Jack, David, and Griffin are moving through the crowd to the bar, and it’s too late to hide before David spots me and shouts, “ELLIE! MY GIRL!”
Half-running over to us, he shoves himself into the too-small booth, wrapping his arms around me and kisses the top of my head with an exaggeratedmmmmwah.
“I missed you! I thought I’d never run into you, why the hell haven’t we gotten the band back together yet?” I avoid looking at Griffin, instead making eye contact with Jack. He mouths a silentsorry, and yanks David out of the booth.
“Don’t suffocate her, bozo,” he scolds him. “She has better things to do with her time than hang around a bunch of dorks.”
“I’m not the one wearing khakis to a country bar, dweeb,” he yells, punching him in the shoulder.
“C’mon guys, let's go grab drinks,” Griffin says. “Can I get you ladies anything?”
I bark out an emphaticnoat the same time as Abby says, “Two tequila shots please! And bring salt and lime!”
With a tip of his hat, he drags David with him over to the bar and Jack pulls up a chair next to us.
“Hi Jack Robbit,” Abby says sweetly, dramatically batting her eyes at him. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles as she cackles loudly. “You know this shit wasn’t my idea.”
“And yet, here you are, khakis and all.”
“Why is everyone so damn obsessed with my khakis?”
“Ta daaaa,” David says with a flourish, setting five shots down on the table. “Cheers to being old enough for a reunion, but young enough to still get shitfaced!”
“Speak for yourself,” Jack grumbles as we all throw our shots back, slamming the glasses back down on the table, shuddering at the burn of the alcohol.
“Ellie, tell me about your life,” David shouts, turning his attention back to me. “Any men I need to intimidate?”
“Alright, dork,” Abby yells, sliding out of the booth and shoving him toward the dancefloor. “Let’s see if you grew out of your two left feet.”
“Okay, but you have to actually let me lead, control freak.”
Jack, Griffin, and I sit in awkward silence, and now I wish I had a beer just so I could have something to do with my hands. I consider going to the bar, but my head is swimming with all the tequila, and standing up right now is definitely a bad idea.
“So, did you guys enjoy the bonfire?” I ask, all my energy focused on not slurring my words.
“It was alright,” Jack said, looking at Griffin. He simply shrugs his shoulders, mumbling in agreement. “I wasn’t sorry to get out of there.”
“Me either,” I say. “The smoke was giving me a headache.” I don’t know why I’ve decided to double down on this particular lie, but I’m operating at about forty percent brain power right now and it’s the best I can come up with.
“How long have you and Abby been here?” Griffin asks. His brow is furrowed in mild concern, and I can’t help but think that I’m not doing a very good job at hiding how plastered I am.
And holy shit, am I plastered.
“Long enough to have had about three too many shots,” I say, mimicking Abby’s fluttering eyelashes and mischievous smirk.
Jack shakes his head, chuckling, but the lines between Griffin’s eyebrows deepen. “How are y’all getting home?”
“Don’t worry, dad,” I say with a dramatic roll of my eyes. “Aaron is picking us up in an hour. No drinking and driving, scout’s honor.” I hold up three fingers with one hand and cross my heart with the other, taking a deep drink of the water Abby just set in front of me.
“He’s hopeless,” she says, jabbing her thumb at David. “No sense of rhythm whatsoever. What do they even teach you in Lubbock?”
“No way ginger, I am not the problem out there,” he protests. “How come you only know the guy’s steps?”
“Years and years of Ellie Bellie being my dance partner,” she says, blowing a kiss at me. “You need to hydrate, my love, you have drunk eyes.”
“I do not,” I hiccup, punctuating my sentence in a way that does nothing to support my argument.
