Until You (At First Sight 3)

“I start getting sexy,” I said solemnly. “It’s inevitable. When Jager goes into my body, Sexy Paul comes roaring out. There’s nothing that you can do to stop it. I’ve only had one shot of it, so we should be okay. But any more, and it’ll happen. So we should probably just stop now.”

“This is going to be the best night ever,” Corey whispered fervently.

Helena turned back around, another shot in her hands. “One more,” she said. “This one is called a Dirty Oatmeal. It’s made from Bailey’s. You’ll like it. My beautiful straight-boy bartender with amazing nipples, Izaac, recommended it to me.”

I eyed her suspiciously for a moment but then figured she had my back. She was my best friend, after all. She knew as well as I did that Sexy Paul had no place in the world. He was better off locked up within me, never to again be released.

I knocked back the shot. “Wow,” I said. “That was good. Bailey’s and… what else? It had a different taste to it.”

Helena leaned forward until her lips scraped against my ear, causing me to shiver. “One part Bailey’s,” she whispered. “And one part… Jager.”

I gasped as I pulled away. “You vile betrayer. Helena! You know what’ll be unleashed! We swore that we would never allow Sexy Paul to come back again. You know what happened last time!”

She pulled away, an evil grin on her face. “Oh, baby doll. I’m counting on it.”

I COULD already feel the sexy starting to break through as we left the house. I was doing my best to hold it back, but I found myself sliding on my mirrored sunglasses, even though it was already dark out. I knew, just like everyone else, that wearing sunglasses at night immediately made a person at least forty-two percent hotter than if they went without them. I tried to resist the need to wear them, and I only made it a few steps before I ripped them off and said, “No. I’m not gonna be that person. I just can’t.”

“He’s fighting it,” Helena told Corey. “You know how Bruce Banner fights the Hulk. It’s like that, only sexier.”

“I’m on board for this, let me tell you,” Corey said. “You don’t even need to worry about that. This whole train wreck? Sign me the fuck up.”

“Whatever,” I said, fighting the urge to flip my hair sexily. “It ain’t no thang. I don’t got no ish, a’ight?”

“Whoa,” Corey said. “That escalated rather quickly.”

“It’s beginning,” Helena said gleefully. “He still thinks he can repel the urge, but it’s already too late.”

I ignored them. “Where’s the ride?” I said, looking up and down the street. “I thought you said there’d be a kickass limo for us to—”

And that’s when I heard the unmistakable sound of “La Cucaracha.”

I turned slowly.

Rolling down the street was an abomination unlike anything I’d ever seen before. It was bone white, with rust on the rocker panels. There were streamers hanging from the tinted windows. I couldn’t see into the windshield given that the headl

ights were so bright.

“What,” I said, “in the fuck is that?”

“That, my dear boy,” Helena said, “is a 1988 Cadillac Super Stretch Limousine. It’s a classic.”

“I… don’t know what to do with that.”

“As you shouldn’t.”

“Where did you even find something like that to rent?”

“Oh, I didn’t find it.”

The limo stopped in front of my driveway.

I had a really bad feeling about this.

The driver’s door opened.

A figure stepped out, hunched over, wearing a large chauffeur’s hat, and a smart black blazer. The driver shuffled their way around the car, and I had to blink against the headlights, trying to make out who it was.

“Welcome,” the driver said, “to the 2016 Paul Auster’s Getting Married Fuck Yeah Super Bachelor Party!”