Little Things

Chapter 25

The second half of the game goes by in what seems like lightning speed. I also manage to drink another three beers, leaving me completely wasted. But who the hell cares.

Not me.

The television is now broadcasting post game stats, after the Patriots took a win. But no one is really paying attention to the screen.

"So do you wanna be like a kid doctor or like a big people doctor?" I shout over the crowd to Kevin.

"Oncologist surgeon," he confirms.

"That's a big word," I giggle.

"Or a surgeon in general, for sport related issues. I'm not entirely sure yet," he tells me, smiling, with it meeting his eyes. The way Niall seems to only do sometimes.

Wait.

Niall?

I rack my brain trying to match the name to a face out of my memory book. But I just can't seem to remember who he is.

I guess he must not be that important.

"What was that?" Kevin asks.

"What?"

"You said something about Niall?" he questions.

"Oh, I don't know who Niall is."

"Oh."

I grab my beer but Kevin puts a hand over mine.

"I don't think you should do that...you already drank a lot. And obviously, you don't drink heavily all too often. I don't want you to hurt yourself. As of right now, your hangover will be literal hell," he tells me.

I try to put the bottle to my lips, but I am too weak. His hand guides mine to place it back on the counter.

"Why did you do that?" I whine.

"I just told you why," he chuckles. "Thank God you are a silly drunk. And cute."

"I'm always cute."

Kevin laughs, sipping his own water. He stopped drinking a while ago, before the game even ended. I guess he's the smart one here. He does go to Harvard.

"Do you want me to get you home?" he offers.

"I don't wanna leave," I sigh.

"Well, then how about we camp out on the roof?"

My face lights up at the thought and he laughs. 

"I was only joking," my smile vanishes, and suddenly I regain a small portion of my normal sanity.

"Actually, while I am currently able to think, take me home. I'm so drunk," I explain and he laughs.

"Okay, my car's parked out front. Lemme just pay first," he says, whipping out his wallet and placing bills on the counter. I feel bad for him paying for me too, but I am too intoxicated to act upon it.

He walks out of the bar, constantly checking back on me, as I follow him. The cold air hits my skin like shattered glass when I step outside into the September weather, that feels way too much like December.

Luckily, Kevin was right. His car is the one parked directly outside the pub. It's a slick black Lexus. Figures. Rich boy from Harvard. 

I shuffle to the passenger seat and snap my seatbelt on once I sit down. Kevin gets the car running and soon we are driving down the street.

A soft hum of music plays, and I think I recognize it as John Mayer, but I'm not completely sure. If I wasn't so wasted I would be able to tell. Timmy loved John Mayer.