“Hmmm …” I tap my finger against my lip. “Do you have a job?”
He bobs his head up and down. “I own my own business.”
“Then there you go. You have your shit together.” I pause. “Wait, you don’t own any gnomes, do you?”
He shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “I have a dog, though.”
“Dogs are okay,” I say. “But we should probably kiss first to see if we’re compatible.”
Evan laughs lazily. “Then what? We just get married?”
I nod my head. “Yep. And then you’ll be my husband.”
“What if I don’t want to be your husband?”
I jut out my bottom lip, pouting. “You don’t want to be my husband?”
He rubs his scruffy jawline. “That all depends on how often I have to wear body glitter.”
“How about once a month?” I ask then knock back another shot.
He considers my offer then wets his lips with his tongue. “Okay, then.”
Even intoxicated, his answer throws me off. But I have little time to process it because suddenly we are slowly leaning toward each other. When our mouths are an inch apart, lust floods my body, and I crash my lips against his.
He makes the sexiest groaning sound ever as his hands find my waist. He jerks me forward between his legs, and I gasp then moan, sliding my hands up his shimmering chest.
We start making out wildly, only coming up for air to take shots. Everything happens so fast: shots, kissing, shots. Then, suddenly, we’re standing in front of a booth that sells jewelry. Evan buys a ring then he gets down on one knee and slips the ring on my finger, telling me how amazing he always thought I was. How, in high school, I was nice to him when no one else was, how I helped him get through such a hard time without even knowing it.
When I say yes, I’ll marry him, he jumps up and hugs me, spinning us around in circles until we bump into the booth and fall on our asses.
“Wait,” I say as we stagger to our feet. “How can we get married when we know nothing about each other?”
“I know you hate glitter.” He braces his hand against the booth to keep from tipping over. “And you hate the town’s pie baking contest, but you love pie.”
“You should know more, though.” I contemplate what to do. “How about this? We each tell each other five things about ourselves: likes and dislikes, fears, worries, whatever.”
He nods. “But you go first.”
“Okay.” Hmmm … What to tell. What to tell. “I like warm, sunny days. They always make me think of musicals, which makes me want to skip and sing. And usually I do.”
“Okay, sunny days are good. Got it.” He considers what to tell me. “I hate the taste of strawberries.”
“Are you kidding me? Strawberries are amazing.”
“No way. They’re too sweet and too sour at the same time. And they’re soft, but the black things on the outside are crunchy,” he argues passionately. “It confuses my taste buds. Seriously, either be one or another, not both.”
“Okay, I guess no strawberries and champagne on our honeymoon then.” I wink at him then tap my finger against my lip. “Okay, here’s one. I once ate a piece of chewed gum on a dare.”
“Um, okay … That’s a little weird.” His eyes are wide. “Whose chewed gum was it?”
I shrug. “I found it on a public restroom floor.”
He dry heaves, covering his mouth. “Okay, give me a moment to process that one.”
“It was strawberry flavored,” I say for no apparent reason. “And, if you think that’s gross, then you should probably know that I once dropped my driver’s license in a toilet at a club and reached in to get it out.”
He coughs again, shakes his shoulders, and blinks a few times. “All right, moving on,” he says after collecting himself. “I’m terrified of peacocks.”
“Why? Their feathers are so pretty and majestic.”
“Do you know how easy it is for a small child to get surrounded by them and not be able to find his way out because he’s scared out of his damn mind?” he says, getting worked up. “And no one can find him for over an hour, and he keeps trying to scream for help, but the damn peacocks keep screaming over him. And they sound like a human crying for help. It makes no sense, because they’re birds. It’s like they knew I needed help and wanted to torment me.”
I struggle not to laugh at how intense he’s gotten over birds. “Did that happen to you?”
He nods, his expression dead serious. “At a petting zoo when I was four. My parents couldn’t find me for over an hour.”
“Aw, you poor baby.” I pat his head. “If it makes you feel any better, I once got stuck in a slide at a park, and my friend had to call 911. It was so embarrassing. The police showed up and everything.”
“I’m sure kids do stuff like that all the time.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t a kid. It was two years ago, and I was only wearing pants.”
His forehead furrows. “Why were you only wearing pants?”
I shrug. “Because I declared it was no shirts Friday and that anyone wearing a shirt should be forced to make-out with No Pants Wearing Willie, this guy who lived in the park by my apartment, who was always trying to sell us paper mâché penises.” When Evan gives me a baffled look, I add, “What? I was drunk, okay? And No Pants Wearing Willie was actually a pretty nice guy when he wasn’t being a total pervert.”
Evan grows silent for a tremendously long time, and I start to worry I’ve scared him off, but then he finally smiles. “I’m afraid of fish. And people that have fish mouths.”
“What are fish mouths?”
He puckers his lips, leans forward, and gives me a hickey on my neck. By the time he pulls back, we’re both laughing like lunatics.
After that, things get a little hazy, but I have the faintest memory of Evan and I laughing through our vows while standing in a chapel with a bedazzled jeweled ceiling, and “Careless Whisper” by George Michael playing in the background.
I scramble to get my clothes on then tiptoe out of the bedroom, banging my shin on the way out. The hall is way too crowded for it being so early, and I end up doing the walk of shame while hugging my shoes to my chest. Once I stumble onto the elevator, I blow out a breath as I slide to the floor.
“Oh, my God, I can’t believe I got married last night.” I shake my head at myself. “And in a chapel that had candy canes lining the aisle and an officiator dressed up like Santa.”