Chapter Thirty Seven: Feel Good Whiskey

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*******Kit's POV*******

"Ouch! Tae!" I said as I stubbed my toe for the second time. "Turn on a fucking light, would you?"

"I would if I could find the switch," he said, his voice sounding deeply annoyed. "But somebody came in and moved it while I was gone."

"Nobody moved your damn light switch, you lush," I said with a giggle.

"Hey!" he said. "I'm not the only lush here."

I heard his hand smack against the couch that I had just ran into.

"Oops," he said with a chuckle. "I guess that wasn't your ass."

"Only if somebody came and upholstered my ass in leather while they were moving your light switch."

"You're hilarious," he told me, his tone sounding anything but amused.

"I am, aren't I?" I asked. "I would totally watch my own Netflix comedy special. I'll call it 'Kit: Live from South Korea, even though the only words I know in Korean are the bad ones."

Tae chuckled at me. "I'd watch it. I wouldn't pay to watch it, but I do have Netflix, and if I had already seen every single other thing on there, then I'd probably watch your comedy showcase."

"Smartass," I said with a huff.

"Leather ass."

"That wasn't my ass, dummy!" I reminded him. "Mine is smooth like silk."

"I might have to find that out for myself," he told me.

I plopped down on the couch after running into what I assumed was the coffee table. "Isn't that why we're here?"

"No-Na-not," he said, then laughed at himself. "Not neck-e-salary."

"Umm...what?"

"I have no idea," he said.

The living room was suddenly filled with a soft, yellow light. I looked over to see that Tae had finally managed to find a light, a small one on the table behind the couch. I watched him as he walked around the couch and tripped over nothing falling onto the couch next to me.

He held up the bottle he was carrying. "Have we had enough?"

I grabbed the bottle from him. "No sir!" I took a long swing of the whiskey, then another, before handing it back to him, watching as he did the same.

"We are going to be in so much pain tomorrow," he tells me with a groan.

"Yeah...maybe you should stop drinking now, lightweight," I told him as I grabbed the bottle from his hands again.

"I am not a lightweight!" he insists with the cutest pout I've ever seen on his handsome face. "I'm not quitting until you do."

"Dude," I said with a laugh. "Have you learned nothing so far? Never try to drink an Irish girl under the table. You will lose every time."

"...Aren't you...American?" He asks me, looking confused, which is also adorable on him.

"Didn't we already have this conversation, baby?" I asked him. "I'm Irish American. My grandparents are from Ireland."

He stares at me for a moment, then breaks out into drunken giggles. "You called me 'baby.'

"Oh...sorry."

"I liked it," he tells me as he leans over towards me. "You can call me what-never you wants."

I laugh at his alcohol-induced words. "What-never."

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