9. Avery #5
She gets the message and grabs her glass. We both throw back another shot and at this point, the warmth is spreading, making the world just a little softer around the edges.
Cassy tilts her head. “And what about him? Gray. Is he still acting like an asshole toward you? Giving you the cold shoulder, or is this about to become the romance of the century?”
I snort, the alcohol making everything funnier than it should be. “Romance of the century? Hardly. Yeah… it’s as if that night never happened.”
Cassy scoffs. “Well, you can have any man you want. His loss!”
We clink our glasses together, giggling as we down another shot. My throat is beyond repair at this point, but I power through like the warrior I am.
Cassy sets her empty glass down with a thud. “So, got a picture of him?”
I smirk, pulling my phone out of my bag. “Actually, yeah. I took one a little while after I arrived.”
It takes me longer than it should to scroll through my photos—probably because my brain-to-hand coordination is officially out of service—but I eventually find it. I turn the screen to her.
Giving it one glance, she lets out a dramatic sigh. “Damn. He’s handsome. Like a male model. But still an asshole.”
We burst into laughter, nearly knocking over the remaining drinks on the bar.
“Anyway Cass, what did you want to tell me?”
Before she can get a word out, Carlos leans over the counter, dropping his voice to a low, conspiratorial whisper. But first, he glances left. Then right. Real subtle.
“So,” his eyes twinkling with mischief. “After you two beautiful ladies leave here, and I’ve finished my shift, how about we all go back to one of your places and make a real night of it?”
I burst out laughing. The sheer audacity.
Cassy glances up at the ceiling. “In your dreams, Buster. Just do your job and keep the drinks flowing.”
Carlos grins, completely unfazed. “Don’t ask, don’t get.”
I shake my head, giving him a pointed look. “Do ask… and still don’t get.”
He just winks before moving off to serve someone else. Honestly, you’ve got to respect the confidence.
I turn back to Cassy, who is practically vibrating with gossip.
“Anyway, you won’t believe it.” Now she's grabbing my arm. “You know that Logan? The one from speed dating?”
“Yeah.” I’m already bracing for whatever is about to come out of her mouth.
“Well, last night, he came over to my place! We were in bed and his phone went off. And, Avery, I could not believe the ringtone.”
I blink. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
She leans in, eyes wide. “The damn thing was like a siren blaring out at a gazillion decibels—‘WARNING! IT’S THE WIFE! WARNING! IT’S THE WIFE!’”
My mouth drops open. “Are you kidding me?!”
“Asshole!” we say in unison, slamming our glasses together in another toast.
Cassy, now glaring at Carlos—who’s busy serving another customer—throws her arms in the air. “They’re all ASSHOLES!” she practically bellows.
Carlos turns around, grinning like she just complimented his hair.
And as the night unfolds, the drinks keep flowing.
Bad. Very bad.
I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round that someone forgot to stop. The world tilts dramatically every time I so much as turn my head.
At some point, I realize Cassy is no longer on her stool.
It takes a lot of effort, but I manage to focus enough to find her… pressed up against the side of the bar, her tongue very involved with Carlos’s mouth.
Jesus. Not about to interrupt that. Time to leave.
I fumble in my bag, searching for my phone. The Uber app. I need the Uber app. But my fingers are not cooperating. After what feels like a hundred failed attempts, I somehow—through sheer dumb luck—manage to book a car.
Getting out of the bar, though? That’s an Olympic-level challenge.
I stand. Mistake. The floor decides to move.
I stagger toward the door, only to nearly fall on top of two poor souls at a table.
“Oops—sorry—legs... not working—carry on—great outfits!” I ramble, waving a hand at their cocktails before stumbling away.
By some miracle, I make it outside, and praise be, my Uber is already there.
I yank open the door, throw myself in, and slump against the seat. And we’re off.
The drive is a blur of me narrating my very profound thoughts on life, love, and probably why toast always lands butter-side down.
The driver does not look entertained.
Eventually, we reach the estate.
Before the car has fully stopped, I attempt to exit, which goes about as well as expected—I practically fall out.
“Y'know, lemme tell ya somethin'... hic... I once saw a cat... no, wait, it was a dog...” I slur, gripping the door for support.
The driver just stares before shaking his head and speeding away.
I dig through my bag for my key, my fingers refusing to work properly. Just as I start questioning if I even own a key, I find it.
The house is dark and quiet when I step inside. No idea what time it is.
“Be quiet,” I whisper to myself as I immediately trip on the first damn step.
Somehow—somehow—I make it to my room. I manage to open the door, step inside… and collapse onto the floor, just shy of the bed.
And you know what?
I do not care.