I stumbled, nearly falling off the couch backward, but Travis’ hands were instantly on my hips to steady me.
“You’ve made your point,” he said. “You’ve drank more than any girl we’ve ever seen. I’m cutting you off.”
“The hell you are,” I slurred. “I have six hundred bucks waiting on me at the bottom of that shot glass, and you of all people aren’t going to tell me I can’t do something extreme for cash.”
“If you’re that hard up for money, Pidge….”
“I’m not borrowing money from you,” I sneered.
“I was gonna suggest pawning that bracelet,” he smiled.
I smacked him on the arm just as America started the countdown to midnight. When the hands of the clock superimposed on the twelve, we all celebrated.
I was nineteen.
America and Shepley kissed each side of my cheek, and Travis lifted me off the ground, twirling me around.
“Happy birthday, Pigeon,” he said with a soft expression.
I stared into his warm, brown eyes for a moment, feeling lost inside of them. The room was frozen in time as we stared at each other, so close I could feel his breath on my skin.
“Shots!” I said, stumbling to the counter.
“You look torn up, Abby. I think it’s time to call it a night,” Brazil said.
“I’m not a quitter,” I said. “I wanna see my money.”
Brazil placed a twenty under the last two glasses, and then he yelled at his teammates, “She’s gonna drink ‘em! I need fifteen!”
They all groaned and rolled their eyes, pulling out their wallets to form a stack of twenties behind the last shot glass. Travis had emptied the other four shots on the other side of my fifteen.
“I would have never believed that I could lose fifty bucks on a fifteen shot bet with a girl,” Chris complained.
“Believe it, Jenks” I said, picking up a glass in each hand.
I knocked back each of the glasses and waited for the vomit rising in my throat to settle.
“Pigeon?” Travis asked, taking a step in my direction.
I raised a finger and Brazil smiled. “She’s going to lose it,” he said.
“No she won’t,” America shook her head. “Deep breath, Abby.”
I closed my eyes and inhaled, picking up the last shot.
“Holy God, Abby! You’re going to die of alcohol poisoning!” Shepley cried.
“She’s got this,” America assured him.
I tipped my head and let the tequila flow down my throat. My teeth and lips had been numb since shot number eight, and the kick of the eighty proof had long since lost its edge. The entire party erupted into whistles and yells as Brazil handed me the stack of money.
“Thank you,” I said with pride, tucking the money away in my bra.
“You are incredibly sexy right now,” Travis said in my ear as we walked to the living room.
We danced into the morning, and the tequila running through my veins eased me into oblivion.
CHAPTER EIGHT
rumors
When my eyes finally peeled open, I saw that my pillow consisted of denim and legs. Travis sat with his back against the tub, his head leaned against the wall, passed out cold. He looked as rough as I felt. I pulled the blanket off of me and stood up, gasping at my horrifying reflection in the mirror above the sink.
I looked like death.
Mascara smeared, black tear stains down my cheek, lipstick smudged across my mouth, and my hair had balls of rats on each side.
Sheets, towels and blankets surrounded Travis. He had fashioned a soft pallet to sleep on while I expelled the fifteen shots of tequila I’d consumed the night before. Travis had held my hair out of the toilet, and sat with me all night.
I turned on the faucet, holding my hand under the water until it was the temperature I wanted. Scrubbing the mess from my face, I heard a moan from the floor. Travis stirred, rubbed his eyes and stretched, and then looked beside him, jerking in a panic.
“I’m right here,” I said. “Why don’t you go to bed? Get some sleep?”
“You okay?” he said, wiping his eyes once more.