I watched her-cheeks flushed, lips wet from the booze-and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a lime and the saltshaker.

"Here," I said, pulling her close.

"Oh, yes," George cooed from somewhere behind us. "Only a few minutes in and we're in body shot land."

"Lick my neck," I told her, and she was obviously already tipsy because she did it in front of our friends without hesitation. "Shake some salt there."

I felt the cascade of salt down my bare chest.

"Okay," Hanna said. "And then?"

"Lick the salt, take the shot, and suck this lime from my mouth."

"Can we all please take note here that Will is still in only his boxers?" Sara called out from across the room, where she turned up the volume on the stereo. "Is anyone else a little uncomfortable?"

"My Snapchat feed is having a banner f.u.c.king day," George mumbled, snapping a picture before I reached over and knocked the phone out of his hand.

Hanna's mouth came up over my neck to loud whistles and clapping, and then she took the shot and leaned forward, sucking the lime wedge from between my lips.

Well, f.u.c.k.

She moved back and I watched her suck at the wedge, smiling at me with her eyes.

"Better?" I asked.

Pulling it away, she shook her head. "Nope, still gross."

She kissed me and tasted like tequila and lime. I could taste her lips all day and chase her for more.

But she put a hand on my chest, pushing slightly. "Go put on some pants. You're . . . a little into this." Nodding to my boxers, she grinned up at me and I realized I was sporting half-wood standing in the middle of my apartment, surrounded by my friends.

Bennett laughed, turning away.

"f.u.c.k you guys," I said, punching his shoulder before walking back to the bedroom.

In no time at all everyone but Sara was falling-down drunk. Even Hanna, whom I'd seen tipsy on but a few occasions, would only stop giggling when overtaken by a bout of body-jerking hiccups. The coffee table was covered with novelty straws, playing cards, shot gla.s.ses, and beer bottles. A bag of tortilla chips sat several inches away from a nearly empty bowl, and no one seemed to care that the stretch of table between the two was marked by frequent dollops of salsa.

"Hanna. What's the deal with the job hunt?" Bennett asked, in true drunk-Bennett proactive displeasure.

Hanna held up three fingers. "I have two more interviews."

"Where?" Sara asked, pushing a gla.s.s of water closer to her.

My adorably drunk wife worked to focus on her fingers, ticking off, "Berkeley. Caltech."

Chloe scowled. "If you move to the West Coast, I will make a gun out of this," she said, drunkenly brandishing a tiny straw before searching the rest of the cluttered table, "and these peanuts and this gla.s.s and shoot you in the d.i.c.k, Will."

I winced at the visual. "Wow-" I began.

"In the d.i.c.k, Will."

"Okay, wow. That's . . . vivid. I'm not the one with the job interviews."

"But you have a say in it," Max reminded me.

"It doesn't matter." I waved a drunken hand, feeling a quiet panic start to surge in me. "Hanna will basically live in the lab anyway."

"Whoa." Her head lolled to face me. "That's not fair."

"It's true, though." I leaned an elbow on the table, resting my cheek on my fist. It was as though I'd had a sheet over the pile of worries building in my mind, and the alcohol lifted it and tossed it to the side. "I want you to get a straightforward teaching job so I'll actually see you. But you're not looking at those."

Her head jerked back, eyes narrowing. "I don't want a 'straightforward teaching job.' I want to run a lab, too."

"I know." I shrugged. "I get it. It's just the choice you're making, though."

The tiny part of my brain that wasn't drunk sent up a warning flag. A small voice in the back of my head told me I was being a d.i.c.k.

But I didn't care. It was true, wasn't it? The idea of Hanna taking a faculty position at a big research inst.i.tution scared me. It was one of the reasons I hadn't taken such a job myself: the pressure to publish in high-ranking journals is killer. It leaves time for nothing else.

Until she was tenured-for a matter of years-her entire life would have to be her lab.

Besides, she had interviews all over the d.a.m.n place and still hadn't given me any indication where she wanted to go. We could be uprooting our entire home in a matter of months to move across the country, and I had no idea of where yet.

We were married a week ago and already I was preparing myself to come second to her career.

"Let's play more Truth or Dare," George suggested, loudly redirecting us from an incoming argument.

"It was your turn," Bennett said to Hanna.

"Fine," Hanna said, glaring at me, "but we aren't done discussing this."

"Can you wait until we're gone, though?" Bennett asked. "Christ, I'm sorry I asked."

"Says the man who fight-f.u.c.ks his wife in public every bleeding day," Max said.

Hanna flapped her hands in front of her, bringing our attention back to the game. "Truth or dare, Mr. Sumner-Bergstrom."

I leaned forward, smiling. "Oooh, dare."

Hanna couldn't hold in her delighted giggle. "I dare you to kiss George."

We all turned to look at George, who had gone as white as a sheet.

"What?" he said. "Wait. What did she just say?"

"Come here," I growled, playing it up for the crowd.

George shook his head in disbelief, chanting, "Oh my G.o.d, oh my G.o.d . . ."

Grabbing a rough handful of his hair, I leaned in, tilting his head to bring it closer to mine. His eyes went wide.

I nipped at his bottom lip with my teeth. "Breathe, George."

"Are you going to ruin me?" he asked, voice thin and hoa.r.s.e.

"I'm sure as f.u.c.k gonna try," I told him, and then leaned forward, covering his mouth with mine, and-f.u.c.k it, I was drunk-sliding my tongue inside for a tiny little tease.

Against me, George seemed to melt, his mouth still open when I pulled away.

Everyone cheered loudly.

"You okay?" I asked him.

"I will be okay forever now," he said, dazed.

I leaned back, glancing over at Hanna, who looked like she was going to f.u.c.king eat me. I moved close to her, kissing her once. "Was that okay?"

She nodded, attempting to look unaffected. "Not bad."

Her neck was flushed, breaths short and choppy. My kinky little wife.

"Are you so wet right now?" I asked quietly.

She nodded again, mouth curling in a slow-growing smile.

"Still mad at me?" I asked.

Her eyes cooled as she remembered. "I don't want to talk about it now. I'm too drunk."

I hadn't actually been that worried about the whole thing until she said this. Hanna and I argued in thirty-second bites. One of us would say something and the other would disagree and we would decide it was worth discussing, or not.

Because Hanna hated conflict more than anything.

We didn't yell.

We didn't ask to talk about something later.

We just didn't fight, but part of me really wanted to.

My stomach felt sour and queasy.

What felt like hours of debauchery followed. Chloe and Sara had planned all manner of adolescent entertainments, including a boisterous game of Bulls.h.i.t (Max won), a widely inaccurate game of Velcro darts (there was no clear winner there), and a game of Never Have I Ever that had us all worried Chloe or Bennett would draw blood on our new Persian rug.

By the time 3 a.m. arrived, everyone was staring dully at the ceiling, lying in a tangle, half our limbs beneath the coffee table.

"We should go," Bennett slurred, pushing himself up with obvious effort. "We only have thirty hours before we need to reestablish a plausible executive presence."

"I'm going to be hungover," Chloe moaned. "Who can I pay to dial back time and undo three of those tequila shots? Maybe four."

Sara, who had been asleep in our bed, walked out, stretching. "I just called a couple cabs. Let's go, drunkies."

At the door, Hanna stopped them, hugging everyone in turn. "Thanks for this. It was actually super fun just to be stupid with you guys for a few hours."

"We're all chuffed for you," Max said, weaving in the doorway.

"And you never get to just hang out at home with friends," Chloe added. "I'm glad you took a night to slow down a little."

With a pat to Hanna's head, she turned, leading the rest of them out of our house.

Hanna turned to me, leaning against my shoulder. "Do I really work like that? All the time?"

I shrugged, kissing the top of her head. "Sort of," I said, my frustration at her from earlier diffused.

It was one of the things I admired about Hanna: she was taking the academic world by storm. But it was also the thing that challenged my vision of our future the most. As much as I hated to admit it, I loved the idea of Hanna at home with me at night, Hanna someday pregnant with our child, Hanna always with me when I was away from my own job.