“That’s my Firefly!” he yells back proudly.
He grabs a bottle of tequila and fills all three shot glasses to the top. I shake some salt on my wrist, feeling the small crystals coat my skin. I lick my wrist and shoot back the first shot, then the second shot, and finally the third; the burn still not easing any. As I slam the third glass down on the bar, Bobby hands me a lime wedge and I bite it hard. My body temperature is rising rapidly and I start pulling on my shirt.
“It just got really hot in here!” I yell at Bobby.
“Keep your shirt on. Your dad will beat your ass if you flash all these bikers!” He tosses back three shots as well.
I look over at Shadow and see Chelsea whispering into his ear. His face is masked with an unfamiliar look.
“Hey, can I get a shot of Jack!” a voice yells at me from over the bar. I grab a clean shot glass, fill it and hand it over to an older lady.
“Try this; it’s called a lemon drop.” Bobby hands me another shot glass. “Chicks dig it,” he says as I down it without question. It is delicious and comes with less kick than the straight tequila.
“That is so yummy!” I say dramatically, rolling back my eyes and feeling slaphappy. The liquor is clearly taking over.
“We should dance. I could totally dance right now,” I say, grabbing on Bobby’s arm.
“Eh, how often do you drink?” Bobby yells in my direction, trying to be heard over the loud music of Buckcherry.
“Never. Well, I mean I have had wine here and there, and a shot with my dad the other day,” I explain, slurring my words. Bobby's face goes a little pale.
“I’m cutting you off,” he yells at me, putting up the tequila bottle.
“What? Why?” I yell in protest. I was just starting to have fun.
I grab Bobby's arm and drag him out on to the dance floor. If Shadow can be a slut, why can’t I?
Bobby hesitates and tries to pull out of my grip as I drag him to the few dancing bodies in the center of the room. I start moving my hips in front of his, lowering my body as the song “Crazy Bitch” by Buckcherry takes over.
“You're gonna get me killed, Firefly,” he whispers in my ear as he grabs my hips and pulls me close.
“It’s fine. My dad went in the back a little while ago with some girls,” I assure him.
“It’s not your dad I'm talking about.”
I try to look back over at Shadow and... what was her name again? All I see is a swarm of people; fuzzy people, I might add. Suddenly, my stomach feels queasy and the room starts shifting.
I look up at Bobby. “I don’t-“ I stop mid-sentence, choking on my tongue which now feels like it’s too big for my mouth.
“Run! Run to the bathroom!” he yells, pushing me in the small of my back toward the hallway. The floor is rolling like the waves at the beach and I am pretty sure I'm stomping because I can't tell if it's on its way up or on its way down. My foot somehow catches on the floor and I go tumbling forward. Bobby catches me just before my nose lands. His hands are huge and hold my frame easily as he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. The room spins even faster.
“That really didn’t help!” I choke, trying to hold back vomit.
“Don’t fucking puke on me, damn it!” He rushes down the hall with my body bouncing on his broad shoulder. I clamp my hand over my mouth to hold the bile that's rising.
He slides me down on the floor, right in front of the toilet, just in the nick of time. I lean over and spew a mixture of lime, beer, and tequila.
“Oh, wow, that smells,” he says, pulling his shirt over his nose. I glance up at him; he truly is beautiful. His blond curls and blue eyes would make any girl swoon.
“You’re so pretty,” I pronounce before expelling more vomit.
He leans down and pulls my hair back as I continue to heave into the toilet.
“I have never held a bitch's hair while she vomited. This is really gross,” he says in disgust. “And I'm not pretty. I'm handsome, rugged and good looking.”
My fuzzy thoughts go back to Chelsea. She is so pretty and seems so secure of who she is, while I'm in here puking my guts out. Not so pretty right now.
“I am pretty!” I yell in a drunken state.
“What?” Bobby asks, laughing.
“I could look hot in leather, right? She was not hot,” I cry, vomit dribbling down my chin. I am truly a mess. Never again!
“Chelsea?” Bobby asks. I nod my head more than necessary.
“She is hot in leather and so biker, and I'm not so much. I, ugh... I hate this. I hate this feeling, I mean. No. yes.” I am not making any sense. Then I vomit in the toilet one more time, making Bobby laugh again.
“Shadow’s a fucking tool. You would be way hotter than Chelsea in leather,” Bobby says quietly. Feeling a little better I lift my head up at Bobby.
“Really?” I ask, still insecure.