Page 70 of Badd Baby

And that's when speeches happened.

I found myself standing up with a microphone in hand, scanning the crowd—feeling wobbly, unsteady, and emotional. I locked onto Raquel. "Raquel, Hamish…You guys are couple goals. Your relationship is an inspiration to all of us." I accidentally looked down at Duncan, and his deep brown eyes were carefully blank. "I love you guys. I hope you have a long, beautiful marriage and lots of adorable babies. Congratulations, you guys."

I sat down, proud of myself for sounding coherent.

"Nice speech," Duncan murmured.

"Thanks." I picked at my food and ignored the heat of his gaze on me.

"Rune."

I ignored him.

"Rune, you're being childish. C'mon. Just talk to me."

I pinned him with a glare. "Duncan, just….stop. I told you. There's nothing to talk about."

"But there is and you know it."

I shook my head, which felt a bit sloshy. "I'm drunk, Duncan."

"Me too. So what?"

I looked at him—for the first time that day, I really looked at him, and I realized he was as blasted as I was. Barely holding it together. His eyes swam with emotions I couldn't bring myself to name. "Duncan, please." I closed my eyes, tearing my gaze away from his. "I can't."

"Won't, you mean."

"Sure. That too. Can't and won't."

"Why?"

I shot to my feet, steadied myself with a hand on the chair, and turned away from him. "I need to use the ladies’ room."

I bolted like the coward I was, scurrying across the bustling room—I got stopped four times on the way, managed to get away long enough to pee, and then got swept up in a dance-off drinking game on the dance floor. I knew I was in bad shape, so I started slamming water between rounds of shots, because I'm a terrible dancer.

I remember seeing Duncan standing on the dance floor, alone, watching me as my friends swirled around me. He was wearing a tux—which fit him like a glove, and made him look like James Bond. The bowtie had come untied at some point, and his hair, slicked back and gelled to within an inch of its life during the day, was back to being unruly and shaggy, dangling in his eyes. He had his hands in his hip pockets and his deep, dark brown eyes were unreadable, inscrutable, fixed on me as the crowd swept around us, swirling like planets orbiting twin suns.

The shots seemed to hit me all at once, then, and that's when my memory goes dark—

***BLACKOUT***

—Laughter bubbles, a merry tinkle of joy.

A hand, draped on a shoulder. Fingers sliding down an exposed back.

Feet moving, dancing.

Lips touching a cheek, rough with stubble.

Another laugh.

The dance floor bathed in colorful flashing lights, washed in thudding dance music, bodies moving, brushing, sweating. Hand in hand. Hand on hip. Hips against hips, writhing to the beat.

You, me; who are we? No one.

Where are we? Nowhere; everywhere.

Touch is electric. Eyes spark with fire. Rocket fuel burns in my veins, scorches in your gaze.