The things my muse makes me write sometimes. I swear to blob. @chryssikyu
Here it is. I think it would have been better if I'd been drunk first myself.
Some Drinks, A Bet, and A Game
Zayne groaned, his head was pounding like a drum. He squeezed his eyes shut against the intruding light.
For the first time, he had no bearing of where he was. Nothing looked familiar to him. He wracked his brain, trying to remember where he'd been the night before and the events that occurred. The thing that concerned him the most was how he was going to explain this situation to his fiance.
Movement at his side had him even more panicked, and he stopped breathing before he looked at the figure. Relief flooded him instantly as he finally realized where he was and just who was next to him.
Messy dark hair was sprawled across your pillow, and last night's makeup was smeared on your face. Lipstick long gone. The flowy white dress you'd choosen to wear was twisted all around you, probably from tossing and turning in your sleep. There was a frown on your face, and Zayne was sure your hangover was going to be worse than his when you finally woke up.
Seeing your dress finally brought back memories of the previous night.
Your friends had insisted on taking you out for an after-party, once your engagement dinner was over. According to them, celebrating with friends and family was fine, but now it was their turn, and they had left no room for argument as they dragged the both of you off to a popular bar.
Tara was the first to shove drinks into your hand and then his. Once everyone had a shot, they shouted cheers and tossed it back.
Zayne eyed the clear liquid in the small glass like it was going to be his undoing. That was until you elbowed him in the side and gestured for him to lean down. "They want to celebrate with us. Take the shot!" You whisper yelled into his ear to be heard over the booming music. He sighed and tossed the drink back.
The tequila his the back of his throat with a subtle burn. It wasn't often that he drank, having little tolerance for this type of thing. He rarely drank, and it was about to become very obvious, as the next glass was placed in his hand. A quick glance in your direction, and he tossed back the second drink.
The liquor was already beginning to warm his body, and his cheeks were a light pink. Turning to his petite finace in the hopes of being rescued, he quickly abandoned the thought. You were already gone, having wandered over to the bar to order another round of drinks.
His last sober thought before being handed the third drink is that he is done for.
He couldn't quite recall what exactly had taken place after that third drink. His memory was significantly blurry. "I think we played some sort of game." Zayne said aloud, just as you started to stir.
A loud groan slipped from between your lips as you rolled onto your back. "I am never going to drink so much again." You groan and try to sit up. The room spins, and you have to lay down again.
"Zayneeeee!" You whine rubbing your temples before looking around for him. You find him next to you. An equally miserable expression on his face.
"We are never drinking again." He corrects, reaching over to brush hair out of your face. You turn to look at him more fully. "W-what are you wearing?!" You say in alarm, glancing over at his clothes. "Omg Zayne, are you wearing one of THOSE dresses?!?" Despite the pain in your head, you sit up and throw the blankets back.
Sure enough, it is indeed one of those sleeveless, backless, SHORT dresses. It looks a little small on him. The material stretched over his very muscular physique. They do stretch, but you are quite sure they were never meant to stretch THIS much.
Suddenly, you are overcome in a fit of giggles, and when you throw your head back laughing, you fall off the bed with a dull thud. "Owwwww!" You cry out rubbing your head and butt at the same time. With how hung over you are, it's a miracle you have puked yet.
Rustling on the bed has you looking up when the blankets fall on your stomach. "You don't remember you're responsible for this, do you?" Zayne says, stroking your ankle (that is somehow still on the bed)
"Uhhh, no?" You say questioningly as Zayne passes you his phone. It is unlocked, and there is a picture of you, him, Tara, and some of your other girl friends. Zayne is wearing the dress, looking completely silly and unashamed as well as holding a sign, (that is barely legible) that says in your messy (drunk) handwritting, I lost a bet and my finace made me wear this dress.
"Oh gods, how much did I drink?" You muse aloud, still not moving from the floor. Zayne just snorts and starts moving. Probably going to change into his own clothes.
He keeps clothes in your apartment even though neither of you actually spends much time here. You've more or less moved into his home. You are just riding out the end of your lease before making it official.
"Zayneee, I don't feel so good." You cry placing both arms over your eyes to block out the light.
Your memory comes back to you in pieces and with it a very drunk game of dare. No truths, just dares.
After the fifth drink you've shared with Zayne and your friends, Tara proposes a game of dares and even volunteers to be the first sucker. In no time at all, you've managed to secure a booth, an empty wine bottle, and copious more amounts of alcohol.
The six of you squeeze into the booth, and Tara spins the bottle. It lands on you, and a wide grins stretching across your face. Tara nearly backs down at your catty look before she tosses back another shot to steal her nerves and tells you to do your worst.
You scan the bar quickly and find a suitable target. "It just so happens that most of your Unicorns teammates are also here. "Tara, I dare you to go dance with him." You say gesturing with your head towards the guy that Tara had been having a mutual crush on with for weeks. "But!" She starts to protest, cheeks turning scarlet (an impressive feat, considering how red they already were) "No buts, except yours walking over to dance with your Mr. Hot Stuff!" You say pushing her out of the booth and in his direction.
A few spins later, and you realize you've gathered a bit of a crowd. In the back of your mind, you notice that Tara had failed to return. Another member of your team had only too happily taken her spot. The game has gotten kind of side railed.
One of your friends elbows you and discreetly points in someone's direction. "Look! She says, physically turning your head to see a girl just walking into the bar. She's wearing THAT kind of dress. The turtle neck, sleeves, backless waaaay to short kind. A wicked look enters her eyes, and she wags her brows.
"Oh, Dr. Zayne!" She calls in a sing-song voice, gaining his attention. His face is red, and he is far more relaxed than you've ever seen him in public. "Would you ever let your dear finacee were that kind of dress?" She asks innocently, gesturing to the girl. He only looks for a second. "No." His reply is stiff, and a frown is between his brows. She smiles wickedly.
"No matter how much she looked good in it?" She asks, egging him on. "Absolutely not." He is shaking his head. "Oh, is that so? What if YOU were wearing it first?" She says her grin is devilish. "Why would I wear a dress?!?" He asks. Incredulously, eyebrow raised.
"I dare you to wear it." She says, pressing on. "Wha...?? No!" He argues back. "Fine, then I dare you to let your finacee wear it." She says a winning look on her face.
"I Challenge you!" You say grabbing a deck of cards and dealing them out. "Loser wears the dress!" You exclaim to the cheering of your group as you deal the hand for black jack.
Had you been sober, you would have been so mortified at your behavior, and the fact that you wanted to see your finace wear a very short, very revealing dress. Normally, Zayne was very good at cards. He had the best poker face, and you could never read him. Normally, the pair of you weren't three sheets to the wind and liquored out as you both were.
"Oh gods, you groan finally remembering the card game and how you had very obviously cheated your way to victory, and someone had produced the dress.
The pair of you had shoved Zayne into the bathroom to change clothes, and you'd gotten a piece of poster board and then written your declaration for him to hold.
Then everyone had gathered around and you'd had the bartender take the picture.
"I'll swear of any more than a glass or two." You promised him, as Zayne came back into the room holding a glass of cool water and some painkillers. Thankfully, he was wearing normal clothes. He was now dressed in a dark grey shirt and a pair of dark blue pajama pants.
He set the glass on the bedside table and carefully helped you off the floor and into a sitting position. "Take this." He said, handing you the pills and then the water.
"My friends are evil." You say swallowing the pills
****************************************************
