Page 38 of Forged

Meredith slams down a stack of chips and shouts, “SHOTS IF WE HIT THE POINT!”

We hit the point, and shots appear.

I clink my glass to Lars’ and raise it to the couple and then to the entire universe, because reality barely applies anymore.

The tequila spreads through my body, warm and heavy, and then I’m kissing Lars. It’s feverish, hungry, open-mouthed, tasting tequila from his tongue, swallowing the growl he gives when I bite his lip.

Someone cheers. Someone whistles.

Bennie yells, “GET MARRIED WHILE YOU STILL LIKE EACH OTHER!”

I break the kiss, breath hitched and look at Lars.

“We should,” I hear myself say, as if the voice is coming from outside of my body.

He blinks. “We should what, Bella?”

“Get married.”

The world tilts. Not because of fear, but possibility. The casino lights look like stars caught in chandeliers. His eyes—God, those eyes—focused despite the chaos around us.

“You’re drunk,” he says.

“So are you,” I counter.

His smile is a sin. “True.”

The table screams again as someone wins another roll. We’re dizzy with noise and tequila and proximity, and I don’t know whether it’s the alcohol or instinct or both, but I take his face in my hands.

“We should get married,” I repeat, firmer now.

“We live in different cities.”

I swallow hard. “I can live anywhere.”

“Bella, you’re crazy.”

“Think about it…” I can hear the slightest slur in my own words. “We could be a power couple. We could make money and have incredible sex. All the time.”

Meredith and Bennie place another shot in our hands. We take them simply out of obligation at this point.

Fuck, what the hell am I doing?

“What about love? Don’t you want the fairy tale?”

“Fuck love.” I scoff. “The fairy tale is a lie.”

Lars’ head tilts back as he laughs. “God, Neomi, you’re perfect.”

My chest heaves, my blood racing through my veins. “Let’s do it.”

“You want my ring on your finger?”

I nod, stroking his jaw with my thumb. “I want your everything.”

Something breaks in him. Or frees within him. It's hard to tell the difference.

He takes my hand, brings it to his mouth, and kisses the inside of my wrist—a vow more intimate than words.