“What will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor early in the morning?”
I didn’t actually know the words, but I was singing along with them at the top of my lungs just the same.
“What shall we do with an all-i-gat-or? Something-something drunk James Taylor…EARLY IN THE MORNING!” I bellowed, tilting back and forth on Gareth’s shoulders. I’d chugged two beers and the alcohol was sloshing around my stomach in the worst way possible.
“Keepitup, lassie,” Gareth said, tilting his head back to look up at me.
“Oh my god! You just called me lassie!”
I threw my head back to laugh, which in hindsight wasn’t the most genius move. Shifting my weight back threw off Gareth’s equilibrium. Picture a tipsy raccoon on the shoulders of a bear. Sure, he weighed five times what I did, but he couldn’t counterbalance my weight and before I knew it, I was sailing for the ground in slow motion. There was a distinct moment when I thought, This is where a sexy man would catch me if I were a Disney princess. That thought concluded right as I collided with the ground with a heavy “oomph” and the air whooshed out of my lungs.
The music faded and the laughter died down as people formed a wide circle around me. Did they think I was dead or something? Wait, am I dead?
I blinked, and blinked again, trying to make out some definitive sign that I was still alive. The lights overhead swung back and forth, but that could have been the angels calling me to heaven—or y’know, hell, since that’s honestly where I was headed for lying to Kinsley and Becca about needing to poop.
A face leaned over me, blocking the heavenly (or hellish) light. I caught caramel eyes, dark hair, a defined jaw, and a pair of dreamy lips.
Was it God? Or…
“Are you the devil?” I asked the floating head. “Because I swear I was going to clean up my act really soon.”
The face laughed and I focused on the lips that had been moving and now stretched across a seriously cute face. If Satan was this handsome, I’d probably be able to handle the eternal damnation business.
“All right, I’m going to lift you up. Just give a shout if something hurts,” said the devil with a very cute British accent.
Hands wrapped around my shoulders and lifted me up to a sitting position. I could breathe again, and I didn’t feel any pain. I patted my elbows and my head. I surmised that I’d managed to fall very gracefully, like the princess I’d imagined earlier.
“All right?” the British voice asked again, coming around to face me.
The bobbing head was connected to a very, very handsome body. I took my time scanning over him until I reached his face and realized all at once that I recognized the devil.
“You’re Frederick Archibald,” I said with a small, shocked voice.
“I prefer Freddie—”
A slow-spreading smirk took hold of my heart just as Gareth rushed forward.
“Lassie!” Gareth boomed. “I’m sorry, but you’re too slippereh!”
The rugby team was all there surrounding me, probably awaiting my cue to send me off for a proper Viking funeral. I waved him away and pushed to stand. “I’m fine, really.” My wrist hurt, but that wasn’t from the fall. “I swear.”
There was another five minutes of them picking up my arms and turning me around to confirm I didn’t have a bone sticking out or something.
“I think she’s fine,” Freddie said, hovering just behind the rugby guys.
I stared up and smiled, finally getting my first real look at him. Either he was stealing my breath, or I’d lied about being okay earlier. Had I punctured a lung? Dislodged my heart?
The rugby team agreed that I was stouter than I looked, or that I looked like I needed another stout. Either way, they departed and I was left standing a few feet from Freddie, trying to work up something witty to say. He was wearing blue jeans and a red t-shirt. I couldn’t tell what color his boxers were, but if I swapped my pants for his, I’d be one step closer to completing my Rubik’s cube.
“Feeling better?” he asked, taking a step toward me.
I smiled. “Yes, but I need you to take your pants off.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Freddie
“YOU NEED MY trousers?” I asked, confirming that she had in fact said what I thought she’d said.
This girl was cute—more than cute, really. Her blue tank top rode up an inch or so on her trim torso, and one look at her long legs proved she played a sport in which she ran—loads. Her bluish gray eyes were hard to ignore, even with the lopsided yellow cap covering half of them.
She looked like that type of American girl blokes dream about: pale blonde hair and sun-kissed skin, as if she’d just walked off the beach. I told myself this was the reason why I wasn’t leaving her alone. She’d had an entire team of titans more than ready to keep her occupied for the night, and yet my curiosity had gotten the better of me.