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TAYLOR
“The bingo cardsays someone’s gotta kiss a guy,” Tina said, her words slurred as she looked at the paper in her hand. She’d had a few too many appletinis and I was surprised she could still read, let alone see straight.
“I’ll do it!” Amber volunteered, raising her arm like she was in third grade math class.
I took another sip of my water and hoped the two headache pills I took a half hour ago would kick in. The music at The Roadside was a touch too loud, the Saturday night crowd a touch too wild and my friends from Wild Wild Wilderness a touch too drunk.
It was Tina’s bachelorette party and over her floral sundress she had a pink satin sash that read “Bride” in fancy script. She had a tiara on her head that was as shiny as the diamond on her engagement ring.
Kristy and Jenna rounded out the party. We were at a high top table by the jukebox and there were a slew of empty bottles and glasses between us. It was only eleven and I was already well past done. I didn’t drink. Not a drop, so I was always the not-fun sober friend at times like this.
My dad was–even if he would never admit it–a functioning alcoholic. I knew what liquor did to a person. While having a few drinks to celebrate a co-worker’s upcoming wedding wasn’t going to pickle my liver, I’d had to cook dinner for Dad before I went out and when I set it on the TV tray next to his recliner, he’d flung it across the room in anger since it wasn’t Salisbury Steak like he wanted.
I’d bitten my tongue when I wanted to remind him that the opened bottle of vodka tucked into the seat cushion beside him was the missing grocery money, but that would have only riled him up more. I’d only listened to him tell me how worthless I was while cleaning up the mess. I’d changed clothes and ducked out soon after.
The other reason I was drinking water wasbecause I had no money. Like none. My paychecks from last week went to the mortgage, utilities, coolant for my ancient car, and well… Dad’s drinking.
It was better here with a roomful of happy drunks than at home.
I took the bingo card, a bachelorette party activity Jenna had brought, and refreshed myself on the things already crossed off, smiling at the antics we’d been up to.
Dance on a table. That had been Tina two hours ago.
Selfie with a group of guys. Kristy had that photo in her phone.
Take a shot of tequila. Amber and Tina both did that. Twice.
Meet someone named John. Thank God Tina had gone around the bar and tackled that one. I couldn’t imagine hitting up every guy in the place for their name, although it was fun to watch. Turned out, there were three Johns at The Roadside at that time.
My job for the night was simple. Since I was the designated driver, I got off easy. I’d had to do karaoke at the previous bar, which was where we’d started since it had a happy hour singalong. I might’ve been a little shy, but I did like to sing and everyone sucked at karaoke. Fortunately, Amber let me drive her car forthe night out since mine took a while to start. The battery wasn’t dead; I knew that much about how cars worked. Something was wrong with the ignition, having to pump the gas to get it going. The last thing I wanted was for all of us to be stuck out late because my car ended up dying. I’d get it fixed someday, but today wasn’t it.
“Besides ‘kiss a guy,’ there’s ‘give a piece of clothing to a stranger.’” Kristy pointed at the box that also wasn’t crossed off. “Then we’ll have bingo on the diagonal.”
“I’ll do two in one and then we can hit up another bar,” Amber volunteered. I had to appreciate how she took one for the team.
She scanned the crowd, her head going back and forth like a sprinkler, then she spun on the stool and faced the other way, did the same thing. It took her long enough that the four of us were remarking about Kristy’s nail polish color when Amber finally said, “Him.”
We looked up, turned as a group to where Amber pointed.
Holy hell.
It was a table of cowboys. Two were sitting and one stood, forearm resting on the hightop. The trio was nothing new around here, and one was morehandsome than the next. Actually, there was one that wasmosthandsome. Sandy blond hair, trimmed super short on the sides but longer on top–how did a guy have such amazing curls?–that looked like a woman ran her fingers through it while they were making out. Or fucking.
Yes, I could see this guy fucking. He’d know exactly what he was doing. And he looked like a giver.
I imagined yanking off the white t-shirt that stretched over taut muscles and stripping away the jeans that were worn and molded in all the right places…
I took a sip of my water to wet my mouth that had suddenly gone dry.
I ignored my friends tittering away at Amber’s selection, not sure if she meant the blond, the dark haired guy with the Stetson, or the one in the plaid snap shirt.
I couldn’t pick the Stetson guy or the snap shirt guy out of a lineup because I only had eyes forhim.
Tanned. Big hands. Long legs. Thick thighs. Square jaw that hadn’t seen a razor in a few days. Plus, he was older. He had to be ten years older than me. That meant he had experience. Knew what he wanted.
Pretty much, he was a man, not a boy.
