Roommate Arrangement

The Impact of Flu Medication and Alcohol

Perrie

I take one last look at the girl I accidentally molested before I follow Brittany's swishing hair and swaying ass down the hall and through the foyer. If Brittany wasn't my date, and I hadn't promised my mother I'd give going out with her an honest shot, I'd be inclined to go back and get that girl's number. She's got a very nice mouth. In the very short time I kissed her, I imagined putting things other than my tongue in it. Not very refined of me, but honest nonetheless.

I don't call after Brittany once I'm in the foyer. I know too many people and I think, based on her recent reaction, she's likely to throw a fit, drawing attention I don't need. What I should've done was canceled tonight, on account of being sick as a dog this past week. But I didn't want to upset my mother by canceling the date, or piss Armstrong off by missing the engagement party, so I loaded up on a variety of drugs and bit the bullet. Now I'd have to smooth things over with Brittany.

Pretty much the second I picked Brittany up, she alluded to coming back to my place later.

I've heard some rumors about her and her mouth – and not just about her penchant for gossip, which I'm also familiar with, since I've known Brittany most of my life.

The selfie of her sucking on the lollipop was a pretty solid indicator that a nightcap would not just involve talking. When I ran into that girl in the hall, I assumed it was Brittany making her move and figured I might as well get it over with. I should've known better than to jump on that opportunity, since it would likely cause more unnecessary issues, but the cold meds and the drinks tonight are messing with my ability to make rational, well-thought-out decisions, hence my making out with some random girl in the hall.

Besides, bringing Brittany was a favor, orchestrated by my mother. Apparently, Brittany's date ditched her at the last minute and my mother thought it would be the perfect opportunity to swoop in and play matchmaker. Normally, I don't bend to my mother's whims when it comes to my dating life, but a little over a year ago, the importance of family was pretty much thrown in my face all at once. She had a health scare, one that resulted in a battery of tests and lot of anxiety. It was during the middle of the championships, so I couldn't come home at all while she was in and out of the hospital. To make matters worse, not long after that, my grandmother passed away. She was an incredible woman; her loss shook us all. She'd been very much the glue in our family. So, ever since I moved back to New York, my mother has been on me about dating and settling down. I have a lot of guilt about not being there for her when she needed me, so I caved when she suggested the date with Brittany. It also got me out of the charity bachelorette auction that she was going to volunteer me for, but I had to agree to a second date. According to her, Brittany comes from "good family" which in the world I was raised in, is more important than it should be.

I understand that my mother's views on relationships aren't uncommon based on her upbringing, and there may have been a time when I would've probably shared her ideals. But I've spent the last seven years playing professional soccer, and it's changed my views on a lot of things. Relationships, and how they function, or rather dysfunction, being one of them.

I don't make eye contact with anyone as I maintain a brisk, but casual stroll toward the elevators. It's taking more effort than I expected to stay on a straight path. I shouldn't have worn these heels tonight. People kept handing me drinks tonight, it was hard to say no, especially in this crowd. There was no way I could've survived a whole evening with these people while sober. I take my heels off so I can stay upright. Much better.

Brittany's ridiculously high shoes prevent her from making a speedy escape. She walks like she's on the runway no matter where she goes. It's a little over the top, to be honest. She reaches the elevator just as the doors open, so I have to pick up my pace. She keeps pushing the button, but I jam my shoe between the doors before they can close all the way and step inside.