“We’ll be quiet,” Carter says.
I raise an eyebrow. “We can try, but I am not confident.”
We both pull out our phones and text everyone we invited. We’re heading to the bar now. It’s 8:10, so most of them will probably already be there. Let the party begin.
Carter
Nate and I stumble through the half-mile walk to Rainbow Pony, barely upright and laughing the whole way. The place looks like pure fun, with flamboyant energy. The sign is a bright pink pony with an impossibly long, sparkly rainbow tail. Each word of Rainbow Pony is written in a different color.
The bouncer grins and waves us in. Either he thinks we’re clearly over 21 or it’s too early in the night to care about IDs; it’s only 8:20.
We step inside and, bam, everyone’s already inside chatting up a storm. The bar isn’t packed yet, the music’s still warming up, and our whole crew is scattered around, chatting and laughing. One by one, they come up to us with big smiles.
Evan’s the first, who takes one look at us and goes, “You guys are fucked up.”
Christina, right behind him, adds, “Carter’s way drunker. Look at his eyes, the right one isn’t even fully open!”
Nate smiles and says, “You got that right. He’s already pretty belligerent. You should’ve seen him with our waiter.”
“Hey, he was a dick!” I defend.
Josh appears out of nowhere. “I’m sureyouwere probably the dick.”
Lisa, trailing behind him, gives me a light hug. Nate and I make the rounds, introducing people to one another. Josh, Lisa, Evan, and Christina start hitting it off, and Nate gives me a subtle nod, with permission to move on and say hi to the rest of the group.
We spot Paul, Mel, Marcus, and Becky laughing near the back bar.
Becky throws her arms out and yells, “Babe! How are you?! Miss you, boo!”
“Miss you, boo,” Marcus mimics.
“Don’t mock me!” she says, nudging him.
“Oh, you two are friends now?” I ask.
They both look at each other and say, “The bestest friends!” in total unison.
They’re lying, but I know they’ve kept in touch since that charity event.
Mel and Paul break away to hug us. “Long time no see, business partner,” Mel says.
“Don’t just look at me,” I say. “Nate’s your business partner, too.”
“Not fully,” Nate adds with a shrug.
“Yes, fully,” Mel snaps, smirking.
After some quick intros for the people who don’t know each other, I yell, “Let’s get fucked up! First round’s on me. Actually, make it two. We’re starting with shots!”
I head to the bar, where this good-looking middle-aged guy with a goatee and a tie-dye shirt greets me. “Ten vodka shots, please. Your most expensive vodka.”
My group of friends behind me starts oohing and ahhing. I turn and shout, “Shut it, or you’re getting nothing!”
The bartender grabs a large bottle of Grey Goose and starts pouring. I hand out each shot, then raise mine and yell, “To my fellow gays and my lovable allies!”
A few guys across the bar look over, probably confused or curious, but I don’t give a shit.
We all throw back our shots and wince in synchronized disgust. Then I take everyone’s simple orders: tequila sodas or vodka sodas all around. One by one, drinks are passed out.
