Page 43 of Big Daddy

Now is the time when water makes sense, and a little sobriety could do me good. But because the buzz is buzzing, I dig out my phone while the emcee reminds each table of the rules.

No new messages, just Brielle “liking” the last one I sent.

That’s fine. I wasn’t hoping or expecting anything from anyone else.

Nope, nope, nope. All good here.

Everything isallgood.

I face my annoyed tablemates. “Everything’s all good over here, how about over there?”

They eye me, and one whispers to the other.

“Less secrets, more trivia answers, am I right?” I ask through a hiccup, further annoying and maybe even offending them. I attempt to search through the glass doors to spot Luciano on the patio but I don’t see him anywhere.

“Okay,” the emcee booms. I look at him, but he seems fuzzier now. His blonde hair is like a blur filter has been applied, and his plaid shirt seems busy, the pattern moving maybe.

Or I’m drunk.

“First question. When was the first cable car launched in San Francisco?”

I glance down at my phone, checking the time.

“Oh—table eight, no phones, that’s a disqualification,” the emcee says, causing all forty heads to swivel and face me.

I hold my phone up for everyone to see the screen. “I was checking my text messages.”

“Sorry—no phones,” the emcee adds.

A few people boo, and a few people share a hushed “aww” at my disqualification. Luciano ditched me. Dante is with his girlfriend, and Brielle is at dinner. If I don’t play this trivia game, I’ll be forced to go back to my shitty apartment and think about the terrible, delicious, awful, erotic things I’m doing with Brielle’s dad.

I’m not ready yet.

I hold my phone up again, though this time it has zero relevance. But again, I’m drunk.

“I sucked off my boss today in his office and I was just checking to see if he messaged me,” I shout to the bar, hoping to steal their good graces back with my pitiful admission.

The emcee chuckles. “Fair enough, but still, no phones.”

“He’s also my best friend’s dad,” I add, unsure why I’m screaming the worst secret of my life into a crowded bar.

“Damn, table eight. You’ve got all the drama!” the emcee laughs, and suddenly my table mates are interested in me. “Still DQed though, honey,” the emcee adds with finality.

“Really? Your best friend’s dad? Oh my god,” one of the girls at the table prods. The other one reaches for my arm. “Girl, that’s juicy.”

I ignore them, though, because the feeling that maybe my coherent and conscious words are limited hits me. Don’t wanna waste them on the girls that have blown me off all night.

Sliding off the barstool, I down the remaining inch of booze left in Luciano’s glass, snatch my purse from the floor, and saunter on uneasy legs toward the patio.

It’s crowded, and the loud music makes my head hurt. “Luke?” I call out loudly, but as loud as I am, I can’t even hear my own voice. Thewhompwhompwhompof the subwoofer makes my bones vibrate. The edges of my vision blur as a familiar tingle worms through my lips.

Fuck.

The teas are going to make a reappearance.

Soon.

Ducking through the crowd, I stumble to the edge of the lawn and crouch behind a bush in time to regurgitate at least one of the teas. Between gags, in the worst timing, Brielle flashes through my mind, her long blonde hair twisted in her hand as she puked into the bushes here two years ago.

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