Page 83 of Bridesmaid By Chance

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Hudson: No one! Keep that shit to yourself.

Hardy: I can’t stop thinking about it. Dude, I could not refrain, my dick was dancing all across my stomach. Like a fucking Magic Marker, decorating my abs.

Hudson: Bye.

Hardy: No wait, come back. I might have taken it too far with the Magic Marker thing. I can recognize that.

I set my phone down in the cubby just as a flight attendant comes by with a tray of champagne and water.

“Champagne? Water?” she asks.

I grab a champagne, thank her, and down it quickly. It’s going to be a long-ass flight…especially with that fucking Magic Marker visual stuck in my head.

“Sloane,” I whisper, tapping on her shoulder.

The cabin is dimmed. The meal service is over, and everyone has settled in to grab some sleep.

I, on the other hand, have made some bad choices.

Some very bad choices.

“Sloane.” I tap again.

Her sleep mask is over her eyes, her whole body is turned away from me, and her blanket is up to her chin.

“I see you in there,” I say, tapping again.

She snaps up, slips her eye mask up, and whispers, “What do you want?”

When her eyes meet mine, I smile. “Hi.”

Her expression falls flat as she stares back at me.

I wave.

And then realization hits her. “Are you drunk?”

My smile grows wider. “The flight attendant has been heavy-handed with the champagne.”

“Jesus, Hudson,” she says as she turns toward me now. There’s a partition between us, nothing too big but big enough to annoy me. “Sleep it off.”

“I can’t sleep. I’m not tired.”

“Here you go, sir,” the flight attendant says, bringing me another mini champagne flute.

Sloane sits up farther and holds her hand out. “Actually, can you take that back? He doesn’t need another one.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” I say. “I’m thirsty.” I reach for the champagne, but Sloane pushes my hand down.

“Seriously, can you bring him water?”

The flight attendant eyes me for a moment, then to my annoyance, takes my champagne back to the galley.

“That was fucking rude.”

“Hudson. Why are you drunk?” Sloane asks.

“I’m not.”

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