I’m slightly tipsy by the time Parker shows up to bring me to Luca’s fight later that night.
“We’ll see you there!” Phoebe calls from the doorway, swaying on her high heels. Her cheeks are red from the alcohol in her system. “Nate’s coming with the big SUV in a few.”
I wave and climb into the Porsche, smiling dopily at Parker as soon as the door shuts behind me.
“Hi.”
“Someone’s a little drunk.” He laughs and leans over to kiss me softly. “What, did my sisters ply you with alcohol?”
I shrug. “Basically.”
“I take it they shared the good news.”
“You know!?” I gasp. “How?”
“Darling, Nate is my oldest friend. Who the hell do you think he asked for permission?”
My heart clenches. “That’s pretty sweet. You’re sweet.”
“Wow. You’re complimenting me?” His brow furrows. “Now I’m concerned. How many drinks did you have?”
“I’m fine!” I smack him on the arm. “What, I’m not allowed to be nice? I seem to remember you demanding I do just that not too long ago.”
“Yes, but the crux of our relationship is founded on the concept that I demand things and you flatly refuse me.” His eyes crinkle in amusement. “You actually listening to me is unheard of, snookums.”
Hearing the dreaded pet name, I cross my arms over my chest. “I take it back. You aren’t sweet at all.”
“Too late. You already admitted you think I’m sweet.” His mouth hits my cheek. “I wonder what else I could get you to admit.”
I feel a blush working its way up my neck. “We’re going to miss the fight.”
“You sure you’re up for it?” His voice is soft. “I don’t want you drunk in a crowd. These things get rowdy under normal circumstances — on New Year’s Eve it’s going to be a madhouse in there. I don’t want you getting swallowed up.”
“I’m not five.”
“Zoe, darling, I don’t care if you’re five, twenty-five, or a hundred and five,” he rumbles. “You’re my girl. I’m always going to worry about you. Always.”
“You’re being sweet again,” I say, feeling my eyes prickle suspiciously. “Stop it.”
He laughs. “Okay, I’ll say something terrible.”
“Good. Do that.”
His stubble scrapes my ear. “You look beautiful.” He plays with a blonde tendril that’s escaped my clip. “I like your hair like this.”
I whip my head around to glare at him. “That’s the opposite of terrible.”
“Fine.” He thinks about it long and hard. “Nope. Can’t come up with a damn thing.”
I sigh. “I see I’m going to have to lead by example.”
“Ah, yes, because you’ve never insulted me before. This will be a fresh experience for me. Uncharted waters.”
I giggle. “Shh. I’m thinking of insults.”
“Very serious business.” He forces his face into a somber mask. “I’m ready. Hit me with your worst.”
“Okay…” I narrow my eyes. “You snore.”
“Ah!” He throws a hand over his heart, as though gravely injured. “I’ll never recover from that one!”
“And!” I point a finger at him, in case he thought he was getting off easy. “You have bad breath in the morning.”
“No! Not bad breath!” He gasps. “You mean to tell me I have bad breath before brushing my teeth? That is just shocking information. Truly revolutionary.”
I stifle a laugh. “Fine. You want me to play rough?” I make a show of cracking my knuckles, like I’m going into battle. “You once used the word aggravate wrong in a sentence. Technically it means to intensify not to annoy. Just for the record.”
“Did you just correct my grammar?” he whispers lowly.
“…Maybe.”
“Shit just got real.” His eyes narrow. “There’s no going back, now.”
I bite my lip so I won’t laugh. “Bring it.”
“Oh, I will. This is war.”
“I’m hearing a lot of empty talk, playboy.”
“Fine.” He drops his voice to a dramatic whisper. “I hope every time you charge your phone at night, the cord doesn’t go all the way in and you wake up with a dead battery!”
I gasp. “Well… I hope the next chocolate chip cookie you bite into is actually oatmeal raisin.”
“I hope you pick the slowest line at the checkout every time you go grocery shopping.”
“I hope every prime parking space you find actually has a motorcycle in it when you start to pull in!”
“Wow. That’s just… evil.” He shakes his head. “I had no idea I was falling for such a sociopath.”
“This is the worst fight ever,” I say, laughing. “You’re terrible at this.”
“At fighting with you?” His eyes get warm. “Maybe that’s because I’d rather be doing other things with you.”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asks innocently.
“Like you know what I look like naked.”
“But I do know—”
“Parker.”
“Fine, fine.” He reaches for the key and turns over the ignition. “Let’s get this damn fight over with. There are several creative methods I had in mind for ringing in the New Year with you. Shockingly, none of them involved watching two sweaty, bare-chested dudes wrestle.”