Ty
Free rum and Coke. I’ve had to pay for all of my therapy drinking the last two days, so when Nate offered to take care of tonight’s “medicine,” I was all over it. Plus, the two hot chicks Paige brought to tag along were a pretty welcome distraction.
Paige hasn’t hit me yet. I was, frankly, expecting to find her at my door bright and early this morning. My only guess is that Cass has kept our blowout a secret. Nate said that Rowe knew about it, because he told her. Of course, I’m the bad guy in this. At least, according to Rowe I am.
I probably am the bad guy in this. But I’ll be damned if I was the only one being an irrational asshat in that fight.
I’m not even surprised when I see her walking up with Rowe. I think I knew this was an ambush all along. But now, I’m four drinks in, and I feel rowdy. I’ve been flirting with easy girls who don’t want attachments, don’t require work, and don’t fuck with my heart and my head.
But the closer she gets, the more she comes into focus. She’s beautiful.
“Oh fuck no!” I shout. Yeah, so maybe I’m a little drunk.
Rowe scolds me fast, putting me in my place. It makes me smirk. I like that girl. She’s good for my brother. I wave her off and turn my attention back to Paige and her two girlfriends—mostly because they have the bottle of liquor.
“Fill ’er up,” I say, holding my cup out for Paige. She holds her hand over the bottle and stares at me with a sharp look. I know I’m about to get the hammer I’ve been waiting for.
“You better fix whatever that is,” she says, pointing to her sister with a swirling finger. “She hasn’t said a word to me, but Rowe says you two had a fight. So help me god, if I find out you did anything that warrants me cutting your dick off, don’t think I won’t.”
Here’s the thing: when chicks make threats like that, it instantly incites a chemical reaction in the brain of a dude, and we imagine whatever it is they said, and then we feel it. However juvenile it might seem, however unlikely it is that Paige will actually cut my dick off—I just felt it happening. And that’s enough of a threat for me.
Effective. That shit’s highly effective.
“Your sister lost my watch,” I say, somehow thinking in my state that Paige will have some clue what this means and cut me some slack. I’m sure my words must sound like gibberish though, because she just bunches her nose at me and shakes her head.
“So go get a new one,” she says with her signature eye-roll. She was made to do that. It makes me chuckle, and I tip my cup back and feel the burn of straight rum, my chest and arms tingling with the warmth. Yeah, I should cut myself off now.
Cass stays close to Rowe, and Nate keeps giving me the look—the look. I told him everything, and he told me I was being an idiot. He’s probably right. And I’m blowing this chance, too, blowing right through it with one more rum and Coke. Mmmmmmm.
There’s giggling, and Paige’s friends find me amusing. I focus on them, because they think I’m funny. Paige is a little drunk too. She must be—because she also finds me humorous. And she’s no longer threatening to cut my junk. So that’s good, right?
Cass isn’t laughing. She’s not having a good time. No, she’s leaving. Wait…she’s leaving? My cup is half full…or maybe it’s half empty? How does that saying go…? I’m swishing the flat Coke around in circles in my cup—no more bubbles from carbonation, only the hot burn of rum. I could tip this back and forget everything, just stay here, see how the giggling plays out. Maybe wake up in the morning to Paige busting my door down and kicking me in the groin with one of her spikey heels.
But Cass is leaving. And she looks like she’s going to cry. And…
I did that.
“I’m out of here, man. See ya later,” I say to my brother, tossing the rest of my drink in the grass and pushing myself to the dirt where my wheels can move a little more easily.
She sees me coming, and she doesn’t run. She’s not running. My head is making everything look sideways, and I’m pretty sure my speech is going to sound like shit a green alien says, but she’s not running. This is good.
“Hey,” I say, moving up alongside her on the walkway. We’re both traveling slowly, no rush—nowhere to go.
“Hey,” she says, and she sounds broken. So damn broken.
“So,” I start, but then my tongue suddenly feels fat. I’m fuzzy, my mind fuzzy. Everything, so…fuzzy. I’m aware enough to know that I won’t be able to do this right, but I have to slide a rock in the door, keep it open, so I can fix this shit in the morning.