1. Operation a Go #3
I don’t wait for her to respond. Really anything she says at this point will just fuel my anger. I simply side-step her and walk over to the table where Rose has stationed herself.
“Rose?”
When my sister sees me she smiles, raising her arms in the air for a hug. Suddenly I’m transported back to when we were kids, when it seemed Rose’s arms were always raised, wanting someone to hold or hug her. Anyone to fill the void our parents left.
But really, Mom and Dad hadn’t been around much when they were alive, so I don’t think much would’ve changed for any of us West kids.
I bend down and encircle Rose in my arms, pulling her into a tight hug. It’s what I should’ve done every time in the past, but I’d been too much of a self-important douche to show my sister the affection she deserved.
“How does twenty-one feel?” I ask, straightening and stepping back.
Her eyes are heavy-lidded when she replies, “Same day, different shit.”
Her mixed-up words have me taking a closer look. Her legs are hooked in the barstool rungs, back slightly slumped forward, elbow propping her up on the table. “I was going to head out, but maybe I better stay. You don’t look too with-it.”
She snorts. “It’s my twenty-first birthday. I’m not supposed to be with-it. In fact, I think I would categorically declare anyone’s twenty-first birthday a failure of epic proportions if they were at all ‘with-it.’”
She uses air quotes at the end, which has me smiling.
Some of the tension I’ve been carrying on my shoulders lifts.
Rose is her own unique brand of girl. I should trust her not to make the same mistakes I made when I was younger.
She’s so much smarter than I ever was. And Rose was young when our parents died, so they hadn’t quite messed her up the way they did Holt and me.
At least, I hope not.
I tap her on the nose with my finger, chuckling when she glares at me. “Understood.” I go to pull out the stool next to her, but she blocks me.
“Flynn, it’s awesome that you came to wish me happy birthday. I mean, that is why I wanted to celebrate here instead of downtown, but you don’t need to stay. Really. I’m a big girl.” She points to the sash draped across her chest proclaiming her legal. “All grown up.”
“You’ll always be my baby sister, Rose.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Now stop cramping my style with all the brooding. Get laid or something, will you?”
“Christ, Rose. Don’t say things like that.”
“Dude. Someone has to. The stick up your ass can’t be all that comfortable.”
Laughter erupts from my throat and I shake my head. “You sure you’re okay?” I lean in and kiss her cheek. “You done drinking for the night?”
“Yes, overlord. Pam and I will have our asses driven downtown. We’re heading back to my condo in a bit.”
“All right.” More tension ebbs once my mind absorbs that I’ll be free of these people soon. “Love you, Rose. Be safe.”
“You too. I left condoms in the kitchen pantry for you.” She smirks. “Remember, no glove, no love.”
“Jesus.”
Jackie
I’ve never had to take a drunk girl home before.
This is not what I had in mind for Operation Social Life, but here I am, trying to haul a semi-comatose birthday girl through the bar.
Jules is going to think I’m a lesbian when she debriefs me on my night out.
First talking to the waitress and now driving a girl home.
Ten minutes earlier, I found Rose leaning over the sink in the bathroom, having a conversation with herself in the mirror.
Something about promising herself to find new friends.
Apparently, all hers left without her. She’d been attempting to call an Uber when I told her I’d give her a ride home.
I don’t know why. Maybe because I know what winding up alone on your birthday feels like.
But beyond that, I seem to have little in common with Rose. The drunk girl.
She’s the girl I always pictured as the heroine when reading my cowboy romance novels that Jules likes to harass me about.
Rose has big hair and a short denim skirt that’s topped off with a plaid button-down with genuine pearl button snaps.
The front tails of her shirt are tied, making the shirt more crop top than anything.
What with her high-heeled cowboy boots, she is quintessentially country.
“Put your arm around me,” I huff.
Rose is currently slumped against me, and at this point I’m basically carrying her.
She isn’t heavy, even with her thick-heeled boots, but she isn’t light either.
My only thought at this point is that I need to work out more.
That and a pulley or lever system would be really helpful right about now.
“Jackie?”
I turn too suddenly, and Rose falls to the floor.
“Crap.” I look down at the pile of country beauty at my feet.
“I knew you would be the most interesting customer tonight.” By the barely restrained laughter shaking her small frame, it’s safe to say that Trish is enjoying my current situation.
I put my hands on my hips. “You were right. The birthday girl got sloppy.” I wave my hand in the general direction of where Rose was partying. “And her friends all bailed.”
Trish glances in that direction then back at me. “That was rude of them.” She looks down at Rose. “Need help?”
“Yes, please.”
I bend to pick up one arm, thinking Trish will get the other, but she turns around and whistles over a bouncer I’ve been studiously trying to avoid. “Wait! I don’t want her arrested!”
Trish pauses in waving the big guy over. “Arrested?”
“Uh, yeah. Don’t people get arrested for public intoxication?”
Trish purses her lips for a moment, still fighting the battle not to laugh. “Oh sugar, if that were true we wouldn’t have any customers left.” The bouncer she whistled for shows up, looming over Rose.
The look on my face must be comical, because Trish loses the battle and erupts into giggles. “Relax, Jackie. Jimmy isn’t going to arrest her, but he can get her to your car.”
After some grunting on Jimmy’s part, and laughter on Trish’s, Rose is now sprawled across the back seat of my car.
She opens one eye, surveying her position. “I know I’m drunk. But even drunk, I can tell your car is a piece of shit.” Then she promptly passes out. Jimmy walks away without a word.
“Well, she isn’t wrong.” Trish bursts out laughing again.
My car is old. My dad gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday, and it was used when I got it. A small, four-door compact that shakes when I go over fifty miles per hour.
Trish stops chuckling long enough to ask, “You know where to take her?”
“Yeah, she told me where she lived before I had to carry her out of the bathroom.”
“Okay then. And since you’ve been drinking nothing but soda, I take it you’re good to drive?”
“Yep.”
We both silently ponder the drunk in my car. Me with my hands on my hips, Trish with her mouth twitching.
“Give me your phone.” Trish sticks her hand out.
“Huh?”
Trish just wiggles her fingers and waits. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and give it to her.
She looks down, sighs and hands it back. “Unlock it, silly.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I press my thumb over the button and watch the screen wake up. Trish takes it out of my hands, then starts banging the screen with her thumbs.
“I added myself to your contacts and called my cell, so now I have your number.” She hands it back again. “Text me once you get birthday girl and yourself home safely, okay?”
I can feel my face light up, and I stare hard at the phone in my hands so Trish can’t see the ridiculous grin I’m probably sporting. Trish wanting to keep in contact makes me way happier than I’m sure it should.
God, I’m such a nerd.
“Sure thing. Thanks,” I manage around my smile.
She takes another look at my outfit. “If you want boots, we can get you boots.” Once again, she winks and walks away.
A grunt has me turning back to my car.
“Rose?” I ask, peering in the rear side door.
“Slow down! You’re driving too fast.”
“Um, we aren’t moving, Rose. We’re still parked.”
This gets me a flutter of lashes, like she’s trying to open her eyes, but her body’s fighting it. “Well shit.” She manages one eye again. “You better get a bucket then. This probably won’t go well.”
Awesome. Just awesome.
“Rose? Rose! Wake up!” I’m driving around Clear Lake Forest, one of the coolest neighborhoods around NASA.
All the great astronauts used to live here: John, Gus, Alan and most of the rest of the Mercury Seven.
Even some of the Apollo boys. It’s one of the few neighborhoods in the area established enough to have big trees lining the streets.
“Rose! What was the house number again?”
She stirs a bit from the back and lurches upright. I brace for vomit, but nothing happens.
Rose looks left, then right, then straight ahead. “Fuck. Where am I?”
“You’re in my car,” I say, looking at her through the rearview mirror. “I’m taking you home. What is the house number?”
“Huh?” She starts blinking rapidly. “Wait, why are you driving me? Who are you?”
“Seriously?” At the stop sign I rest my head on the steering wheel.
“I’m just playing.” She laughs and points between the two front seats. “It’s up a few houses on the right. At the end of the cul-de-sac.” She slumps back.
I pull up to a one-story house. It has a low-pitched roof, a large picture window in the front and metal scroll work on the sides of the door that is classic 1960s modern. I love it.
“Your house is awesome.” I whisper for some reason. When no response is forthcoming, I put the car in park and get out.
But before I can open the door, it’s shoved open so hard I think it might come unhinged. Rose heaves herself out and stands next to me. “It isn’t my house.” She stumbles forward, leaving me to close the door.
“You good now?” No sooner have I said this than she face-plants in the grass. Thankfully she misses the flagstone path.
A few minutes of huffing and puffing later, I manage to get the keys from Rose and muscle her into the foyer and down the hall to the room she slurred is hers.
Too bad it’s so dark. I would love to see the house in the light.
I bet it has original mid-century modern elements throughout.
Maybe even terrazzo tile. With one final heave, Rose is face down, yet again, but this time on her bed. With her boots on.
“What the fuck?”
I whirl around to see a guy in the doorway. And not just any guy—it’s the holy-crap-o-la hot guy from earlier.
And. He. Is. Shirtless.
His glare is focused on the bed, where Rose rolls over so that she can flip the hot guy the bird.
“You weren’t this drunk when I left, Rose. What did you do?”
“Shots.” Rose giggles and starts chanting, “Shots, shots, shots, shots…”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing.
“Jesus.” Hot guy rolls his eyes and looks at the ceiling. “You said you were cut off. Pam said you were going to dance off the booze and leave.” He tilts his head back down and stares at the floor like he wants to pound it. “I should’ve known better than to listen to any of your friends.”
Rose snorts. “Yeah, my friends are lame.” She furrows her brow. “But they used to be your friends too.”
“And now they’re not. And you know why.” He widens his stance and crosses his arms, which only serves to enhance his biceps. This must be what people mean by ‘nice guns.’
“Yeah. Sorry.” Rose closes her eyes for a moment, looking almost contrite. Then she opens them wide. “Fuck. The spins.”
Hot guy grunts, but his eyes soften and I swear his lips twitch.
A minute ticks by with Rose and the guy staring at each other. And me being a weirdo voyeur. Time to go.
“Ummm... I’m just going to...” Stupid move. I should not have spoken. Because now the hot guy glare is aimed at me.
“What are you doing here?” He turns to fully face me and drops his arms. Smooth hard pectoral muscle over pronounced abdominals. My whole body freezes, except my eyes. They go wide taking him all in.
“Shut up, Flynn.” Rose struggles up on her elbows. “Don’t be such a douche.” Her updo has come down, there’s mascara under her eyes and her mouth is set in a grim line that only a country girl could pull off and still look cute. “Jackie helped me get home.”
“This isn’t your home, Rose. It’s mine.” He steps closer to her. “And get your goddamn boots off the bed.”
Soon the two are yelling at each other, and I have to admit, I’m impressed.
Rose has sobered up quickly enough to let loose on the hot guy named Flynn.
I’m not sure I’d be able to put together two words to say to him, drunk or sober.
Across the bar, he was hot. Up close and personal?
I need to change my panties. He has a finger pointed in Rose’s direction and with each jab the muscles on his back and shoulders bunch.
His hair is all mussed, like he just got out of bed, and the top button of his jeans is undone.
Flames race under my skin and I know I’ve just turned red.
Holy Mercury, I need to get out of here.
Rose can handle herself. I start inching toward the door.
“And listen, you.” I freeze, realizing the hottie named Flynn is talking to me.
My skin feels nuclear. “You better not be drunk. Because if I wake up and find out you drove drunk and hit someone else on your way to whatever stupid-ass college party you’re heading to now, I will personally kick your ass. ” With that, he storms from the room.
Time passes. I’m not sure how much, as I sort of zoned out, staring after him, unable to form thoughts. Which is a relatively novel occurrence for me. The non-thoughts part. I freeze in social settings on the regular.
When I finally snap out of it, Rose is passed out, snoring. And her boots are still on.