Page 200 of Where We Stay

Dean looks toward the ceiling and releases a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, Georgie.”

I cheer because apparently alcohol makes me do that now.

Dean looks down at me as I settle against his side. “How much has she had?”

G starts counting on her fingers.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I warn her.

“Three whiskey sours and two tequila shots.”

“Traitor!”

Dean laughs into the top of my head. “Yeah, baby. You’re done.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re not my boss.”

“Nope,” he agrees, smiling.

I nod, satisfied. “Good.”

“I’m still taking you home.”

I stare up at him for a moment before turning back to G. “See? Pretty.”

“You’ve mentioned that several times,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Because he is.”

Dean shakes his head, but the grin on his face ruins any attempt to look annoyed. He keeps one arm firmly around my waist as he reaches for my coat.

“Come on, trouble. Let’s get you home.”

* * *

The drive home is winding.

Very. Fucking. Winding.

Thankfully, G is taking my mind off my impending motion sickness by giving Dean shit from the back seat.

“So, Mr. Morgan,” she begins, leaning forward between us, “do you hear wedding bells anytime soon? Because I need plenty of notice.”

“Give it a rest, G,” Dean grumbles, although there’s no real irritation behind it.

I turn toward him. “You are totally taking my last name.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Dean reaches across the center console and squeezes my thigh without taking his eyes off the road.

And now I’m drunk and horny.

From a fucking thigh squeeze.

“Ugh. You two seriously make me want to hurl.” G falls back against her seat. “In a good way.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Dean tells her.

“It does to me.”