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Katie, Sarah, and I continue to hang back from the main group, watching the guys’ antics as they jostle each other in an effort to impress the prettiest girls with their volleyball skills. Guys can be so ridiculous sometimes. And then there are the girls cheering and calling out to the hottest guys, which of course includes Logan. The three of us lean back on the large picnic rug we spread out on the sand earlier, sipping on our little shot glasses filled with more fiery clear liquid. We’re not being antisocial, it’s just that we’re happy to chat quietly together.
Well, that’s what I was thinking until Sarah asks with a mischievous glint in her eye, “One more?” I look down at my glass, surprised that it’s empty again. When did that happen?
I adore Sarah’s thirst for adventure. She’s a wild one and there is a little part of me that hopes some of her fun-loving attitude will rub off on me. I’ve come to the conclusion that in my fifteen years of life, I’ve been way too serious and sensible. My family’s story is a heavy weight on my shoulders, squashing down the natural exuberance I once skipped through my childhood with.
I shrug, happy to go along with the consensus when Katie announces, “Yes, let’s go again.”
Sarah tips the bottle, splashing more vodka into our glasses. I lick the spillage from my hand before we clink them together one more time. How many shots has it been now? My foggy brain is struggling to remember or care when this time, the clear liquid floods my body with a warm glow. A warmth that’s at odds with sitting on a beach on a breezy evening in early April.
Maybe we should slow down a little, I think, but don’t say it out loud to my friends. I don’t want to be the buzzkill.
“I’ll go grab us some waters,” I tell them instead. I jump up before Sarah can fill our glasses again. Old habits die hard and no matter how much I want to be more carefree and fun, my sensible side keeps rearing up. Besides, I really do need something to drink other than straight vodka.
I don’t think I’ve been gone too long in finding three bottles of water and piling some snacks on a share plate for us, but by the time I return, Sarah and Katie are sprawled back on the sand, giggling uncontrollably. How much more have they had?
The answer is staring me in the face when I look down at the half-empty bottle beside them. Wow, we really have drunk a lot, no wonder they are looking messy, and to be honest, my head is also spinning like I’ve just come off a flipper ride at a state fair. I’ve never really drunk hard liquor before, in fact, my only other taste was the one glass of champagne my parents allowed me a couple of Christmases ago, so I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m feeling a little tipsy too.
I place the food and water on the rug. “Hey, girls, you should eat something. And drink some water.”
Katie tries unsuccessfully to pull herself up to a sitting position and holds her hand out in front. “Help, I can’t sit up.” She pouts at us.
Sarah and I each grab an arm and yank till she’s upright.
“You girls, thanksss … I love youuu both,” she slurs, then surprisingly holds out her hand with the little shot glass still clasped in her fingers and asks, “Can I have another?” Sarah and I exchange looks. I can’t believe Katie wants another.
Sarah seems to be holding it together a lot better than Katie. Maybe even she has a sensible side too. I hold my hand up to stop Sarah from pouring me another, then watch on as she dribbles only a little into Katie’s glass and not much more into hers.
This time when Katie tilts her head she falls back onto the sand again, giggling. Sarah and I gulp down some water, then lie down on our backs too.
“How many shots did you have while I was getting the water?” I ask Sarah, smiling at the unintelligible murmurings intermingled with giggles that are coming from Katie between us.
She laughs. “Only one, I swear.” Her head turns to me “I think we can safely say, Katie can’t handle alcohol.”
“Maybe we should get her up to her room before anyone sees how drunk she is.”
Sarah agrees, and we both jump up with one mission in mind. Getting Katie safely to her room, past her parents and brothers, then safely tucked up in bed.
Of course, the plan was easier to make than put into action and it’s a good thirty minutes later before we’ve achieved it. Then just as we’re about to congratulate ourselves on having Katie in her bed, she attempts to sit up announcing she doesn’t feel too good. Sarah and I spring into action, ripping back the bed covers, grabbing onto an arm each, and dragging Katie’s limp deadweight of a body into her adjoining bathroom. Thankfully, just in time.
As Katie heaves, I struggle to hold down my own stomach. Turning away and squeezing my eyes shut is not helping.
“Oh God, I think if I stay here one minute more I’m going to be sick too,” I tell Sarah.
“Get out then,” Sarah shouts. “I can only hold one person’s hair at a time.” I run out of the bathroom, not needing to be told twice. “Go grab some more water,” she shouts after me.
“I’m on it,” I tell her and leave so fast I stub my toe on a large ottoman on my rush to the door. Damn, that hurt, but still I don’t stop and I’m running down the stairs, along the hall, and straight into Logan’s broad chest.
Oomph!
“Hey, what’s the rush?” His long arms wrap around me as he holds me in place, pressed close to him. I can’t resist breathing in his warm, woody scent mixed in with a dose of bonfire smoke. It’s quite delicious after the disgusting scene I just left upstairs.
“Are you okay?” he asks with one brow raised. I really should step back. He’s my friend, which means I shouldn’t be standing here in his arms, sniffing him like a puppy desperate for affection.
“Of course,” I stutter, lifting my gaze from his T-shirt up to his face. A big mistake.
Logan is looking at me so intently, his eyes darker than usual and filled with a mystery that I can’t quite process through the haze of vodka goggles. All I do know is that no boy has ever looked at me like this, and I’ve no idea what to do.
He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip, then leans down, replacing it with a kiss. It’s so soft. The lightest of touches that shoots a bolt of electricity through me, short-circuiting what’s left of my fuzzy senses.
