Seems silly to have someone cheer for you in a game like this, but everyone else is yelling, too. I make the mistake of looking down, and when I do, I realize just how much beer there is in front of me. All I can really compare it to is a Coke can, and it’s bigger than a coke can. And that’s…what…twelve ounces? This is maybe sixteen…maybe more. I swallow once, and take in a deep breath, raising my arm and lining up my shot. I feel like playing the bounce might be the best way to go, so I take a few practice swings with my arm, and then finally I let one go—and rim it off the edge of the table, about two feet wide of the cup.
Well, shit.
Turning to Nate, I shrug, and when I turn back, the guy on the other end is rolling up his sleeves, readying himself for his shot. Everyone behind him is yelling “Cash! Cash! Cash! Cash!” When they do, I realize I recognize him. He’s on the team with Nate. He’s a pitcher, which means he’s probably pretty good at aiming for things. And two seconds later, my hunch is confirmed by the small orange ball that’s taunting me from the bubbles in the center of my cup.
“Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!” It feels like it takes me minutes to get up the courage to pick up the cup and bring it to my lips, but when I finally do and tip it back—feeling the sharp tang of whatever cheap beer filled it—I down it fast.
“Woooooo!” I say, lifting the open collar of my shirt up to my mouth, wiping it clean, my insides burning a little from instant alcoholic fullness. “Okay, I wanna rematch. You! Yeah—you’re not getting off that easy. Let me see you do that again!” I was feeling brave…and probably a little drunk. No, I was feeling a lot drunk. But who cares. My boyfriend was hot, and I was in college, and nothing else mattered. This. Was. Awesome!
Nate
I knew better. But she looked so damned cute when she asked for another cup of beer. And she seemed like she was holding it together well. I was careful to make sure she was pacing herself, drinking water in between. But then we started playing a game. Fucking drinking games.
Rowe might be good at hitting a ball with a racket, but she was shit at throwing a Ping-Pong ball into a cup. And by the end of the night, I was just happy she hadn’t ripped the bra from her body and gone skinny-dipping in the pool.
She still looked hot as hell, but I was going to have to convince her to bust that outfit out another time, because there was no way she was doing anything other than passing out or throwing up tonight. Probably both.
“Nate, your girl can’t hold her liquor,” Paige says, walking over to me with a very Jell-O-like Rowe slumped around her shoulder. “I love this girl. But if she throws up on me, I’m dropping her.”
“I got it,” I say, reaching in quickly and pulling Rowe up in my arms, keeping her body close to mine.
“Snuuuuuuuggle,” Rowe slurs, rubbing her face against my chest like a cat.
“I got ya,” I say, gearing my muscles up for the long walk home. I pass Ty and Cass while I walk through the front porch. “Hey, I’ve gotta take her home and get her to bed. We’ll be in our room, that okay?”
“Yeah, whatever. Just don’t let her puke on my bed,” Ty says, waving me off.
“Right, because it’d be a shame for something to happen to your princess sheets,” I laugh over my shoulder.
“Malibu Barbie, douchebag. Don’t disrespect!” he says, fluffing the ruffles of his tutu.
“I still can’t believe you wore that thing—over boxer briefs. Pink ones. You know, that’s going to give me nightmares,” I say, doing my best to avoid looking straight at my brother’s junk since the tutu is all fluffed up in the front of his lap.
“You hold all the power, right there in that pretty little drunk package you’re taking home. You convince her…and this one,” he says, pointing to Cass, “to give me back my Cookie, and I’ll put pants on. Until then, this is your view pal.”
“What’s…Cookie?” Cass asks, her brows tilted while she looks at Ty with suspicion.
“Yeah, yeah. Nice try, sister. But I know you’re in on this,” Ty says, making me chuckle, which stirs Rowe in my arms.
“Cookie is his itty, witty teddy bear, and big ole Tysie wysie can’t sleep without him,” she slurs, her lips pouting in the most f**king adorable way ever.
“Yeah, you go ahead and play this out, Rowe. We’ll see who’s laughing about Cookie at the end,” Ty says as we walk away, and I can tell by his tone that he’s a little embarrassed. I almost feel bad, too. But then I remember all the times he punched me and told me not to fussy fuss, and my smile comes right back to my face.