Very cautiously I climb to my feet and make my way to the bathroom to relieve myself. I’m not steady enough to have a shower so I pull on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before heading downstairs barefoot.
“There’s our dancing queen!” Carson laughs as I walk into the kitchen. “How are you feelin’, buddy?”
“Why the fuck are you yelling?” I groan as I sit down. “I feel like death.”
Riot is standing at the stove with a towel over his shoulder scrambling eggs.
“That doesn’t surprise me. There’s water and pain meds.” He nods his head towards the glass and two white pills on the counter in front of me.
Both men appear to be showered and ready for the day. How is that even possible? I look at the clock on the stove. It’s after 11 a.m. Oh man, I’ve lost a lot of daylight this morning.
“I fed Morgan and he’s been outside a few times,” Riot tells me.
The dog is patiently waiting for someone to share a piece of bacon with him.
“Thanks, man.” I pop the pills into my mouth and swallow the cold-water praying relief kicks in quickly.
“I’m way too old to be this hungover,” I grumble.
“Nobody told you to switch to vodka. You did that all by yourself, dancing queen.” Carson hums the ABBA song and shimmies in place as he butters some toast.
“No wonder I feel so disgusting,” I reply, holding my head in my hands as I lean on the counter.
Peering up, I ask Carson, “What’s with the dancing queen bullshit? Since when are you into ABBA?”
Both men look at each other and burst out laughing.
“Oh fuck. What happened?” I ask, looking between them.
Riot turns and slides a plate in front of me heaped with hashbrowns, bacon, cheesy scrambled eggs, and toast. This looks and smells amazing.
“What exactly do you remember about last night?” Riot asks, sitting down beside Carson across from me.
They both have their own plates heaped up and begin to eat.
“Not much after Hannah leaving,” I reply, scooping a fork of eggs into my mouth and chewing cautiously.
All good. It’s going to stay down.
“So, you don’t remember asking the DJ to play Achy Breaky Heart and demanding everyone dance with you?”
“Fuck off, I did not.” My eyes bug out of my head.
“Oh, but you did. You looked like Elaine from Seinfeld out there dancing.” Both men start laughing again.
“Bullshit, that didn’t happen,” I say in disbelief. I never dance.
Riot pulls out his phone, taps it a few times, spins it and hands it to me. To my absolute horror there I am on TikTok, singing and what can only be described as flailing. There are a few people out on the floor trying to dance with me, but there is more in a semicircle surrounding me, clapping to the beat and cheering me on. More than one phone is out.
“Fuck my life.” What was I thinking drinking that much? I have not been that drunk in years.
“You requested the song, man.” Carson starts singing using his fork as a microphone, “Don’t tell my heart, my achy breaky heart.”
“I did not,” I say in disbelief. Do I even know that song? I must.
“You did, but that was after the DJ told you he couldn’t play the hokey pokey,” Carson says, struggling to keep a straight face. “You argued it was beginner level line dancing.”
“What the hell?” Both guys kill themselves laughing at my expense.
