“I’ll get you a shirt to sleep in, then.”
I brought one of my old, faded Badd’s Bar and Grill shirts, from back when Badd’s was a relatively high-draw tourist attraction rather than a run-down one-man operation. It was soft, the logo so faded you could barely read it. I touched her shoulder gently, and then sat down near her head.
“Can you sit up?”
She shook her head sloppily. “Nope. No can do, Mister Sebastian sir. I’m all drunked out. All done. Bye-bye.”
“Awesome. Well, work with me, here. I’m gonna get this shirt on you, okay?”
“Okay.”
I held her by the shoulders, helped her roll onto her back, then lifted her to a sitting position, and somehow managed to make sure the towel stayed in place over her chest in the process. I tugged it over her head, and tried to help her get her arms through, but she got lost or confused or something, and I couldn’t figure out which arm I had and she couldn’t figure out where it was going, and she got all tangled up, her head halfway through the opening, one arm in the wrong sleeve, the other fumbling behind her.
“Waitwaitwait.” She whacked at me with both hands. “Stop, you stupid gorgeous orc man. I can do it.”
I let go of her, trying not to laugh and failing badly.
“Stop laughing at me!”
“I’m sorry, it’s just funny. You’re funny, but it’s a cute funny.”
She finally got the shirt sorted out and got it down in place, and then gave me a sad, sorrowful look. “I’m not supposed to be cute. I’m supposed to be sexy,” she said, her voice plaintive and mournful. “I’m supposed to be married. I’m supposed to be married right now! It was supposed to be Michael taking my dress off. I should have his cock inside me right now, but instead I’m here, drunk out of my mind, heartbroken, and wishing it was you with your cock inside me instead, and I don’t even care, because Michael is an ASSHOLE!” She shouted the last word so loudly I flinched.
I had to force myself to ignore the one phrase out of everything she said that really registered…take a wild guess which. I palmed her cheek gently. “You are sexy, Dru. And I’m sorry your fuckhead ex-fiancé broke your heart. He’s the worst kind of asshole in the whole world, and you’re better off without him.”
She giggled at me again. “Wanna know why Michael is an asshole?”
“He stood you up?”
She shook her head side to side in a sloppy, wide, exaggerated gesture. “Noooooope. He was fucking my bridesmaid right before the goddamn wedding. And her name was Tawny! Who the fuck names their kid Tawny? Did her parents want her to be a slut? Because that’s how you get a slut. And she’s a slut. I mean, I’m sure there are nice, normal, non-slutty girls out there named sorry—I mean…Tawny—shit. What I meant was, sorry to all the non-slut girls named Tawny in the world for assuming they’re all sluts. But she’s a slut. She fucked my fiancé on my wedding day! Who does that? Tawny does that, because she’s a slut! Fuck you, Tawny, you fucking slut.”
She stared at me, eyes swimming dizzily, and then grinned as if there was a joke I’d missed. “Did you hear what else I said? I said I wanted your cock inside me, and not Michael’s. I bet you have a huuuuuuuuuge cock, the hugest, the biggest, most beautiful cock ever, right? You do, I just know you do. And if I wasn’t totally wasted and supposed to be married RIGHT NOW, I’d be fucking you so hard you don’t even know. You—don’t—even—know!” She jabbed her index finger into my chest. “Did you get all that?”
I sighed, struggling with myself. “Yes, Dru, I got all that.”
“Well?”
I frowned. “Well what?”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
She pointed at my crotch. “Have the hugest cock I’ve ever seen.”
I wanted so fucking bad to show her what I had, because despite the situation, I was so hard it hurt. “Never had any complaints. But for now, I think you need to go to sleep.”
“Alone.”
I nodded. “Yes, alone.”
“Good.” She flopped backward onto the pillows, and I tugged the blankets out from beneath her and covered her with them. I was on my way toward the door when her sweet, sleepy voice stopped me. “Know what sucks, Sebastian?”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll remember this whole thing tomorrow, and I won’t.” She tried to point at me, but missed, and hit the bed beside her instead. “Or, at least, I hope I don’t remember this tomorrow. I hope you don’t either, ’cause I’m a fucking mess. I hope I wake up with amnesia. Can you give me amnesia?”