Well Hung by Lauren Blakely Page A

from a chemistry class. Natalie stares at it longingly after she puts her phone away.
    “Ever had one of those in Vegas?” I say to her.
    She elbows my ribs. “You know I haven’t.”
    “Then we need to deflower you in the ‘towering, delicious-looking cocktail that you down on the street’ department.” As the group nears us, I call out, “Hey there. Just wondering where we can grab one of those fantastic concoctions.”
    The woman points to a street cart on the next block, where we order one. And it turns out this beaker is full of the good shit.
    Natalie taps the pink plastic container shaped like a bong. “This is like a fast track to a super-buzz.”
    “Yeah, it pretty much goes straight to the brain. Probably the judgment center,” I joke, then hum a line from the Sheeran number she sang earlier. “Definitely the judgment center.”
    As we walk along the canal shops, my arm draped over her shoulders, we tell dirty jokes, sing snippets of favorite songs, and laugh so hard I’m not sure we can stop.
    “Hey, want to hear something funny?”
    “Duh. Of course I do.”
    “When I was in middle school, there was a rumor going around that if you laughed for twenty-four hours straight, you’d get a six-pack. Like, it was a one-time thing. If you could pull this off for a full day, you’d be set for life, all carved and shit,” I say, gesturing to my belly.
    She cracks up then slides her fingers over the fabric of my shirt. “Did you do a laugh-a-thon to get these?”
    “No, but we tried it at home,” I admit, sheepishly.
    She clutches her belly, cracking up. “Oh my God, you’re ridiculous.”
    “We decided to watch the funniest shows on TV, and Nick and I found these cartoons he was totally into. Some Japanese animated thing that was fucking hilarious. We managed about fifteen minutes of non-stop laughing.” Then I pull her close. “But I’ve laughed a lot tonight, so maybe I’m finally getting a twelve-pack.”
    She shakes her head. “Not gonna happen.”
    I pout. “Why not?”
    “Because soon, you’re going to stop laughing.”
    “Are you going to tell me something sad?”
    Another shake. “Nope. But I’m pretty sure you won’t be laughing when we’re naked later. You’ll be moaning and groaning and making those sexy sounds you make when you lose control for me.”
    And the temperature in me shoots through the roof. I do groan as I tug her close.
    “Just. Like. That,” she says in a sexy purr.
    I cup the back of her head and kiss her like crazy. We both sound like we can’t get enough of each other.
    When we manage to untangle, I guide her to the gondola ride. We settle on the seat as a man in a striped shirt and a red beret pushes a giant pole-like oar through the water. I wrap my arm around Natalie, and out of nowhere, I start humming that same tune again. And it hits me—I would never sing this sober. I would never sing it buzzed.
    Which means, I’m not buzzed.
    I’m borderline drunk.
    And the world is my oyster.
    Evidently, it’s everyone’s oyster tonight, because there’s clapping and cheering from the other gondolas. I swing my eyes around to the boat in front of us. A dude in pressed pants and a white button-down shirt has dropped to one knee, and a brunette has her arms around his neck and is crying happy tears as she gazes at a new ring on her finger. I watch as the afterglow of a proposal unfolds around us. Everyone else is cheering for them, too. Onlookers from the banks of the canals offer their hoots and hollers, and so does Natalie.
    She cups her hands around her mouth. “Woohoo!”
    She nudges me, and that’s my cue to chime in, too, so I pump a fist and shout, “Congrats! Go marry her tonight!”
    The guy laughs, and shoots me a thumbs-up. His bride-to-be waves at us. Someone walking along the shops seconds my idea. “Go to A Little White Wedding Chapel!”
    In their gondola, the button-down guy and his lady lock eyes, and seem to be weighing the idea,