Abby pulled Parker to the counter, picked up another shot glass, and killed it, slamming it on the counter upside down like the five times before. Brazil handed her another twenty, and she danced into the living room.
Without hesitation, I grabbed her, and we danced with America and Shepley.
Shepley slapped her on the butt. “One!”
America added a second swat, and then the entire party joined in.
At number nineteen, I rubbed my hands together, making her think I was going to bust her a good one. “My turn!”
She rubbed her posterior. “Be easy! My ass hurts!”
Unable to contain my amusement, I reared my hand far above my shoulder. Abby closed her eyes, and after a moment, peeked back. I stopped just short of her ass, and gave her a gentle pat.
“Nineteen!” I yelled.
The guests cheered, and America started a drunken rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” When it got to the part for her name, the entire room sang “Pigeon.” It made me kinda proud.
Another slow song came over the stereo, but this time Parker pulled her to the middle of the room for a dance. He looked like a robot with two left feet, stiff and clumsy.
I tried not the watch, but before the song was over, I caught them slip off to the hallway. My eyes met America’s. She smiled, winked, and shook her head, silently telling me not to do anything stupid.
She was right. Abby wasn’t alone with him for more than five minutes before they were walking to the front door.
The uncomfortable, embarrassed expression on Abby’s face told me that Parker had tried to make those few minutes memorable.
He kissed her cheek, and then Abby shut the door behind him.
“Daddy’s gone!” I yelled, pulling Abby to the center of the living room. “Time to get the party started!”
The room exploded into cheering.
“Hang on! I’m on a schedule!” Abby said, walking into the kitchen. She took another shot.
Seeing how many she had left, I grabbed one from the end and drank it. Abby took another shot, so I did the same.
“Seven more, Abby,” Brazil said, handing her more cash.
The next hour we danced, laughed, and talked about nothing particularly important. Abby’s lips were locked in a smile, and I couldn’t help but stare at her all night.
One in a while, I thought I’d catch her glance at me, and it made me wonder what would happen when we got back to the apartment.
Abby took her time drinking the next few shots, but by her tenth, she was in bad shape. She danced on the couch with America, bouncing and giggling, but then lost her balance.
I caught her before she fell.
“You’ve made your point,” I said. “You’ve drunk more than any girl we’ve ever seen. I’m cutting you off.”
“The hell you are,” she said, slurring her words. “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,” she sneered.
“I was gonna suggest pawning that bracelet.” I smiled.
She smacked me 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 had never wanted to kiss a girl so much in my life.
America and Shepley beat me to it, kissing each of her cheeks. I lifted her off the ground, twirling her around.
“Happy birthday, Pigeon,” I said, trying very hard not to press my lips against hers.
Everyone at the party knew what she was up to in the hall with Parker. It would be pretty shitty of me to make her look bad in front of them.
She watched me with her big gray eyes, and I melted inside of them.
“Shots!” she said, stumbling to the kitchen.
Her shout startled me, bringing all the noise and motion around us back into my reality again.
“You look torn up, Abby. I think it’s time to call it a night,” Brazil said when she arrived at the counter.
“I’m not a quitter,” she said. “I wanna see my money.”
I joined her as Brazil placed a twenty under the last two glasses. 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 stack a pile of twenties behind the last shot glass.
“I would have never believed that I could lose fifty bucks on a fifteen-shot bet with a girl,” Chris complained.
“Believe it, Jenks,” she said, picking up a glass in each hand.
She knocked back each of the glasses, one at a time, but then paused.
“Pigeon?” I asked, taking a step in her direction.
She 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.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled, picking up the last shot remaining on the counter.
“Holy God, Abby! You’re going to die of alcohol poisoning!” Shepley cried.
“She’s got this,” America assured him.