𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐕

Ralph's snort was accompanied by an eye roll, "Ignore Polo. I work with people like him too. He'll probably be stuck in the same position for a decade."

"I'll probably be stuck in the same position for a decade." I took a small sip of my drink, "I only got the job because of Keenan. I'm under-qualified, Ralph."

My best friend looked incredulous, his head cocking back. He shifted in his bar stool and took another shot which had me weary, "Gianna," he started, "There's a difference between lacking skills and lacking titles due to lack of opportunities. You gotta start somewhere. This is your start."

I laughed dryly, "It's a big start."

"Oh, hell no, I don't wanna hear this shit," he shook his head, "This is you speaking because that Alicia's words got to you."

"She was telling the truth." though Ali's not my favorite person, I wouldn't say that she's a liar.

"No," Ralph emphasized the word, his mouth forming a perfect circle, "That's her truth. My truth is that you deserve the part and that you were just given extra help to get it. Come on, let's be honest: I would've failed Introduction to Mass Comm if I hadn't dated my professor's daughter."

"Oh, god, we're bringing that up." I took another sip of my drink, longer this time. I looked around, steering my thoughts away from Ralph's ex who collected Pokemon plushies in her bathroom. Yes, bathroom. My friend found out in a frightening instance.

Ralph followed my eyes, scanning our surroundings. JeMarq's is bar owned by a young entrepreneur, its interior cozy with browns, creams, and woody tones. The place is rarely packed despite being apt for the middle class millennial. That's most likely due to its shrouded location.

When I turned my face back to his, the young man grinned. Then, to my horror, he brought up another memory, "Remember when you got drunk enough to fling your panties to a gladiator?" Had the question lacked context, it would've been Ralph's warrant for a psychotherapy session.

I groaned into my hands, "Not that."

In spite of my pleas, Ralph recalled our Halloween night in perfect detail. More shots later—mostly for Ralph, we had tumbled down our very steep memory lane. The route included all stories of my friend hitting people when he was drunk. It's a very intoxicated Ralph thing to do: swing at people.

As I watched him retell the tale of a dumb Gia who accidentally entered the men's shower room at a waterpark with very animated gestures, most likely the effect of lime liquor, I wondered what on hell Keenan had on his mind when he warned me about my best friend. No, I still refuse to believe that his reason was jealousy. Keenan's too mature for such a thing, especially when we have polygamy in the shadows of what we have going on.

Ralph looked as innocent as he could get which says a lot. Aside from looking innocent, he also looked drunk—a-sip-away-from-puking kind of drunk. He reached for his nth shot glass which I snatched right away, "Uhh," I shook my head slowly, "I don't think you should drink anymore."

He waved dismissively, "I'll be fine," though from the slur of his words, I doubted him.

My eyes narrowed at Ralph, "I think it's time to call it a night."

"Gia," he held a finger in the air, "I'll be fine. Give it to me."

I glared at Ralph. His cheeks were flushed, his brown eyes black with extra shine. Under the hazy plates are dark circles. "We're going home." I said and laid the small glass away from him. We stared at each other, his brows slowly knitting together. Then, he reached.

"Ralph!" I heaved his body by the shoulders. With how his hand shot forward, I can only assume that he was going to reach for the last shot. "Goddamnit," I muttered, catching the attention of one of the bartenders.