Rock Bottom Girl(103)

“There are memories that beat this?” I asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the wounded wildebeest who couldn’t get his size fifteen shoes to carry him up the stairs.

“Rich and I had sex in Amie Jo’s whirlpool tub about eight years ago.”

I gaped at her.

“What?” Vicky asked innocently. “Married people can’t fornicate drunkenly at parties?”

“You are so much cooler than I give you credit for.”

“There’s my girl!” Jake hustled toward me, goofy grin on his face and a distinct lean to his gait. My cute, sexy boyfriend was drunk.

He picked me up and twirled me around while listing dangerously to the left. I bumped my head on a low-hanging hallway chandelier with—what else?—gold freaking swan necks and heads.

“Hey, you,” I said, patting him on the head. “How about you put me down?”

Jake pondered this suggestion while still holding me aloft.

“I beat your old boyfriend at poker,” he said.

“Let’s talk about it with my feet on the floor.”

He put me down. But before I could compliment him on his listening skills, he bent at the waist and tossed me over his shoulder.

A long-forgotten teenage girl survival mode kicked in. I knew exactly what Drunk Jake was planning to do.

He cheerfully slapped my ass and took off toward the back of the house at a labored jog.

“Vicky, stop recording,” I yelled at my friend who was chasing after us with her phone out.

“You might want to stop flicking me off and hang on for dear life,” she suggested.

“Carry on,” Jake said, saluting the catering staff in the kitchen before wrestling the back door open.

“Someone throw me a meat cleaver,” I begged.

But they ignored my pleas. We were drawing quite the crowd. I stopped wriggling when I felt cold night air on my ass. Great. I was mooning half of Culpepper.

“Jake, don’t you dare—”

My threat was cut off when he simply walked off the patio and into the deep end of the pool.

I screamed underwater and tried to strangle him, but he was slippery, and the cold made my finger joints useless. We surfaced together. Me gasping and choking. Him laughing his fine ass off.

“You son of a bitch!” I launched myself at him and dunked him.

He went under, and I felt his hands sliding up my bare legs under water.

It was then that I realized the skirt of my dress was floating up around my neck leaving my entire body, clad only in a bra and underwear, exposed to the view of the rest of the party.

There was cheering and applause coming from the patio. My teeth were chattering. The pool heater could only take the edge off of the October chill.

Jake was grinning as if he’d just told the greatest joke in the history of the world. I splashed him in his stupid handsome face and mustered as much dignity as I could to climb the ladder.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he called after me. “Don’t be like that.”

Everyone was laughing. And then I realized I was, too. I didn’t freak out over being called a loser. And now my entire hometown had seen my pink underwear and was laughing at me. Yet I wasn’t curled in the fetal position, humiliated and wounded.

Was I too drunk to care? I blinked the salt water out of my eyes a few times. Nope. I wasn’t seeing double or tequila triple. Was this growing up? Had my skin magically thickened?

I turned around to face the pool. Jake was floating on his back, staring up at the night sky, spitting water out of his mouth like a fountain.

I felt something warm break free in my chest. Probably the Fireball. Instead of shivering my way back into the house, I found myself running at full speed back to the pool.

“Cannonball!” I yelled, vaulting into the air. I tucked my knees and had the pleasure of watching Jake’s eyes fly open as I hurtled toward him.

I landed on his chest, and we both went under. The cheer of the drunken crowd was muffled by the blue water. We grappled, hands sliding over each other. And when we surfaced together, we were both laughing.

“You’re a hell of a girl, Marley Cicero,” Jake said, hooking his hand around the back of my neck. The kiss was wet and cool and one of the most joyful experiences my lips had ever had. It ranked up there with chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream on a hot summer night.

“Everybody in the pool!”

We were drowned in the splashes of drunk bodies hitting the water.





61





Marley





I sloshed into Amie Jo’s house and decided I might as well sneak next door to my parents’ to grab dry clothes. Jake, a science teacher, and the minister from the Culpepper Methodist Church were competing for a diving competition title. Winner takes the terra-cotta yard gnome. The judges were lined up in lawn chairs with hand-drawn scorecards.

My hair hung in clumps around my face, and I was half frozen.

“Here’s a warm-up for you,” Vicky said, shoving a glass into my hand.

I drained it and shuddered. “What the hell was that?” I gasped.

“Brandy? Whiskey? Maple syrup?” Vicky guessed. She was staring at me with one eye closed. This was Drunk Vicky. My very favorite person on Earth.

“Drunk Vicky!” I slapped her on the back a little harder than I intended. My hand-eye coordination and depth perception were a little iffy. “How the hell are you?”