Page 31 of Latte Girl
Heh. I’m prettydrunk.
I must have laughed, because Trisha asks me what’s sofunny.
“I’m pretty drunk,” I say, out loud this time. We both startgiggling.
“Stop making me laugh!” Trisha squeals. “It’s too hard to pee and laugh at thesametime!”
This, of course, makes us both laugh evenharder.
“It’s not my fault you can’t multifask. I mean multipask. Imean,uh—”
I’m laughing so much now I can’t even finish my sentence. The drinks are shooting up to my brain faster than a thermometer rising inmiddayheat.
“It’s like my brain is a ther-mo-mo-meter,” I say with a snort, as Trisha and I both walk out of ourstalls.
“Awhat?” she shrieks, staggering againstthewall.
“ATHER. MO.ME.TER.”
Trisha is now sliding down the wall as she clutches her stomach, tears of mirth streaking makeup downherface.
This upsets me. This is a very badthing.
“Your nice eyes! Brittney will besosad.”
I grab a paper towel and crouch down beside Trisha, dabbing at her face. I do an excellent job. Trisha looks stunning now. She looks even better thanbefore.
“Hailey!” she gasps, grabbing my wrist, suddenly veryserious.
I put on a serious face too. She must have some veryseriousnews.
“Hailey,” Trisha repeats, blinking a few times as she stares straight into my eyes, “we have to godance.”
I realize that Trisha is right. There is no question about it. Dancing is a must, and it needs to happen as soon aspossible.
I stand up and pull her to her feet, almost crashing down on top of her asIdo.
“Dancing!” I shout, punching the air abovemyhead.
We race out of the bathroom and over to the alcove where Brittney is still sitting withtheguys.
“We have to dance!” shoutsTrisha.
That’s when I notice the tray of shots sitting on thetable.
“We were waiting for you,” says Steve, reaching for my arm and pulling me onto the couch beside him. “Up for someshots?”
Before I can even think of an answer, Trisha, who hasn’t even sat down, grabs one of the shot glasses and downs it before slamming it back ontothetray.
“Spicy,” she says, smackingherlips.
“It’s Fireball,” laughs one of Steve’s friends. “So I guess that’s our cue todrink?”
Everyone grabs a shot glass and clinks them together tocheers.
Why do people drink this stuff?I think, coughing at the burning in mythroat.
Then the post-shot warmth blooms in my chest, and I turn to look at Steve. He’s so handsome. He has such a noble jaw. He smells likecharisma.
