Chapter 37
Layla
Considering our destination, I decided to go for a tiki-themed party.
The ship’s replicators were too small for a lot of the decorations I wanted, but I think I did pretty well with what they could do.
Several small tiki totems to scatter around the galley, a grass skirt around the table, tiki mugs and coconuts filled with some of my favorite drinks, and garnished with little paper umbrellas.
Mai Tai, Missionaries Downfall, Painkiller, Sex on the Beach, and then various shots of rum and vodka.
The food was easy. Mostly finger foods, like rumaki and teriyaki chicken skewers.
To top it all off, the ship’s database had a whole slew of music from every era, and among the early twentieth century was a list of hundreds of surf and tiki themed songs that are now blasting from the ship’s sound system.
“Incredible work, baby,” Sutton says, pulling me against his side and kissing me on the top of my head. “However, with all these drinks, you may have doomed me for landing tomorrow.”
“Have a little willpower and don’t overdo it,” I tell him, pushing my elbow into his ribs.
“Have you met me?”
We laugh, and Sutton kisses me again before going to the table, picking out a drink, and plucking a bacon-wrapped water chestnut off a toothpick between his teeth.
“Yes. Truly impressive, omega.” Instead of leaning down, my feet dangle two feet off the floor when Zayd picks me up and kisses my forehead.
“Thank you,” I say as soon as my feet find the floor when he sets me down.
“Would you believe, I have never had alcohol,” Zayd says, picking up a coconut with a pink umbrella and straw sticking out of the cut half and sniffing it. “What is this?”
“That’s a Sex on the Beach,” I say, and he gives me the most incredulous look. “It’s sweet. Try it.”
Zayd pinches the straw between his lips and takes a sip. “I do not know if this is what sex on the beach tastes like, but if it is, I would very much like to have sex on the beach.”
Sutton and I laugh and explain to Zayd the logistical problems that come with sex on the beach, and he agrees, the drink will be enough.
“I would like to keep sand as far away from my crevices as possible, thank you very much,” Zayd exclaims.
We all have another good laugh and go about our night, dancing and drinking, and eating. But mostly drinking.
As Sutton warned, he did not attempt to limit his alcohol consumption. And poor Zayd… He might be big but his tolerance is so low, only two drinks had him stumbling in circles, barely able to stay on his feet.
As soon as I realized my guys were a lost cause, I switched to water, knowing someone would have to take care of them.
Their drunken activities started out innocent enough. Sutton challenged Zayd to arm wrestle. Zayd won. Zayd challenged Sutton to see who could do more push-ups. They both collapsed without knowing the final count.
To be honest, I was really enjoying the show. If I couldn’t drink, at least I could be entertained.
Then, they started wrestling.
And again, it started out as an honest-to-goodness play fight for dominance. But as they both lost their steam, their movements slowed and then softened.
“Layla,” Sutton slurred. “Come here.”
“I’m not done watching the fight,” I playfully whine.
That seems to breathe new life into them, and they start rolling around more violently again as I cheer them on.
“Wait,” Sutton shouts, and Zayd freezes, holding Sutton in an arm bar. “Why is our omega not drunk like us?” He looks at Zayd, who shrugs.
“Why aren’t you drinking, Layla?” Sutton asks, freeing himself from Zayd’s hold and stumbling over to me, sitting at the table.
“Because someone needs to be responsible when the two of you start puking your guts up,” I say.
“That is not right,” Zayd slurs, but still speaks without using contractions because they weren’t in the Throkyn’s Earth language files. “We are supposed to take care of you. Here.” Zayd shoves a tiki mug into my hand. “Drink. I will be responsible,” Zayd slurs, and I laugh.
“You will be passed out before I finish this drink. Come on. I think you two have had enough for the night. Time for bed. Big day tomorrow.” I stand and shove them toward the exit.
They protest, but after I turn off the music, they calm down and allow me to shuffle them down the corridor to our sleeping quarters.
“Drink this.” I give each of them a nausea tincture, hoping it will have as much of an effect on a hangover as it does on space sickness.
They’re both a million degrees, so I leave each of them in their own bed and climb up into the bunk over Sutton.
Just as I predicted, they’re both snoring in no time. And I’m not far behind them.