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“What are you doing?” she snaps.
“Stopping you from embarrassing yourself.”
“What?”
I point to the door. “We’re leaving.”
“Well, that depends.”
“On what?”
She narrows her eyes playfully and stops and puts her hands on her hips. “Are you taking me for pizza? Because I’m only leaving for pizza.”
“If you fucking behave.” I take her hand in mine once more.
“Fine.” She concedes. “But I want a whole pizza to myself.”
“Don’t be a pig.” I mutter, distracted.
She waves to our friends. “Bye!” she calls as we walk toward the door. “Why are you such a party pooper?” She says from behind me.
“Do you want pizza or not?” I snap.
She begins to snort and laugh at herself, and I roll my eyes.
Drunk women. Is there anything more annoying?
An hour and a half later, I fumble with the key to get into the apartment. I wasn’t joking back there. Eliza isn’t just tipsy, she’s rolling drunk.
We had to pull into another bar we walked past and have another two cocktails before we had pizza. Now, finally, we’re home.
I have her stilettos in one hand, and a vice-like grip on her hand with the other as she sways.
“Stand still,” I say.
“Stop bossing me around,” she slurs.
I struggle with the key. “I like bossing you around.”
“No shit.” She widens her eyes at me.
I smile, the key turns, and we stumble through the door. Before I can say a word, Eliza reaches down to the hem of her dress and lifts it over her head.
She is wearing a black G-string, and when she turns toward me, I burst out laughing. “What the fuck is on your boobs?”
She looks down and frowns with a stumble. “Oh. Nipple covers.”
“What the hell are they?”
“They stop you from getting all… nippy.”
“Nippy?”
She peels them off and slaps them on my cheeks. I look at her in horror. “You did not just do that.”
“Yeah, I did… cause you’re a real boob.” She bursts out laughing and points at me. “Get it, because you got nipple covers on your face… cause you’re a boob.”
I roll my eyes. “Hilarious. Get into the bathroom.”
