Page 44 of Big Daddy

Stumbling a few feet from my sickness, I fall to my butt on the lawn, the back of my legs immediately itchy from the grass. With my forehead in my hands, I sit alone, something I do more often than even Brielle knows.

“You’re okay, Brielle won’t hate you, everything is fine,” I chant softly, willing the world to stop spinning. A tear has the audacity to roll down my cheek, and then another, and I realize I’m more drunk than I thought I was if I’m simultaneously having an anxiety attackandcrying.

“It’s okay, Winnie,” I tell myself, almost wishing I’d get sick again so I could sober up. I can’t believe Luciano ditched me. Then again, if Big Daddy were here, I’d probably have ditched Luciano, too.

That hits, because I’m not a ditcher by nature.

“Fuck,” I groan, the combination of upsetting realizations and too much cheap booze making my head grow swimmy again, my palms clammy against the cool grass. “I’m so stupid,” I breathe out, angry at myself for letting this happen.

Once Brielle finds out I gave her father head, she’ll never talk to me again. And I don’t blame her. I’m pretty sure if my fatherwas alive and Brielle seduced and sucked him off, I’d hate her, too.

I get to my feet, knowing that a wall of fatigue is about to hit. I’d like to be home for that, not in a lawn behind a bush near vomit. Scanning the crowd, this time, my eyes lock onto Luke, and I beeline for him, taking his elbow when I get to him.

“Where have you been?” I ask, my voice hoarse from all the shouting. “I need to go home.”

Just then, the blonde reappears with less lipstick and crazier hair.

“Ohh,” I breathe, “you guys dry humped on the dance floor. Well, good for you but Luke, you drove me. And I need to go.”

Luciano turns to the blonde and tells her he’ll be back in a minute.

“It takes longer than a minute to get to our place,” I say through a random hiccup. He takes me by the arm, dragging me off to the side like the aunt at the wedding who drinks too much Smirnoff Ice and needs a lecture. Ironically, we end up near where I just was.

“I’m gonna stay. We’re really hitting it off, Win,” he says, his bloodshot eyes full ofI’ve been single way too fucking longdesperation.

I used the money Big Daddy sent throughFeetFansto pay down outstanding bills, to make my school loan payment, and to get my personal license for Photoshop on my laptop. I need it if I’m going to freelance when I graduate. Until I get paid from Parker & Pen, it’s tight.

“I don’t know if I have enough to Uber home.”

Luke stares at me, judgment clouding his expression. “What if you had to pay for drinks tonight? Going out with no cash is dangerous. What if there was an emergency?”

“I planned on drinking water,” I say truthfully. “But you bought it, so I drank.”

Luke looks over his shoulder to check on the blonde, waving at her before facing me again. “Look, I can drop you off on our way to her place, but we’re gonna dance a bit longer.” A strand of dark hair falls across his eyes, and I reach up and push it back, thinking of the way Big Daddy’s hair did the very same thing while he watched me suck his cock.

Luke bats my hand away. “Win, don’t. She’s watching. Plus, you never touch me like that. Are you trying to cock block?”

I snort, burping up stomach acid and booze. “You already pressed your junk against hers during the Daft Punk remixes, we both know you did, so how could I possibly cock block?” I ask, all the good parts of being drunk very quickly fading.

Sickness eats at my insides.I need water. And my bed. Fast.

“I can’t wait for grind sesh two to be over,” I tell him with urgency, strangling my drunken tone, pressing my hand to my stomach. “I drank too much. I need to go home.”

Luke puts his hands on my shoulders, and dips his eyes to meet mine. But whatever he wasgoingto say, he doesn't get the opportunity to say it. One hulking hand comes down on Luke’s shoulder, pulling him back, spinning him, causing him to stumble for footing in the thick grass.

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself.” And my eyes focus just in time to see Big Daddy rear back and deck Luciano across the cheek. The thwack of fist against face makes my stomach lurch and I bring my hand to my mouth, tamping it down.

The blonde who had hawk eyes on Luke, squeals, running over, a drink spilling over in her hand. Cooing and fussing, she presses her glass to the red spot forming on Luke’s face as he rights himself on his feet, groaning and moaning.

“What the fuck, dude? You just put your hands on me while telling me not to have my hands on her.” He blots at his lip, the corner split, a single drop of blood pooling. Swiping it away, hegets in Big Daddy’s face. “You wanna fight me, bro, let’s fight. But none of this sucker punch bullshit.”

Big Daddy straightens, his face impassive. He never even glances my way. He frees the knotted tie at his throat and tosses it boldly to the grass, setting his shoulders back. Focused on Luciano he says, “Alright, asshole, hit me.”

Luke pauses, casting a questioning side eye. But the blonde he dry humped on the dance floor is watching, and men need to protect their egos at all costs. Luke makes a fist, looking comically unsure (though that could be the booze), rears back, and delivers a punch straight at Big Daddy.

I shirk away, unable to see him get hit. I cover my ears, because if I have to hear another punch, I’ll puke. For sure. A beat passes and I drop my hands from my ears and cautiously take a peek. There is no groaning or spitting of blood or warning that there’s more where that came from. I see Luciano’s hand trapped inside Quincey’s.

“You caught the punch!” I exclaim, standing and clapping like a drunk fool, which I definitely am. And as it turns out, clapping is too much action after four Long Islands, even if you puke one up. I return to my knees on the ground, still focusing on the show.

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