You're to Blame(27)
“Coming right up,” Lydia answers. “Are you sure she can handle it?” She nods her chin in my direction, placing a short line of shot glasses in front of us, and tips a bottle of clear liquid until they’re full to the brim. A lime slice is slid onto each one. I usually would be offended, but I do look like a soft, delicate flower in comparison to her.
“She looks sweet, but don’t underestimate this chick. Watch.” Rachel raises one of the shot glasses between us.
One by one, I discard the lime wedges and down the burning, clear liquid.
“Told you so.” Rachel follows suit and shoots back the shots, hooting and hollering as she finishes. Her glasses are slammed down, clinking into mine. “Girl chooses not to drink most times, but that doesn’t mean she can’t hang with the big girls.”
“Fair enough.” Lydia holds her hands up in apology. “If you girls need anything at all tonight, come to me. Don’t accept drinks from any of these assholes in here. Except Duke. He may be an asshole, but he’s one of the good ones.” The male to female ratio is high, and I completely understand what she’s insinuating.
Rachel winks. “Sure thing, Purple.”
For the next few hours, we shoot Tequila and guzzle cups full of sugary goodness. A regretful hangover is in my near future. Our laughter gains the attention of several groups of guys, all of which we shut down, but not before Rachel flirts for a few minutes. I have to keep giving her the shut-the-hell-up look, or else these frat boys are going to get the wrong impression.
“He had kind eyes.” She shrugs, avoiding my disapproval. “And I can’t go for Duke since you’ve already dug your proverbial claws into his back.”
“You’re full of shit, my friend. You can have Duke, if you want Duke.” I laugh uncomfortably. “Just admit you get a rush from flirting with guys your father would bury six feet under.”
“You may have a point.” Her uncontrollable laughter reminds me how much, or maybe too much, alcohol we’ve drank tonight. “Now, please tell me how you’re doing. I know you like to pretend everything is okay, but it’s me, Char. I know you better than that. Shit’s getting a bit sticky, right?”
I stall to give me time to think of something to say that will appease her. This question has been asked more times than I want to count, and every time, I still find it impossible to muster up an answer to sound genuine. Fine isn’t appropriate to those who love me. They want the dirty, raw answer. Those kinds of answers may never come. Avoidance seems to be my approach when it comes to all things Jacob.
My eyes search Rachel’s, pleading her to let it go, but no such luck. Her shoulders are squared and she’s ready, in all her drunken haze, to have this conversation.
“I don’t know.” My hands cover my face, and I rub my fingertips over my eyes.
Rachel pulls my hands down. “Be honest with yourself.”
I shrug, irritated with the direction of this conversation. “What do you want me to say?”
“Say the truth. Scream it if you have to. Be mad. Be sad. Be frustrated. You have the right to be all of those things.”
“Do you want to know the truth? I am mad. Nothing about that night is okay.” I sigh, angry with the reality of the situation. “And I’m sad because I’m at fault. If I wouldn’t have laid into Jacob as hard as I did, he wouldn’t have rushed out of our apartment, and the accident never would have happened. And to add insult to injury, I want to rip the clothes off one of his fraternity brothers. You can’t get messier than that.” With my best effort, I fight the tears looming right on the surface, and look around the bar, hoping my little outburst didn’t gain any unwanted attention.
“Is it just a weird attraction, Char?” Rachel’s sad smile tells me she already knows the answer. Her hand covers mine resting on the bar top.
Duke stands at the end of the bar, his legs crossed at the ankles. His attention focused solely on me makes me shiver. With every passing second, his stare smolders hotter. This could be the alcohol speaking, but I’d really like to feel his lips against mine, even for a split second, just to experience their softness.
“It’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to, Char, I promise,” Rachel says, dragging my attention to her and not on the way Duke looks at me, like he can solve all my problems.
“You’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I just need him to wake up. I need to tell him I’m sorry, and I need to stop looking at Duke.” I sigh. “Fuck, now can we continue our night of fun? This conversation is making me want to go home and binge eat a carton of ice cream. The real kind of ice cream, not the fake low-fat bullshit you keep trying to shove down my throat.” No decent ice cream is three hundred and fifty calories.
Rachel jumps from her stool. Her hand wraps around my wrist, and I’m pulled out onto the dance floor. Music pumps through the speakers, and with rhythmic sways, we dance like no one is watching. Our laughter is stuck in a bubble between us, only meant for the two of us. It’s how our friendship has been since the start. Even with us being polar opposites, we mesh like peanut butter and jelly.
“I’m going to go get us another drink,” Rachel leans forward and shouts over the loud music.
I awkwardly dance by myself, swaying my hips from side to side. Liquid sloshes over the rim of my cup. I blame those initial shots of tequila. They still roll around in my veins, giving me courage to do things with my body I’d never dare do any other day of the week.