Where We Belong (A Touch of Fate #1)(51)
I've had several more drinks and a few shots so my mind is a bit foggy, but it feels good to let loose. "Quinn. Slow down. I can't keep up with your ostrich legs!" A small laugh leaves my lips and I stumble, ramming into Quinn's back when she stops in her tracks.
She turns to look at me with a huge smile on her face. "Did you just call me an ostrich?" she asks.
I furrow my brow. "Uhhhh…no?"
She shakes her head and laughs. Turning around, she pulls my hand and starts dragging me behind her again. "You're drunk and I LOVE IT!" she sings over the music as we step up to the bar.
"No." I shake my head swiftly. "No more drinks. I need to function tomorrow."
"Pfffff." She waves her hand, dismissing my protest. "But you're right, no more drinks." Oh God. She doesn't give up that easy. What the hell is sh—
"Yo, Mike!" The sexy, tatted-up bartender looks our way and tips his chin. What the hell is up with that? Why do guys tip their chin? It’s official…I don't like the 'chin tip.’ "I need two Tijuana Hookers. PRONTO!" My eyes widen and my head, along with every other head at the bar, spins in Quinn's direction.
"What the hell is a Tijuana Hooker? I don't want a Tijuana Hooker. What's in a Tijuana Hooker?" I rapid-fire questions at her.
"You'll love it! Trust me," she says dismissively.
"Seriously, Quinn, when I said 'no more drinks,' I didn't mean let's do shots."
"Lighten up, tight-ass," she quips, smacking me hard on the butt and then rubbing the sting. I swat her hand away and she laughs. Mr. Tatted and Sexy—yup, I named him too—slides four shot glasses in front of us. Wait a minute. Didn't she order two shots? Leaning forward, I peek in the glasses and sniff.
"What. The. Fuck. Is that pickle juice? You're out of your ever-lovin’ mind if you think I'm going to—" Quinn covers my mouth with her hand and I resist the urge to lick it. Who cares if I'm twenty-seven, it would still be funny as shit!
Leaning in close, she whispers in my ear. "Listen. You know I have no problem making a scene. In fact, I've already got the attention of almost every man at this bar. So you have two choices. One, you take the shot of tequila and chase it with your pickle juice." I try to make a disgusted face, but her hand prevents my nose from crinkling. "Or two, I'm going to kiss you in front of all of these men." She wouldn't, would she? Oh shit, she totally would!
"Nod once if you understand." I nod once. Lord knows I don't want to piss off a woman who wants to drink a Tijuana Hooker. Seriously, where the hell does she come up with this shit? "Blink once for the first choice or twice for the second." She sits back, her hand clamped tightly around my mouth and winks at the guy sitting next to me. I turn my head slightly and see him smiling suggestively at the two of us. Creeper.
Well, shit. I don't want tequila with pickle juice, but Quinn knows I would shit a brick if she actually kissed me in front of all these people. I blink once.
"Damn. I was kinda hoping you'd pick number two." She grins, removing her hand from my mouth.
"You were?" She must be wasted. Quinn loves men more than anyone I know.
"Nah…I only offered the second choice because I knew you wouldn't take it. But you should've seen your face—priceless," she says, letting out a deep throaty laugh. She slides me two shot glasses before lifting her own shot of tequila. I follow suit and we tap glasses and drink. HOLY SHIT, that burns! Reaching for my shot of pickle juice, I throw my head back. HOLY SHIT…hey, that's good. Like really good!
I push the shot glasses away from us. "Wow. I actually liked that."
"Oh. My. God." Quinn throws her head back with a deep moan, eliciting the attention of every male within a ten-foot radius. "This is the best Tijuana Hooker I've ever had. Ever. I needed this." She smacks her lips and looks around, noticing for the first time the attention that she has garnered. Quinn loves it—of course she does—so she smiles, turning her attention to me.
"See, I knew you'd love a Tijuana Hooker. Now, let's do another one." Partly jealous that she has a dozen pairs of eyes watching her every move and partly because my lips are too tingly to protest, I nod my head in agreement. I'm already half cocked so if I'm going to do this, I might as well do it right.
"But after this, we really need to stop,” I say as I regain feeling in my lips. “Do you know how long it's been since I've drunk like this. I'm going to have a three-week hangover." I know I’m being a worrywart, but I can't help it. I'm a full-fledged, panties-in-a-bunch, Type A personality, ‘nervous Nelly.’ I think first and act second. Sometimes I wish I could be more like Quinn, who acts first and then worries about the consequences later.
Her head rolls back on her shoulders and she sighs dramatically. "Fiiiiine. One more and then we're done." She turns to look at me. "I'll let you pick, since it's your last shot."
"Ummm…how about something with Irish Cream? I love Irish Cream." She purses her lips in contemplation, then leans over the bar and snaps, "Yo, Mike!"
A beautiful blonde—I'll call her Barbie—walks up and rests her hands on the bar. I cock my head to the side, examining her face. I'm fairly certain I've met her before, but right now my brain is in an alcohol-induced fuzz and I can't really put my finger who she is. "Mike's busy. What can I get ya?" Damn, she's pretty. Her eyes are two deep blue pools of water.