Beautiful Disaster (15 page)

“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 Patrón. “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 Patrón.”

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 Patrón?” 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.”

“Oh,” he said, frowning with disapproval. “You drank tequila with your dad?”

I shrugged. “It was his way of bonding.”

Parker seemed unimpressed as his eyes left mine, scanning the crowd. “I can't stay long. I'm leaving early for a hunting trip with my father.”

“It's a good thing my party was tonight, or you wouldn't have made it tomorrow,” I said, surprised to hear of his plans.

He smiled and took my hand. “I would have made it back in time.”

I pulled him to the counter, picked up another shot glass and killed it, slamming it on the counter upside down like I had the previous five. Brazil handed me another twenty, and I danced into the living room. Travis grabbed me, and we danced with America and Shepley.

Shepley slapped me on the butt. “One!”

America added a second swat on my backside, and then the entire party joined in, sans Parker.

At number nineteen, Travis rubbed his hands together. “My turn!”

I rubbed my sore posterior. “Be easy! My ass hurts!”

With an evil smirk, he reared his hand far above his shoulder. I closed my eyes tight. After a few moments, I peeked back. Just before his hand made contact, he stopped and gave me a gentle pat.

“Nineteen!” he exclaimed.

The guests cheered, and America started a drunken rendition of “Happy Birthday.” I laughed when the part came to say my name and the entire room sang “Pigeon.”

Another slow song came over the stereo, and Parker pulled me to the makeshift dance floor. It
didn't take me long to figure out why he didn't dance.

“Sorry,” he said after stepping on my toes for the third time.

I leaned my head on his shoulder. “You're doing just fine,” I lied.

He pressed his lips against my temple. “What are you doing Monday night?”

“Going to dinner with you?”

“Yes. In my new apartment.”

“You found one!”

He laughed and nodded. “We'll order in, though. My cooking isn't exactly edible.”

“I'd eat it, anyway,” I said, smiling up at him.

Parker glanced around the room and then led me to a hallway. He gently pressed me against the wall, kissing me with his soft lips. His hands were everywhere. At first I played along, but after his tongue infiltrated my lips, I got the distinct feeling that I was doing something wrong.

“Okay, Parker,” I said, maneuvering away.

“Everything all right?”

“I just think it's rude of me to make out with you in a dark corner when I have guests out there.”

He smiled and kissed me again. “You're right, I'm sorry. I just wanted to give you a memorable birthday kiss before I left.”

“You're leaving?”

He touched my cheek. “I have to wake up in four hours, Abs.”

I pressed my lips together. “Okay. I'll see you Monday?”

“You'll see me tomorrow. I'll stop by when I get back.”

He led me to the door and then kissed my cheek before he left. I noticed that Shepley, America, and Travis were all staring at me.

“Daddy's gone!” Travis yelled when the door closed. “Time to get the party started!”

Everyone cheered, and Travis pulled me to the center of the floor.

“Hang on … I'm on a schedule,” I said, leading him by the hand to the counter. I knocked back another shot, and laughed when Travis took one from the end, sucking it down. I grabbed another and swallowed, and he did the same.

“Seven more, Abby,” Brazil said, handing me two more twenty-dollar bills.

I wiped my mouth as Travis pulled me to the living room again. I danced with America and then Shepley, but when Chris Jenks from the football team tried to dance with me, Travis pulled him back by the shirt and shook his head. Chris shrugged and turned, dancing with the first girl he saw.

The tenth shot hit hard, and I felt a little dizzy standing on Brazil's couch with America, dancing like clumsy grade-schoolers. We giggled over nothing, waving our arms around to the beat.

I stumbled, nearly falling off the couch backward, but Travis's hands were instantly on my hips to steady me.

“You've made your point,” he said. “You've drunk 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 of my cheeks, and then 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.

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 tearstains 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?”

“Yeah, I'm good. Well, good as I can be. I'll feel better once I get a shower.”

He stood up. “You took my crazy title last night, just so you know. I don't know where that came from, but I don't want you to do it again.”

“It's pretty much what I grew up around, Trav. Not a big deal.”

He took my chin in his hands and wiped the remaining smeared mascara from under my eyes with his thumbs. “It was a big deal to me.”

“Fine, I won't do it again. Happy?”

“Yes. But I have something to tell you, if you promise not to freak out.”

“Oh, God, what did I do?”

“Nothing, but you need to call America.”

“Where is she?”

“At Morgan. She got into it with Shep last night.”

I rushed through my shower and yanked on the clothes Travis had set on the sink. When I emerged from the bathroom, Shepley and Travis were sitting in the living room.

“What did you do to her?” I demanded.

Shepley's face fell. “She's really pissed at me.”

“What happened?”

“I was mad that she encouraged you to drink so much. I thought we were going to end up taking you to the hospital. One thing led to another, and the next thing I know, we're screaming at each other. We were both drunk, Abby. I said some things I can't take back,” he shook his head, looking to the floor.

“Like what?” I said, angry.

“I called her a few names I'm not proud of and then told her to leave.”

“You let her leave here drunk? Are you some kind of idiot?” I said, grabbing at my purse.

“Easy, Pidge. He feels bad enough,” Travis said.

I fished my cell phone out of my purse, dialing America's number.

“Hello?” she answered. She sounded awful.

“I just heard,” I sighed. “Are you okay?” I walked down the hall for privacy, glancing back once to shoot a dirty look at Shepley.

“I'm fine. He's an asshole.” Her words were abrupt, but I could hear the hurt in her voice. America had mastered the art of hiding her emotions, and she could have hidden it from anyone but me.

“I'm sorry I didn't go with you.”

“You were out of it, Abby,” she said dismissively.

“Why don't you come get me? We can talk about it.”

She breathed into the phone. “I don't know. I don't really feel like seeing him.”

“I'll tell him to stay inside, then.”

After a long pause, I heard keys clink in the background. “All right. I'll be there in a minute.”