“He’s surprisingly limber for a guy his size.”
That time, she chokes on her drink. “Oh, no. This story is horrifying. Given the type of girls at Brixton, I can only imagine who he brought back with him.”
“You know about Brixton?”
Her eyebrows draw together and she laughs. “Yeah. I go there, too.”
“I’ve never seen you.” The beer is going down easier than before and, without having to ask, she hands me another one.
Her fingers feel warm against mine when they brush. She stares right into my eyes when she responds. “It’s a big campus.”
Even though there are a ton of people around us, it feels like we’re the only two at the party. That close, next to the bonfire, I can see every one of her features. She has long black lashes and these freckles across her nose that make her look really young. Her face is round, and she is shorter than I thought she’d be up close. But her hair catches my attention the most. The ends are light blonde, and the top is dark brown. I can’t figure out if she’s too lazy to take care of it or if she’s paid someone to make it look that way.
“You should go mingle.” She begins walking backward in the direction of the dock and raises her depleted wine bottle like she is toasting me. “You’re a free agent, Elliot! Lots of ladies here to rebound with.”
She’s right. I’m a single man, and there’s a ton of alcohol within reach. There are plenty of girls here. And once I have beer, my confidence grows and, suddenly, every girl around me looks a hundred times hotter than she did when I first stepped out of the car
The rest of the night kind of goes by in a blur, but one thing I’m sure of is that I’m spitting mad game at a redhead on the couch who is three coconut vodka cola’s deep. Her eyelids are heavy, and she pouts almost constantly, opening one eye while we talk, like she’s trying to make sure I’m only one person because she thinks I may be a twin.
She seems interested, but then she gets up to go to the bathroom, and I don’t see her again for the rest of the night.
Cline, though. Cline is a massive guy and wouldn’t be what girls consider conventionally attractive. But his personality makes up for it. At some point, I see him with a girl on the other side of the room, and I try to maneuver my way over without tripping on any furniture. I make it to him just in time to see him lean into the girls face and tug on the end of her white-blonde hair before he asks, “Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?”
The funniest part about this line is that the girl isn’t even wearing shoes. But she laughs so hard that she falls into him and, within minutes, they’re walking down the hallway to find an empty room.
I’m not suave by any means. Chelsea was kind of a one-off, if I’m being completely honest. I never in a million years would have pictured myself with a girlfriend as hot as she was.
I’m too goofy. Too awkward around girls. I don’t know. I’ve been told I’m many things. A good flirt is not one of them.
I can’t recall what I said to the girl with the black hair by the bonfire, but it ends with us running to the lake to drunkenly jump off the dock and me being pulled out of the water by someone who looks a little like Cline. Maybe it was my old stand-by of “I like that shirt, but I’d like it better on my floor.”
Pretty sure that’s when I blacked out. Which is a shame, because the girl who wanted to go swimming had actually taken off her top.
“Elliot.”
I shift and press my face into the fabric under my cheek.
“Elliot. Elllll-iiiii-ottttttt.” Whoever is making an E.T. voice is going to get my full wrath. As soon as the room stops spinning, of course.
This time it’s a whisper right next to my ear. “Elliottttt.”
It startles me, and I jump a little, my eyes flying open at the sound of little pings as something scatters across the floor.
Audrey. Audrey is by my side, laughing hysterically as I sit fully upright and watch a hundred Reese’s Pieces rain down around my feet.
“Original. Where the hell did you even get this many Reese’s?”
She blinks and leans back, her mouth open in false shock. “What else do you eat while you’re drunk?”
The house is eerily quiet, and I squint under the terrible brightness of that asshole we refer to as the sun.
She gets to her feet and tilts her head to look me over. “You’re really bad at this drinking thing.”
“I don’t do it very often, but when I do, I commit.” The smile I give her is fleeting before the back of my throat tingles, and I’m stumbling up and towards the bathroom to prove her right.