“Happy birthday, Baby!” Finch said, kissing my lips.
America nudged me with her elbow. “Good thing I got you to go run errands with me today or you would have shown up looking like ass!”
“You look great,” Travis said, scanning my dress.
Brazil hugged me, pressing his cheek to mine. “And I hope you know America’s Brazil is Creepy story was just a line to get you in here.”
I looked at America and she laughed. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Once everyone took turns hugging me and wishing me a happy birthday, I leaned into America’s ear. “Where’s Parker?”
“He’ll be here later,” she whispered. “Shepley couldn’t get him on the phone to let him know until this afternoon.”
Brazil cranked up the volume on the stereo, and everyone screamed. “Come here, Abby!” he said, walking to the kitchen. He lined up shot glasses along the counter and pulled a bottle of tequila from the bar. “Happy birthday from the football team, baby girl,” he smiled, pouring each shot glass full of Petron. “This is the way we do birthdays: You turn nineteen, you have nineteen shots. You can drink ‘em or give ‘em away, but the more you drink, the more of these you get,” he said, fanning out a handful of twenties.
“Oh my God!” I squealed.
“Drink ‘em up, Pidge!” Travis said.
I looked to Brazil, suspicious. “I get a twenty for every shot I drink?”
“That’s right, lightweight. Gauging by the size of you, I’m going to say we’ll get away with losing sixty bucks by the end of the night.”
“Think again, Brazil,” I said, grabbing the first shot glass, rolling it across my lip, tipping my head back to empty the glass and then rolling it the rest of the way, dropping it into my other hand.
“Holy shit!” Travis exclaimed.
“This is really a waste, Brazil.” I said, wiping the corners of my mouth. “You shoot Cuervo, not Petron.”
The smug smile on Brazil’s face faded, and he shook his head and shrugged. “Get after it, then. I’ve got the wallets of twelve football players that say you can’t finish ten.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Double or nothing says I can drink fifteen.”
“Whoa!” Shepley cried. “You’re not allowed to hospitalize yourself on your birthday, Abby!”
“She can do it,” America said, staring at Brazil.
“Forty bucks a shot?” Brazil said, looking unsure.
“Are you scared?” I asked.
“Hell no! I’ll give you twenty a shot, and when you make it to fifteen, I’ll double your total.”
“That’s how Kansans do birthdays,” I said, popping back another shot.
An hour and three shots later, I was in the living room dancing with Travis. The song was a rock ballad, and Travis mouthed the words to me as we danced. He dipped me at the end of the first chorus, and I let my arms fall behind me. He popped me back up, and I sighed.
“You can’t do that when I start getting into the double digit shots,” I giggled.
“Did I tell you how incredible you look tonight?”
I shook my head and hugged him, laying my head on his shoulder. He tightened his grip, and buried his face in my neck, making me forget about decisions or bracelets or my separate personalities; I was exactly where I wanted to be.
When the music changed to a faster beat, the door opened.
“Parker!” I said, running over to hug him. “You made it!”
“Sorry I’m late, Abs,” he said, pressing his lips against mine. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks,” I said, seeing Travis stare at us from the corner of my eye.
Parker lifted my wrist. “You wore it.”
“I said I would. Wanna dance?”
He shook his head. “Uh…I don’t dance.”
“Oh. Well, you wanna witness my sixth shot of Petron?” I smiled, holding up my five twenties. “I make double if I get to fifteen.”
“That’s a bit dangerous, isn’t it?”
I leaned into his ear. “I am totally hustling them. I’ve played this game with my dad since I was sixteen.”