This was not what I expected. Dalton really is uncannily observant. I did tell him about the Goya exhibition that ended two months prior, and explained how I feel about the painting reproductions I chose to display in my home. Did he come up with it, describing what literally would have been the perfect proposal?
My heart skips a beat, only for the sensation to progress up and form a rock in my throat. If I wasn’t absolutely fucking certain the events he described didn’t happen, I’d be doubting myself. How come he’s such a proficient liar?
He should have taken a dare. He could have. But he still chose to make up this fantasy. For me? For himself? I’m too drunk for this but my heart beats for my future husband anyway.
Damen raises his eyebrows. “No ring?”
Nothing sneakspast him.
I should let Dalton speak, show me what else he has up his sleeve, but I don’t want to hear another lie, no matter how sweet, “I only wear rings I can use on the job.”
“Well, he’s gonna get a new one in ten days anyway, because Daphne insists, but you won’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.” Dalton sits next to me and kisses my temple.
I can’t stop thinking about that proposal that now feels so real in my head. When it’s my turn to throw a dart, I’m so deep in thought I have to be prompted. It’s been a while since I’ve been this drunk, and I only realize that when I stand up, world floating in front of me in slow motion. Should I have let myself lose grip on reality this much?
Well, it’s too late now, so I throw the dart to the best of my ability, and the fucker lands on white. At this point, I should be glad I’ve hit the board at all.
Aspen sits on the table, eying me like a little shark would blood in the water. “Come on Corvus. Top or bottom?”
“Vers or side are also options!” Killian pipes up with a giggle.
My brain throbs, the echo of heartbeat dulling Aspen’s demand for Killian to explain what a side is. Who the hell asks people such things? Does nobody want to know how to effectively kill with a kiss? Because I could answerthatquestion in the middle of the night.
“No,” I say, my gaze seeking Dalton’s. I’m not letting anyone know what I do in bed, and it’s not just because I worry what the truth might mean. It’s private. It’s mine.
Aspen groans. “Oh, come oooon!”
Remo pushes him off the table and back in his seat. “That’s all good with me. Dare it is.” His eyes darken with a predatory glint.
I roll my eyes. If it’s something unbearable, I have free will, and can always leave. I’m not afraid to make a scene. I’m too drunk for that. “Go on.”
Remo stands up and urges everyone to do the same. “I’ve been dying for this all evening! It’s time for the bull!”
Considering the state I’m in, it’s going to be a shitshow. I down the shot someone hands me and push away from the booth, eyes on the monster bathed in warm light above a mat-lined pit. I only now truly feel the effect of all the alcohol, but my mind remains sound. It’s just my body that’s unstable on its feet.
I miss a step and roll onto one of the mats, which appears to be inflated with air. Oh well, at least it won’t hurt too much when I inevitably fall.
The mechanical animal glares at me, so I grab its horns as soon as I’m straddling it. The thing might not be alive, but it should still know who’s the boss.
“Corvus! Corvus! Corvus!” I hear someone shout in a voice so distorted it might be coming from underwater, and it’s all so ridiculous I don’t have the capacity to be ashamed anymore.
Dalton helps me up to the back of the bull, chanting with everyone. I might be a proficient horse rider, but that won’t help me. It has a leather padded saddle, horns to grab onto, but the back is also much wider than a horse’s. Who am I kidding? The comparison is pointless, as this isn’t a real animal.
Remo grabs the controls with the same manic expression I saw on his face when he broke a man’s knees last year.
“Let’s assess how good of ariderCorvus is,” he declares as I stare his way, ready to react to whatever the bastard throws at me.
Moments later, a mechanical hum passes through the bull and up my thighs, and the beast leans forward. My first instinct is to follow it, but I still have some brains left, even if they’re soaked in booze, and I correct that mistake, leaning back.
The fake animal twists so I’m facing away from everyone, until it turns again, diving its muzzle deeper. I tighten my muscles on its flanks as adrenaline screams through the haze of alcohol, warning me.
Dalton gestures toward his crotch, and I flush in shock of him suggesting I… what? Ride him? But after my initial reaction, I realize that’s not it. One glance between my legs reveals the strap I quickly grab for balance.
Remo continues the torture as my brains roll around in my skull. Aspen’s whooping, Dalton yells my name like a coach over-invested in his protege, while I’m torn between the desperate need to stay on the bull and the more prosaic urge to vomit.
Do I hate this, or am I having the time of my life? I’m not sure anymore.
“Fuck! It’s already midnight?” I hear Aspen yell as the music changes, but the world is too much of a blur, and I’ve got no idea what’s happening.
