Page 2 of The Love Wager

I reach for another shot, but my phone starts up again. Taylor’s occupied with the girl she assigned theHot Messsash too, so I spin and walk around the corner, pulling my phone free. Shit, three missed calls from Madi.

Ringing her back, she answers immediately. “Indie, oh my god, I’m so sorry to bother you but the florist for the Park’s birthday is refusing to deliver until our outstanding invoices are paid. She said she’s sent reminders.”

Fuck, that’s right. I was so busy making sure I got everything together for tonight I forgot to reach out and talk to her. If she’s refusing delivery, the only option I have is to pay the invoice and pray the payment goes through.

Taking a deep breath, I hide the panic from my tone. “Not a problem. I meant to take care of that, but it got away from me. Can you give her the business credit card over the phone bring our account up to date, and don’t forget to confirm she’ll get those flowers to the event tomorrow?”

“Of course! Have a good night, Indie.”

“You too, Madi. Thanks again. You’re doing great.”

I hang up and sag against the wall. My business is such a mess and I’m drowning in unpaid bills. I need this week to relax, so I can go back, put on my big girl panties, and fix things. I shake off the impending sour mood and get back to the party.

We let the first hour flow by, filling it with conversation and getting a grip on who’s who. We purposefully kept the gathering small, not inviting any of Tay’s older family members or soon-to-be in-laws. The bar made it easy to exclude those too young to come in. As it creeps up on nine thirty, we’re another double round of shots down, and everyone seems relaxed as they sit around the large booth nursing cocktails.

“Alright. I think it’s time we get to the fun part of the night.”

“Strippers?” Taylor yells out, bouncing up in her seat across from me.

“No. No strippers, Tay.”

She flops back and pouts against the lip of her mojito glass. “Fineeee,” she whines, the alcohol taking its hold. “Game time?” she asks, her eyes lighting up with mischief.

Two weeks ago, while we were planning tonight over video chat, Taylor had the grand idea for a game. She devised a list of random challenges for us to complete individually before the night ended. She split them by difficulty, created a point system, and wrote each on a note card with the point amount on the envelope. We each pick a card and bring the proof to Taylor, and she keeps track of who’s ahead. The more points it’s worth, the harder the challenge. At the night's end, whoever gets the most points wins the prize.

I didn’t exactly factor Taylor's intoxication in to playing scorekeeper, but we’re all equally as buzzed, and it’s all in good fun. She kept the challenges and prizes from me so I could play along.

Clearing the table of all the shot glasses onto the tray, Jennie, one of Tay’s co-chairwomen of some philanthropic society, sets it elsewhere to give us more space. I dig into my bag under the table and grab the thick stack of tiny envelopes and a notepad. Organizing them into piles by points, I explain the game's rules. Everyone’s on board, and we make our first-round picks.

It's interesting to watch who grabs from what stack. The quiet Maureen, Tay’s closest cousin, grabs a five-pointer. Meanwhile, Sharon, the oversharer, went for an easy one. I wait until everyone has a card in hand and reach for a fiver myself.

“I knew you’d pick that one,” Taylor tells me over the table.

“You know me. What good’s a night out drinking if it doesn’t land me in a bit of trouble tomorrow morning?”

“Alright, ladies.” Taylor claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Open your cards, one by one, and read your challenge out loud. Then I’ll dismiss you to get started.”

“Wait!” Missy squeaks. She’s the only one from our college days here tonight. “You never told us what the prize is!”

“Hmm, you know, you’re right. I almost forgot.” She takes a long sip, emptying her drink. “The person with the highest number of points by the time last call comes will get...” She puts her glass down and pounds on the table, and the penis confetti flies all over the place. “Ten thousand dollars.”

The entire bar fades away as my brain processes what she’s just said. I look around at the other women. Some match my shock with their wide eyes, but a few seem disinterested, as if ten thousand dollars isn’t worth the energy of traipsing around the bar to complete what’s written on their card. I finally shake it off and snatch Taylor’s arm across the table.

“Are you sure?” I shout louder than necessary, with this whomping in my ears. Taylor has offered, time and time again, to give me money for Indie’s Event Co., but I’ve never been able to take it from her. It feels wrong. Crossing that line in friendship just never seemed worth the risk. But this, this would be fair and square. The money is on the table for anyone to take.

“Yes! I can’t wait to see who wins,” she answers back and nods to the envelope in my hands.

We take turns reading the cards out loud for everyone to hear. The ones are simple, order the most disgusting drink of the bartender’s choice. Meanwhile, I almost choke when I peel open my envelope and read Tay’s very distinct, bubbly handwriting.

“And if I get arrested for public indecency?”

“Oh my god, you won’t. It’s not like it says, get completely naked.”

She’s right; it doesn’t specify how much stripping down I have to accomplish. If she’s leaving interpretations open for the challenges, I’m going to take full advantage.

We’re the last two at the table, and she follows me up to the bar. I may be three shots and two drinks deep, but I’mnot remotely drunk enough to forget this tomorrow morning. I wave down the bartender, who’s drying glasses and watching the crowd.

“Can I get double Jameson?” I’m going to regret the combination of liquor tomorrow, but at least this time, I’ll enjoy the burn.

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