Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Though, to be fair, when my sister wanted to drink, she’d wanted to do it outside of the house with her friends in a field.
There was a difference, that was for sure.
Sara passed out shots, and I eyed the liquor.
Cheap tequila.
Gross.
“All right, ready, go.” Everyone shot theirs but me.
I was definitely not drinking that.
I passed it over to Sara, who took it with an eye roll.
She knew my thoughts on tequila.
I’d been well and truly drunk three times in my life. All three of those times were when I’d been drinking tequila. And it wasn’t a pretty drunk, either. It was an “I’m pretty sure I might die” drunk.
“You’re not drinking yours?” my nemesis taunted.
I felt my eye twitch.
“Too good to drink the cheap stuff?” he taunted.
I gritted my teeth.
“Balk.” He squawked like a chicken. “Balk, balk.”
I wouldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
I…
“That’s that Fancy Pants I know and love.”
If there was one fucking nickname in this entire world that I hated more, it was Fancy Pants.
Every time he called me that, it was because I wasn’t doing something that he wanted me to do that would affect him in no freaking way. Yet, he always knew that I wasn’t doing it because I didn’t like it. And, since he knew that I didn’t like it, he would force me to do it anyway.
Fancy Pants was a name he’d dubbed me with in high school when I wouldn’t walk across a muddy field with him and Sara to a bonfire.
I hadn’t wanted to go out to it because I didn’t want to get my shoes dirty.
And it wasn’t because I was against dirt.
It was because, after my dad had passed away, I didn’t have any fucking other shoes. And if I’d ruined the only pair that I had, I was boned.
Yet, then he’d dubbed me Fancy Pants. And I walked across the stupid field.
The next week, I’d walked around in wet shoes, shoes that never seemed to give up all the dust for weeks.
Every morning I’d have to take my socks off and exchange them out for another pair that I’d procured from the Goodwill because by noon they were covered in a fine layer of dirt that I could feel between my toes.
Needless to say, the asshole knew what that damn name did to me.
I reached for the shot he slid to me, took the glass between two fingers, and while maintaining eye contact with him, shot it.
When I placed the empty back onto the table in front of me, it was to see his eyes twinkling as I did.
He thought I was hilarious.
Meanwhile, a burning started in my throat and zinged down my esophagus.
I seriously hated tequila.
The rest of the night was fairly exciting.
Mostly because I stopped caring about the asshole across the table in front of me and started focusing on just having fun.
It was somewhere near beer four and shot two that I noticed that the more inebriated my nonfriend across the table got, the more he stared.
At first, it was just a few glances that I would catch. But eventually, it became one of those hard stares that I felt uncomfortable with. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I didn’t not like it.
“Why aren’t y’all together?” Folsom asked, not appearing drunk, even though she’d drank just as much as we had.
At first, I thought she was asking why Davis and I weren’t together. But then I saw her looking at Sara and Davis.
“We almost tried on a dare,” Davis said, sounding grumbly. More so than usual. “But we decided that it wasn’t for us.”
“Wait,” I said, startled. “What?”
Sara’s cheeks went flaming red when I glanced from him to her.
“It was a one-and-only time thing,” Sara said. “One of his friends dared us to kiss, but we just couldn’t bring ourselves to do it. We started to kiss. Didn’t like it. That’s the end of it.”
My mouth all but fell open.
“You did?” I squeaked. “Since when?”
“Since we were in our teens,” she answered. “You were out of town.”
I was out of town.
I shook my head. “And why didn’t you tell me?”
“Probably because you would’ve told her it was a bad idea even though we didn’t go through with it,” Davis growled. “And pooped on our party.”
I rolled my eyes. “Saving my friend from making the worst mistake of her life would’ve been pooping on her party?”
“Yeah,” he sat back in his chair, his eyes slightly gleaming. “I think anything would’ve been better than letting you know. Because then we didn’t have to hear you say anything about our ‘stupidity.’”
“It was stupid,” I pointed out. “What if it had semi worked out? What if you had decided to see each other for a while? What would’ve happened if y’all would’ve dated and then y’all split up? That friendship wouldn’t have been there anymore. And regardless of whether or not I like you or not, she does. That would’ve broken her.”