|
By: Calliope
“Take it.” “Hell no! You first.” “Wuss.” “You’re the wuss. Come on, this was your idea.” “Ladies first.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fine. I’ll go first.” And she did. Licked her hand, sprinkled the salt, licked the salt, took the shot, and sucked the lime. “Holy shit.” One deep breath, and she was back to normal. “Okay. Ren. Stimpy. Your turns.” The two men looked at each other and shrugged. Within seconds, they had downed their own shots, and were motioning towards the bartender for another round. She took one look at her two companions and rolled her eyes again. “This is just ridiculous, you know. The two of you are fucking insane.” They smiled. Endearingly, too. And she knew she was stuck. She knew it. “Fuck. You know, when I said I’d take one of you, I didn’t expect to get two. You know that, right?” A shrug. “We’re a package deal.” A frown. “Well, kinda. You lay those lips on her and you’ll be lacking a package.” “Good to know.” “Yeah, I thought so.” She sighed heavily and grabbed her second shot from the tray. “Why do I feel like I’ve stepped into the middle of a pissing contest?” “Because you did. But just for a second. We’re done now.” “Yeah, now we drink.” And they did. Downed the second shot. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. And then a few more…to the point that they were lacking the necessary brain cells it would’ve taken to count the glasses that had accumulated on the table. She was leaning thoughtfully against the back of her barstool, trying to form a coherent thought as she stared at the man she’d spent weeks running from. “I wuv you.” He grinned lopsidedly at her and lifted his head from the table for a moment, laughing at her inability to drink and his inability to keep drinking all at once. “Love you too.” The friend rolled his eyes. “Shit. I’m gonna be sick. You two…fucking disgusting, you know that?” She pointed a finger at him, trying to make sense of his face as her world continued to spin. “You…you need a drink. You need to relax.” He arched a relatively amused eyebrow. “Like you and lover boy over there?” “Yeah.” A pause while she attempted to gather her bearings. And failed. “Yeah. Like us.” He sighed and downed another shot. “This makes me the winner. You know that, right?” She shrugged. “I lost. I think. Or maybe I won.” Her friend-turned-lover-turned-friend-turned-lover (etc.) nodded. “You won. You get me.” She began to warble an off-key rendition of Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You Babe” while the friend stared at the two in wonder. “I really am gonna be sick.” A shaky sigh. “Not before me.” A burp. “Or me. Too damn much liquor.” Both men turned to her with identical frowns. “You okay?” She steadied herself for a moment, staring at the table as she focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In… “She’s drunk.” “Yeah. So are we.” “Yeah. But she’s really drunk.” A pause. “Is she okay?” The friend turned to stare at her, lips pursed as she knitted her brow and glared into the table. It took every ounce of energy he could muster to keep from laughing at her. “Yeah, she’s okay.” “Are we okay?” The question was quick, but uncertain. Eyes met, and a silent understanding passed. “Yeah, we’re okay.” Part
Twelve: Reminders
|