Frowning, I lifted an eyebrow. “Then what’s the goddamn point of a drinking game?”
“Reconnecting,” Milk Tits answered. “It’s been forever since we’ve all been together. We’re just trying to have a little fun, Ten. Gah. Don’t be such a fun hater.”
I sighed. Stupid games were not my idea of reconnecting or having fun. I thought we’d done a damn fine job of catching up at dinner before the concert, and I’m sure all the guys would’ve backed me on that...if they’d been willing to go against their wives’ opinions.
Whipped pussies.
Appreciating Caroline to hell and back for never making me feel as if I couldn’t voice my own fucking outlook, I slung my arm over her knee and stroked the length of her soft calf. She sat on the chair next to me, and I was already leaning against her leg for support.
When her fingers burrowed into my hair in response, I almost purred contentedly. God, I loved this woman. I would honestly do anything for her, even leave our perfect nest in Lake Tahoe—where I’d eventually gotten another opportunity to apply for that job and accepted it this time, and Caroline had transferred colleges to graduate with a filmmaking degree—to travel all the way back to Chicago and watch Asher Hart and his band Non-Castrato in their first big performance at the Metro.
Okay, so maybe I was proud of the guy, too, and I’d also wanted to watch his concert, which fine, had been pretty kick-ass, and the backstage passes he’d sent us had been even sweeter—but I never would’ve admitted all that aloud. Instead, I had to piss and moan about it because that’s just the way I rolled.
But getting together with the rest of the crew in Pick and Milk Tits’s hotel room afterward to play “reconnecting” drinking games really did suck ass.
“Ooh, it’s my turn.” Buttercup was a little too giddy as she snatched a folded sheet of paper from the pile in the center of our circle and opened it. After clearing her throat, she read the message aloud. “I think this game fucking sucks.” Tipping her face to the side, she sent me a dry look. “Ten.”
“Wow,” I said, unimpressed, “You figured out that one was mine.” Setting my hand over my heart, I fluttered my lashes her way. “You know me so well.”
She sniffed. “No, unlike some people here, I actually have a good memory. You said that very phrase aloud not thirty seconds ago.”
“Oh, you’re going to go with the memory bash, huh? That’s low, Mrs. Lowe. Just low.”