“Yeah, but your part of this game can’t make you upheave the contents of your stomach all over your boots, or whoever’s boots are close by.”
Rowen peeked down at her feet. She wasn’t wearing boots like most everyone else was. Her feet had been swelling whenever she’d been on her feet or in the heat, and since she knew she’d be experiencing both tonight, she’d ditched the boots and thrown on a pair of sandals she could adjust as her ankles swelled into the night.
“No, but I spent the first four months of this pregnancy upheaving the contents of my stomach all over my boots, your boots, and every other surface within a ten-foot hurling radius.” Her fingers curled into my backside, almost making me flinch. It seemed kind of weird to grope my ass after talking about puking, but I wasn’t in a rush to complain. “I think you can suck it up for one night. Besides, you’ve just finished your fourth beer, and even though it should be an impossibility at your stature that you’d look as buzzed as you do, I think you’ll survive another”—she tipped her head from side to side—“three or four more.”
If I had one more, I’d be line dancing on the rafters. If I had three or four more, I’d be hungover into Sunday morning.
“Are you calling me a lightweight?” I asked, not really caring what she called me as long as she didn’t stop touching and looking at me the way she was now.
She tapped my nose again. “I’m calling you a featherweight, oh no-alcohol-tolerance husband of mine.”
“You’re right. I surrender.” I lifted my hand clutching the empty beer bottle. “I’m a disgrace to my gender and my cowboy kind. So why don’t we call this game on account of a touchy stomach? But first, you’ve got to finish your bottle like I finished mine.”
Challenge was written on her face as she lifted the bottle to her mouth. Gripping the lid with her teeth, she unscrewed it all slow and deliberate like, her eyes trained on mine the entire time. Letting the lid fall from her lips, she caught it with one hand as she tipped the bottle to her mouth with the other. She didn’t blink until she’d finished the water in one long drink.
Tossing it over her shoulder, she tipped her head at me, the challenge going another level deeper. “So what’s it going to be, Walker? One more? Or no more?”
I swallowed, realizing the game she was playing and what she hoped to get if she was declared the victor. I also knew that after another beer or two, I’d have lost my ability to put up a fight. The last of my fraying inhibitions would be frazzled.
Like she was a mind reader and picking up on everything I was warring with, she ran her forearm across her forehead. “Wow. It sure is hot in here. I don’t know about you, but I’m sweating like I’m six months pregnant and have just been chained inside a sauna.”
“Then have some more water. Let’s go cool off and get some fresh air.” Those were obvious solutions to the hot problem, right? Go brainpower for not totally failing me.
“Sure, I’ll have another bottle of water,” she said with the nuance of if only in her tone. “If you have another beer.”
“Rowen.” I shook my head.
“Jesse.” She nodded her head.
I held out another few seconds then gave up with an exasperated sigh. “Fine. But one more. And if you pull that same ‘I’m hot and dehydrated’ thing at the bottom of that bottle, I’m throwing you over my shoulder and dragging you outside before hooking you up to an H2O I.V.”
Her mouth twitched. She knew as well as I did that she was twice as clever as me and double that in the cunning department. “Deal.”
I didn’t want to leave the warmth and welcome of her hold, but her water was empty, and if she was going to down another one, I had my own downing to do. “I’ll be right back.” I backed up in the direction of the beverage table but tripped over . . . my own two feet.
“You better be. I’ve got big plans for you tonight.” Rowen fired a little wave at me as I cut through the crowd.
I knew exactly what her big plans were, but I wasn’t going to step into her trap. Or I wasn’t going to step into it any farther than I already had. No way.
The crowd had only grown larger and rowdier, but it wasn’t like anyone was throwing fists (yet) or passing out drunk in the corners (yet). Everyone was having a good time—dancing, drinking, and eating—and from the looks of it, I was the only one going against the popular trend. It wasn’t like I was incapable of enjoying Garth and Josie’s engagement party under typical conditions, but nothing about the past few months had been “typical.”
Even through the considerable fog of the beer, I was so worried about Rowen that it took priority above all else. A few guys slapped me on the back in passing, clinking their beers against my empty bottle, and I could tell my dad and mom were hoping to catch up with us some more by the way they kept glancing Rowen’s and my way no matter who they were talking with, but I just wasn’t in the mood for keeping up a conversation. After the long appointment and the long drive, what I was in the mood for was crawling into a warm bed beside my wife and falling asleep. Or at least, trying and pretending to be asleep.
My parents knew I was having a tough time and had done their best to offer support without suffocating me in it, but the tension of the unsaid was still suffocating in its own way. After stopping by to say hi and get the update on how the appointment had gone, Dad and Mom had given us both a big hug, said they’d see us at the house later on, and drifted into the party to find the older crowd so we could hang out with our younger crowd.