He was a weak man; the kind of man who belittled others to further his own game. Oh, Jobe Boston was a good looking man in love... with himself. He loved his appearance, the bulky wallet in his jeans, and his effortless ways of persuasion. Jobe had...
"Get off the table, Andy, before you embarrass yourself!" My long time best friend, Andy Patrick, was known for his crazy ways of trying to land a girl, but this one takes the cake.
Here he was, a six foot two man, climbing in the middle of a dancing bachelorette crew on the top of a bar. I'm surprised the counter top hasn't toppled over by now with the weight of his big ass.
I shook my head at the sight of my shirtless best friend, pants unzipped, and beer stains slipping off of his oversized cowboy hat he found on the side of the table.
If he didn't stop grinding on those women, he was sure to lose his arm, knowing the distasteful looks the women were sending him.
I tried to do my best to get him down, but when he didn't listen, he was on his own for the rest of the night. I shouldn't have to chaperone Andy when I'm here to have a good time too. After all, there was only one month left of my junior year of college and that was a hell of a lot to celebrate about. I didn't have a clue as to how I made it this for.
"Your friend is going to hurt himself, Jobe." My date for the night, Lisa Montes, giggled at the sight in front of her on the bar.
I played with her blonde pony tail as she laughed, sipping on my strong shot of whiskey bourbon. I was enjoying the effects of the alcohol tingling through my body, and most importantly the way my drink was turning Lisa into a five to a solid eight on a scale. Even her perfume smelled a little less cheap than when we first arrived here.
"Babe, chill. He's not going to listen to anything we have to say as long as he's surrounded by those girls. Besides, by the looks of him, he'll probably fall asleep on the table soon." Andy was known to be a lightweight, but that didn't stop him from having a good time every weekend we went out.
"Good, I didn't want to have to worry about him anyway. I want to focus on you and only you." Lisa's voice came out in a seductive drawl, a sound that could have only been perfected by much practice on the many guys she's probably dated before me.
Her hand unlocked itself from my shoulder blade and down to the belt loops of my relaxed fit jeans.
Lisa usually wasn't my type of woman, but I was desperate for some female interaction. With the miserable excuse for women at school, she was sadly one of the best out there and she just so happened to be into me.
"Is that so?" I leaned in to whisper in her ear, a gesture I've learned that women, no matter who it is, love.
I knew she was smiling, even without taking a glance at her.
I felt a poking finger against my shoulder, and I shoved it off, thinking it was probably a drunk Andy.
When I was poked again, I finally turned around on my heels.
"What the hell, dude?"
Before I could even get much of a look at the guy in the front of me, I came face first with a giant knuckle sandwich in the right side of my cheek.
The crowd around us went silent, all but a shriek from Lisa.
I held onto my bloody cheek, taking a chance to grab my composure before taking in the boiling man in front of me. All five feet of him couldn't tell you how hard his punch actually was, but I would never lead that on to the surrounding public.
"Arty, what are you doing here?" Lisa finally spoke up.
"I should be the only one asking questions. Why is the jerk off all over you? I thought you were my girlfriend, but what kind of a woman like you can call herself such a thing?" This guy, Arty, was almost pitiful in his ways. With one hand on his bottle of beer and the other on his broken heart, you'd swear he didn't just hit me.
"Look, Arty, I've been meaning to tell you that we are over." The blonde said.
"Wait, so you were dating him? Geez, I can't get a break." I sighed. It's just like me to go for the taken women.
"I was breaking up with him soon, I swear it. I like you, Jobe." Her doe eyes looked up to me for support.
"You are breaking up with me for this sad excuse?" Arty shook his head in disbelief, as if I was the worst guy put here on this planet.
"Hey, watch your mouth." I defended myself. By now, Andy had made it off of the table and came to support me, as much as a drunk guy can. Hell, I'd probably end up having to protect the both of us.
"Or what?" The short guy made his way toward me, sizing me up, if that's possible.
"Try me." I said calmly.
I gave him a chance to walk away, but I wasn't one to run away from a brawl. When his fist came into the air, my male bravado ran through me and I caught his arm in the midst of his movement. I cocked back my fist, smacking his jaw like iron. A few gasps escaped the mouths of watchers, including Andy and Lisa.
Arty stumbled in his position, but still managed to knock his free arm on the side of my ear. With one slick hand, I grabbed the bottle from his hand, afraid he'd try to use it as a weapon. He maneuvered around my waust, pushing me into the bar, a few glasses shattering to the sticky ground. The girls that were once dancing were now hopping of in a hurry.
Fearful to get punched again, and equally scared to be humiliated, I hit him over the head with his own beer bottle, Arty hitting the ground in a bloody mess.
In between motionless groans, Arty spoke.
"The cops are going to hear about this!" He yelled.
I wiped the side of my ear and proceeded to dust my wrinkled shirt off.
"I'll have no problem getting out of this, so please do, call the cops."
Little did I know, it was going to be harder to get out of this than I thought.
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