Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 97684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
No luck. It's just shitty soda. I hold my red plastic cup up to whoever wants to toast.
Oliver pulls away from a conversation with Patrick and Dare. He motions come here to me.
I join him on the couch.
He pulls something from the side, something wedged between the arm rest and the cushion.
A silver flask.
He doesn't ask if I want any. Just uncaps and pours. Into my drink.
Then his.
He holds up the cup to toast. "To the end of an era."
"To the end of an era." I tap my plastic cup against his. Take a long sip. Fuck, that's better. It's still shitty ginger ale, but the bourbon makes it rich and sweet.
It warms my throat and chest.
Makes my face flush.
"Fuck." I cough. "Could you have bought cheaper shit?"
Oliver chuckles that low, deep chuckle of his. Like we're still best friends. Like I didn't fuck his sister a week ago. Like she's not leaving first thing in the morning. "You know how old this is?"
"You've been aging it in the leather?"
His laugh gets louder. "That's good."
It's really not.
He uncaps the flask. Takes a swig. Grimaces. "Found this bottle in the back of my closet. Got it senior year. From that weird homeless guy who used to hang out in front of Rosewater.”
"You drank something he gave you?" I ask.
"You just did." He taps my cup with his.
Fuck it. I take another swig. This time, I swallow my cough.
"I saw him buy it."
"Bourbon from 7-Eleven?"
"Trader Joe's."
"No fucking way." I swallow another sip. Then two. "They don't sell to shady dudes at Trader Joe's."
"He cleaned up nice," Oliver says.
"Probably bought you apple juice and put it in an old bottle," I say.
Oliver chuckles maybe. "It's alcoholic now."
It is. And it's as strong as it's awful. I swallow another sip.
Let him top me off.
Toast with my friends.
Patrick takes a long swig. Lets out a much too illicit sigh. "That's terrible."
Dare nods it is.
"Like you know shit." Oliver chuckles. "You drink Bud."
"Bud light." Patrick's smile is slight. He's usually a fun guy. The life of the party. But other times, he pulls away. Hangs out on the sidelines. Or avoids people entirely.
Maybe he's just sick of our bullshit.
He and Darren—who tries to go by Dare, because he thinks it's badass—work at Inked Love. They're newer to the family, I guess. They weren't at Oddball with me, Forest, and Oliver.
They're good artists. They show up on time. They bring drinks to parties.
Usually, I'd love hanging out. Shooting the shit. Teasing them about how hard they try to be cool.
Not that Patrick really tries. He got the nickname Trick a million years ago. Alternates between loving it and hating it.
It has something to do with his ex-girlfriend. The one he insists he's over.
The one he's totally not over.
Dare holds up his cup. "Bet I can drink it faster?"
"Than Oliver?" Patrick's chuckle is low. Just like Oliver's. "I doubt that."
Oliver nods it's true. "What are the stakes here?"
"Why do we need stakes?" Dare asks.
"'Cause otherwise it's not a bet." Oliver nods obviously.
Patrick shakes his head. "He knows he's going to lose."
Dare flips him off.
Oliver holds up his glass. "Loser buys coffee for a week."
"You buy expensive shit," Dare says.
"Exactly." Oliver holds his glass a little higher. He raises a brow. Let's go. Unless you can't handle it.
Dare shakes his head fuck that. He taps his glass with Oliver's. "On three."
"Make sure they're even." Patrick looks to me. He's expecting me to do it.
To participate in this idiotic pissing contest.
Usually, I would.
Usually, I'd tease my best friend and my coworkers for hours.
Tonight, I can't bring myself to care.
I nod sure anyway. Grab the bottle. Fill their glasses to the top.
Patrick holds up three fingers. "Glass upside down when you're done." He motions to the coffee table. "Right here." He looks to the contestants. When they nod sure, he shakes his hand. "Three, two, one."
They go.
Oliver drinks like it's nothing.
Dare's more ambitious. Tries to chug. Struggles through his third swallow.
Oliver tilts his head back.
Drinks a little faster.
A little—
There.
He wipes his mouth as he places the cup on the coffee table. Raises a brow I told you.
Dare finishes two seconds later. He pouts fuck this. Reaches for the bottle anyway.
"Not sure why you thought you had a chance." Patrick shakes his head.
"Flew too close to the sun." Dare shrugs no big deal. He turns to Oliver. "That homeless guy? You bought from him a lot."
"Oh yeah." Oliver holds up the flask like it's his finest possession. "You should have seen this dude when I met him. I was hanging out at Rosewater, hoping one of the artists would take pity on me, teach me something. Or do some free ink. And this guy comes in with a wallet. Says he found it outside. That he just wants to do the right thing and return it. And if there's a reward on the way…" He raises a brow, copying the guy's posture.