Page 70 of His Heart

He shrugged. “Have you been to Deadwood?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Is it a good place to party?”

“Yeah,” he said as he pulled away from the curb. “It’s basically the place to party around here.”

“Sounds perfect.”

I swam in blissful numbness while he drove me to Deadwood. He dropped me off, telling me to have a good time. I waved at him and went inside.

It was the perfect sort of dive bar, with low light, dark red carpet, and a bar top that looked worn and weathered. The place was packed. It looked like a mix of college students and older twenty-somethings. I didn’t much care who was in there, as long as I could down some drinks and keep this buzz going all night.

I found an empty stool and ordered a shot of Jack Daniels. To my right, a guy in a John Deere t-shirt and camo pants put the moves on a blonde in a mini-skirt. To my left, a group of about half a dozen guys all took a shot together, then slammed their glasses back on the bar. They were all dressed in plaid flannel, unbuttoned over t-shirts. Most wore worn out baseball caps. Bunch of corn-fed Iowa college boys.

The bartender brought my drink and I downed it in one swallow, then ordered another.

“That was impressive.”

It took me a second to realize the guy was talking to me. One of the college boys. He leaned against the bar and grinned.

“What was impressive?” I asked.

“The way you took that shot,” he said.

The bartender came back with my second drink. I tossed it back.

“Damn,” the guy said. “You’re fucking awesome.”

“Dude, Joel, stop being a cheese dick,” one of the other guys said.

Joel rolled his eyes. “I’m just talking to… what’s your name?”

“Brooke.”

“I’m just talking to Brooke.” He turned back to me. “So what’s up tonight? You must be meeting someone.”

“Nope.”

“You’re here alone?” he asked.

“I just came to drink.”

“Fuck yes,” he said. “Guys, this is Brooke. She’s hanging with us tonight.”

“No, I’m not—”

My reply was cut off by a round of cheers. These guys were already pretty hammered. But one of them ordered another round of shots, including one for me.

It looked like I had six new best friends for the night.

A few hours later, I was so wasted I barely knew where I was. We were still at Deadwood, all of us packed into a booth. At least, I thought that’s where we were. I didn’t remember leaving, and I didn’t really care. My brain was soaked in Fireball and I’d been telling the best stories. Joel and his buddies had been laughing so hard, they were doubled over, slapping their knees. One guy—I had no idea what his name was—had run off to the bathroom, probably to puke. The rest were holding their liquor.

Joel had his arm slung around my shoulders. There was something about that I didn’t like. But it was hard to remember why it mattered. The room spun, and whenever I blinked it took me a little too long to open my eyes again. Voices carried around me, but I wasn’t following the conversation anymore.

“You coming, sugar?” Joel said, close to my ear.

“Where we going?”

“For a ride,” he said. “Come on.”

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