Talk To Me

14-I || Bittersweet Defeat

Body, by Loud Luxury. Amazing to dance to. Grind to. Twerk to. Hump to.

Make-out to.

Zach and I were currently doing all those things, in the corner of a not-too-fancy but not-too-shabby club, just like million other drunk and wasted people around us. Aimlessly groping in the dark, tequila slobbered tongues diving into mouths, stench of sweat replacing the deodorant sprayed on a couple of hours ago. I'm not saying I was better than any of these horned-up morons in here, but unlike them, I planned on going home with my guy and doing the nasty with him for a specific reason.

Besides, I wasn't drunk. I'd only had two beers. The shots I'd ordered for us after that, had been tossed straight over my shoulder while Zach had let them burn right down his throat. All I had to do was slam down the empty glass on the bar, squeeze my eyes shut and grimace, yelling out some garbled exclamation and follow Sia's advice for the next four more shots. Only instead of one two three one two three drink:

One two three AND—

Toss over the shoulder, slam it back. "Man, that stings!"

One two three AND—

Toss over the shoulder, slam it back. "Ah, that's the stuff!"

One two three AND—

Toss over the shoulder, slam it back. "Yowza!"

One two three AND—

Toss over the shoulder, slam it back. "That's what I'm talking about!"

Voila. He'd have five shots and I'd had none, he was going to swing from the chandelier until my job was done.

And he was "swinging" pretty hard. He'd never been able to hold his alcohol well, even back in high school. I knew five tequila shots were quite a tough one even for an experienced drinker, and for Zach, it was more than enough to transform him back to Zach the King. As the bass thundered deafeningly around us, he took no notice of the little illumination the pulsing red and blue club lights provided but moved his hands where his inebriated mind told them to, untucking my blouse from my skirt and nearly ripping it along the hem, fumbling up my skirt and then grasping my thigh for balance as he emitted a large burp into my collarbone, then starting up again, yanking at what he thought were my panties but was actually the hem of my blouse he had not yet untucked, so he was basically tucking in my blouse again.

Poor King needed some assistance.

"ZACH," I moaned drunkenly into his mouth, roaming my hands all over his shirt. "LET'S GO BACK TO YOUR PLACE."

"MY FACE," He groaned back, placing a sloppy kiss on my what he thought was my mouth but was actually my nostril. "LET'S KNOW SACK TO MY FACE."

Mary, Mother of God.

"COME ON." I let out the high-pitched, squealing, uncontrollable laughter that the sad sorry bimbos around me were giving, and I dragged Zach by his sweaty arm to the entrance of the club. "COME ON, LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!"

"LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" He yelled back in delight, his reddened face pushing up against mine and I accepted his kiss in relief, because now we were out of the club and though our ears were ringing, we could hear properly again.

He staggered around the parking lot and I imitated him as best as I could in my heels. Fuck you, three-and-a-half inches, why did I wear you today? Zach was moaning and slobbering all over me when fuck, something I hadn't thought about before popped into my very sober head: Zach's car. We couldn't go back in it. I could drive, of course, but that would just make him suspicious. Besides, if he'd totally transformed into Zach the King, he'd roll down his car window and stick his head out and yell some very not polite things about boobs and the very different things you could do with/ on/ to them. And then we'd get pulled over by a cop, and I'll have to explain why I was very sober while my boyfriend (ugh, I just swallowed bile) was very drunk. And then we'd probably get hauled off to a police station...no. Fuck. Couldn't happen.