Inviting The Virgin (Old Version)

Inviting The Virgin (08)

 This was much more than the school dances we were used too, or in Mimi’s sake Barn dances.

        When we left the men’s room multiple girls were trying their efforts on yanking on the door handle and praying to the Glam God’s that it would magically open. I saw Stella and her group still sitting at their booth watching everything happen. Almost like Gods they monitored their creations welcoming the chaos. Pulling out her phone she monitored the time as well. Clearly our time was slowly running up.

        Mimi had found us another boy to buy us both shots. It was getting easy since most of these boys had exhausted any other option. After the fourth shot I was realizing why people called alcohol liquid courage. There was no thought process before my body did what my mind wanted it to.

        Leaving Mimi behind I waltzed up to Adam who had joined his friends once again. Upon my approach I had gentle bumped into him my perception off a little more than it was before. He spun around a smile on his face when he saw me.

        “I’ll make you a deal,” I was flirting, drunkenly but still flirting none the less.

        “And what’s the deal?” He seemed intrigued.

        “Buy me a shot and then we can dance,” He was more than interested to oblige.

        We walked up the bar Adam told the bar tender what to get me. I laid out my glass shot and a marker. He grabbed it from my clumsy hands raising an eyebrow.   

        “Write your name on it,” I laughed but he still did what he was told.

        The bartender than filled my glass with God knows what. It was purple and in this state it was good enough for me. I shot it back into my throat this time the burn wasn’t as bad. Looking at the glass I counted the signatures and even one phone number that I didn’t recall being there the previous times.

        “Name and number, I must be someone special,” I must have sounded the way I felt.

        He smirked laughing at my drunken state—“I think I’m going to cut you off though,” Adam suggested speaking loud enough for the bartender to hear it as well.

        “I’m not drunk, you’re drunk,” I accused him.

            It was becoming too much to handle. In my head I was telling myself to sober up, to leave and get some coffee but that wasn’t even close to what I did next.

            “I think we’ll save that dance for later,” Adam seemed more concerned and caring than anything.