“Be honest!” Christy demanded, tossing back her sixth or seventh shot of tequila. They’d only been at the bar for an hour or so, which meant Christy was making good time on hitting her quota, not that she ever hesitated to hit the drinks. “Is living with Trent everything you thought it would be?”
“Uh… yeah,” Bree replied, her hands nestled around her first bottle of beer. It was about gone, but she wasn’t anywhere near as intoxicated as Christy was. Hank also was taking his time, though he’d finished at least two beers and was on his third. “I love living with Trent.”
“Is he as perfect as you’d thought he would be? Or does he leave the seat up and his pants on the floor like the rest of his species?”
A giggle escaped Bree’s lips as she pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle it and failed. “He’s not perfect, but he’s not bad, either. I have no complaints.”
