Worth the Risk

Chapter three

"You're crazy." She huffs away my proposition, but something about the movement tells me she doesn't really mean it.

"I don't think I am." The redness of her cheeks contrasts the paleness of her skin indicating I'm heading in the right direction, yet she still shakes her head in denial. "Tell me." A chuckle leaves her lips as she shakes her head a second time before turning her gaze back to me.

"I don't know." Three words and I feel like the smirk on my face is as long as the wall of China. She throws a serious look in my direction to put my fantasies back on the ground. However, the hint of amusement and shyness in the center of her blue irises strengthens the excitement building up inside of me.

I clear my throat putting on my business face as if we're discussing world peace instead of her losing her V-card to a hot, steamy one-night-stand. "Go on."

"I want to get it over with, but I don't want to pick someone random." I nod, understanding perfectly what she is saying. I had my first time last year in my freshman year of university with Trent McConnell. We had gone on a couple of dates before anything happened and even though we were never something serious, I don't regret it because he wasn't someone random. I trusted him.

"Just go with the flow and see what happens." Her eyebrow quirks up in surprise. She cups my chin with her free hand putting her face right in front of mine, scanning my eyes.

"Who are you and where is my August?" Her head snaps to every corner in the room, her face a painting made from concern coated with a thick layer called the 'mocking my roomie' color.

I roll my eyes and laugh away the comment. "Ha. Ha. Funny."

"I was just checking because you're either sick, an imposter, or so drunk you completely lost all knowledge of who you are." She continues with fake concern radiating from her body, not giving in to the smile that is probably boiling up inside of her and I'm surprised because she normally is the first one in a staring contest to lose her composure bursting into a wave of giggles.

"How about none of the above?" I think. "Besides I'm not always tied to a schedule." The stare she gives me is worth more than a thousand words and I sigh giving in. "Fine, but you can't blame me for wanting some structure in my life. Having a plan is the beginning of achieving your goals." I defend myself, knowing that plans and schedules sound boring to 99 percent of the earth's population.

But I'm not boring. I can be fun. I do things that are not planned.

Do I regret them in the end because they always lead to me making stupid decisions? Yes.

Do they make me want to stick to my plans even more? Absolutely.

Do my schedules and plans exist to keep the impulsive alter ego inside of me in check? Abso-fucking-lutely.

But let's turn a blind eye to those three minor details.

"Well, here's my plan. You and me, dating these cute little shots, so that I don't have to date boys and you don't have to date all your busy schedules." She boops me on the nose before she raises her shot in the air. I meet her halfway to toast in agreement.

I start a new counting spree, however, I soon lose track again of the number of times I swung my head back to let the liquor fall into my throat. The number of times I burn away another cause of my stress.

The first one to go is the stress of keeping up with classes.

Another shot and the stress of being hungover fades away.

Another shot. Poof. Gone is the stress of missing track practice because I'm hungover.

Shot. Poof. The stress of finding a job.