“What do you want to do tonight?” she asked.
I shrugged, running my fingers up through the soft tangle of her hair. “This. Be married. Maybe put on a movie. Order some dinner. Go to bed and fuck for a while.”
“Can I switch up the order of that a little?” she asked, fingers sliding just under the waistband of my boxers.
But as if the universe heard our plans and laughed out loud at this bullshit, the pounding of footsteps sounded outside in the hallway before a symphony of fists met our door.
Hanna startled, bolting upright. “What the hell?” she asked, turning to look at me.
“Bergstrom-Sumnerses!” Max shouted from the hallway. “Open thy door!”
“I think they went with Sumner-Bergstrom,” I heard George correct.
My stomach dropped.
Before the wedding, we’d had no time for parties: Hanna was traveling, I was working, life was too busy for the requisite bachelor and bachelorette shenanigans. And to be frank, neither of us much needed them anyway; we didn’t need any particular send-off for the single days—much to the friends’ dramatic, and vocal, disappointment. In the past week, we’d fallen back into routine and planned for a quiet post-wedding weekend at home. Hanna wanted us to be together at our apartment before another flurry of work trips began.
The friends knew this.
They knew we were home.
Shit.
They had promised us a party when the wedding was done.
“I think I know what this is.” I stood, walking to the front door and not giving one single fuck that I was wearing nothing but my boxers. They wanted to come here unannounced? They’d get what they got.
The door swung open to reveal Chloe and Bennett, Max and Sara, and George, holding an armful of booze.
“Surprise!” everyone yelled in unison.
Everyone but George, who was staring at my boxers. “It’s like you knew I was coming over.”
“Wow. Hey, guys,” I said flatly.
“You have no choice but to let us get you drunk and have our collective way with you,” Chloe said, holding up an armful of lacy garments. “Some of these are for Hanna, but most of them George picked out for you.”
“Well then hell, come in,” I said, stepping aside.
Max and Bennett lingered in the hall, looking guilty. I raised my brows, looking at them expectantly. “You guys coming in or . . . ?”
They hesitated, sharing a glance between them.
“The wives thought . . .” Max began, taking in my minimalist outfit.
“No, hey, it’s cool,” I said, giant fake smile in place. “The new wife and I were just about to enjoy some newlywed sex, but, see, this is way better.”
“Look,” Bennett said, “we probably should have called first, but . . . Chloe.”
“Called first?” I laughed, clapping their shoulders roughly and pulling them inside. These dicks were getting so drunk they wouldn’t be able to walk home. “No need to call! You’re welcome to come into my house and hang out with me and my new bride in our underwear any fucking time.”
Max slunk in, laughing quietly. “Well, shit.”
“First shots for these gentlemen,” I said, putting an arm around each of their shoulders. “They’d like to get these here festivities done started!”
Chloe followed George into the kitchen, while Sara went to the living room, hugging a still shell-shocked Hanna and putting on some music. An upbeat rock song filtered through the apartment, and they both came back to where the rest of us had gathered.
Hanna slipped her arms around my waist, meeting my eyes. “What just happened?” she asked me through a laugh.
In her expression I could see the question: Are we game for this?
And in truth, we had a lifetime of quiet Saturday nights together. The looks of excitement on our friends’ faces were hard to resist.
I bent, kissing her once. “I fear tonight is going to get out of hand very quickly,” I said against her lips.
She laughed. “I think you may be right.”
Coming out with a tray of tequila shots, Chloe handed one each to me, Hanna, and George, and two each to Bennett and Max.
“Good woman,” I said to Chloe.
Sara happily unscrewed the cap to her water bottle and Chloe ushered us all in closer. “Everyone get in here, raise your damn glasses.” A cluster of glasses clinked together. “To the newlyweds: Will and Hanna Sumner-Bergstrom. Get ready for a lifetime of being badass motherfuckers.”
The tequila warmed a path from my lips to my gut, and I glanced at Hanna, catching the first shudder as it made its way through her, followed by her disgusted wince.
“Oh, God, that’s horrible,” she moaned.
“Then you just need to do more,” George said, jogging to the kitchen and returning a couple of minutes later with another round.
“This is madness,” I told them. “You got here five minutes ago and we’re standing in the hallway doing shots like a bunch of fratty idiots.”