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Brian was almost falling over from his laughter.
Jesus. What the fuck.
I got out of the golf cart and moved so I could see whatever this was. When I got there, holy…fuck. But I wasn’t laughing. Ava was walking across the green, but not in a way where it was obvious that she was on a mission or had a destination in mind. No. She was going this way, then that way, and going in a circle. She was walking backward. She was all over the place, and she was drinking from a bottle of vodka at the same time.
I drew in a breath as Brian kept laughing. “You know who that is? That’s that Ava chick. You know, the one who worked everywhere.” His laughter went up a notch. “We’d go to the pizzeria. Ava. We’d go to Manny’s. Ava. We’d go to Nooma’s. Ava. It became a joke, remember? We’d drink if she popped up somewhere. She was at the gas station too. Damn. Girl got around.”
One day I’d tell Brian how close he was to getting his face punched. Or how close he was to waking up in a hospital bed. I didn’t trust myself right now.
He sighed, his laughter finally fucking subsiding. “I doubt she works here. She’s as wasted as I was on my twenty-first birthday.”
“Brian.” Finally, I could speak, through gritted teeth.
“Yeah?” He swung my way.
“Shut thefuckup.”
“Wha—she’s not in our social circle. What are you doing?”
Ignoring him, I started down the hill, carrying my own alcohol in hand.
“Zeke!”
I raised a middle finger in the air and yelled over my shoulder, “Take care of my shit.”
“What are you doing?”
I raised my middle finger higher.
By the time I got to her, he was gone with the cart.
Ava had no idea I was there. Her head was down except when she’d tip it back for a drink, and she was moving in a way—I saw the headphones. She was dancing, listening to whatever as I saw her pull her phone out of her pocket and skip to the next song.
It was a lively one because she began jumping around, her head going the opposite direction. Her arms were doing…something.
I wouldn’t call this dancing. It was more like flailing around with a baseline of rhythm.
I watched her for two complete songs before her eyes opened. Seeing me, she startled, gasping, and a screech came out of her at the same time.
I smiled and held up a hand. I mouthed, “Hi.”
“What?! I can’t hear you!”
I nodded, pointing to her headphones.
Understanding dawned, and she started laughing, pulling off the headphones. “Hi. Sorry. I forgot I had them on.” Her music was blaring out of them. She didn’t move to stop or pause the song. She was frowning at me, half-squinting. “Zeke? What are you doing here?”
I cocked my head to the side. The glaze was minimal. She wasn’t slurring. She was speaking like she was sober, and without the electrocuted dancing, she now looked sober too.
I was somewhat impressed.
“Right.” I motioned around us. “We’re on a golf course, where I do the normal douchey thing and golf a few times a week, and your question is as if I’m the one out of place.”
At my words, she jerked her head around, sweeping in the entirety of the Fallen Crest golf course. Her eyes were almost bulging when she focused back on me. She spoke in a shocked whisper. “What am I doing here?”
I was nodding, but I edged closer and reached out, taking away the vodka from her hand. She didn’t notice. Then I almost started laughing. She’d barely drunk any. Maybe two shots’ worth. “Are you drunk or not? I’m having a hard time telling.”
“I think I’m drunk.”
