Page 9 of The Dance
By the time I glanced over, Stacey appeared to be sleeping. So was Molly. “Think they’ll get a second wind?” I asked Dylan, looking at him through the rearview mirror.
He shrugged. “Maybe. If you hadn’t made so many drinks for them, it wouldn’t be an issue.”
“I didn’t plan to hook up with any of them,” I countered. I really hadn’t. I thought Stacey was hot, even when I saw her at The Wild Pony the night of her birthday, but I wasn’t one to take advantage of a drunk girl. I didn’t need to do that. I could call a number of chicks who would be down if I needed to have some fun. When I followed Stacey into the bathroom, I wasn’t going to let it go past second base.
Okay, maybe third.
Rain poured down on us as I drove, the thunder cracking loud enough that I could hear it over the radio, and lightning lit up the sky. I found the fast-food place on the corner and pulled into the drive-thru. I didn’t bother to wake up the girls, but I ordered enough food for all of us.
I parked on the street outside of the address Stacey had given me and finally woke her up. “Toots. Cold fries are gross.” I nudged her shoulder.
She stirred. “What?”
I handed her a fry. “I got you food.”
Her eyes widened, and she took the fry and popped it into her mouth. “So good.”
“What apartment?” I asked, looking at the two-story building.
“Through there and to the left.” She pointed.
“All right. Let’s go.”
Dylan woke Molly up, and we all got out of the truck. I helped Stacey run in the rain while Dylan took care of Molly. When we got to the bottom floor apartment, Stacey let us in. We ate, and then, being good boys, Dylan and I left.
4
Stacey
I wokethe next morning with a massive headache, the sun shining through the window because I’d forgotten to close the blinds. My stomach was queasy, and I vaguely remembered eating a Whataburger and fries with Molly, Blake, and Dylan before passing out in my bed face down with my tank top and shorts still on.
My phone buzzed on my nightstand, and I groaned, rolling over to grab it, only to realize it was charging. I didn’t remember plugging it in. Did I do it, or did Molly? Maybe Blake?
Speaking of Blake, the text I received was from him, and I grinned as I read the name he had programmed into my phone.
Your Favorite Bartender:
Party’s at 4. Be at your place at 3.
I glanced at the time. It was already one.
“Shit!” I scrambled out of bed and sent a text to Blake:
Sam Malone is that you?
Your Favorite Bartender: Who the fuck is Sam Malone?
I grinned and texted back:
From the TV show Cheers.
Your Favorite Bartender: I never got your age last night. Are you old enough to be my mom or what?
Me: Don’t be hatin because you wish everyone knew your name.
Your Favorite Bartender: Only the special ones know my name toots.
Me: Then I guess I’m one of the lucky ones. What should I wear to this party?
