She drops her lower lip. “Not yet, I wanna see the band of hotties.”
Somehow she frees herself from my embrace and stumbles toward the stage.Unsure whether to laugh or cry, I take off after her. When I catch up to her, I spin her around and guide her toward the front door. “Not today.”
“Party pooper,” she squeals with a giggle.
For every unstable step we take, she giggles more. She laughs so hard, she occasionally snorts, which in turn, makes her laugh even louder. And thus begins the vicious cycle of drunk girls giggling.
By the time we make it outside, my cheeks are the color of beetroot, and my nape is dripping with sweat. I’ve also laughed more the prior ten minutes than I have the past month. As we step onto the paved sidewalk at the front of the raging, out-of-control party, a white car pulls in front of us. The pretty girl sitting in the passenger seat eyes us curiously while rolling down her window. “Do you need a lift?”
“I'm about to call a taxi,” I advise her while struggling to keep Emily on her feet and removing my phone.
When her eyes drift from Emily to me, the redhead says, “It could be a while. We really don’t mind giving you a ride.” Her beautiful green eyes don’t show any judgment for Emily’s inebriated state. All they reflect is genuine concern.
My eyes stray in the direction we just left while contemplating the stranger’s offer. My pulse quickens when I spot Christian standing on the front step. His eyes are rapt on me, and he’s smirking a smug grin.
Rolling my eyes at his pompousness, I return my gaze to the pretty redhead. “Okay, if you don’t mind?”
With a smile, she jumps out of the car and opens the back passenger door. A beautiful floral scent engulfs me when she helps me get Emily into her back seat. Once we have her buckled in, the car pulls away from the curb. Grinning, I crank my neck back to Christian. He’s still watching me, but his grin is nowhere near as smug. Good. I wave at him condescendingly as the stranger’s car whizzes down the street.
My attention reverts to the front when the cute redhead offers an introduction. “My name is Nicole, and this is my sister, Petra.”
Nicole has gorgeous long, wavy red hair, and her skin is Alaska-white. The contrast of her hair and face is mesmerizing, but her most alluring feature is her stunning green eyes. They pop right off her face.
“I’m Jenni, and this is my best friend, Emily. It’s her first time drinking.” I don’t want them thinking this is something Emily does often. I’ve been her friend for more than half my life, and this is the first time she’s been drunk.
The rest of our drive is made in silence. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable; there’s just no time for a conversation since I only live a few blocks from Phillip’s house.
When we arrive at my home, Nicole helps me carry Emily up the stairs. We giggle, crash into the walls, and fumble precariously down the hallway. Thankfully, my parents are heavy sleepers.
Once Emily is flopped onto my king-size bed, my eyes drift to Nicole. “Thank you so much for everything you did tonight.”
“It was my pleasure.” She hands me a business card. “I hope to see you around.”
Smiling, she briskly exits my room. I follow her downstairs to bid farewell to her and her sister. Once their taillights are nothing but a blur, I study the business card in my hand. “D.S.D. – Designated Sister Driver – Nicole Reed,” I read off the card.
It has a cell number attached to it. Shrugging, I slip it into my pocket then dash back to Emily, grabbing a glass of water and some pain relief tablets on my way.
* * *
The next morning, Emily wakes a little worse for the wear, swearing she only had four glasses of wine. She has no recollection of the party or how we arrived home. When I tell her about Nicole, she borrows the business card Nicole gave me to send her a message, thanking her for her help. We then spend the rest of Sunday morning hanging in my room, discussing the thrill of attending our first senior party.
* * *
Around three PM, a few hours after Emily has left, my phone receives a text message.
Unknown number:Are you ready to beg yet?
One, how the hell did Christian get my number? Two, I thought I was the one who was supposed to be begging.
Me:Yes, I am. . .
Christian’s quick reply reveals his eagerness.
Christian:Name the time and the place, baby.
My fingers fly wildly over my cellphone screen.
Me:Now would be great. . .
