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.
"So where am I heading?" he asks.
"Umm...I don't remember," I tell him, trying to remember where I live. Do I still live with my mom and dad?
"Ha Ha. So really, what's your address?" he asks me and I am genuinely unsure. I panic, looking outside the car to the many city signs, and instantly reminded when one reads my complex name.
"Beacon Hills!" I shout, happy of my recovering memory.
"Wow, nice."
"Yeah, we can barely afford it," I admit.
"We?"
"Morgan and I."
"Now I hate to be rude, but is Morgan of the female or male gender?"
"She's a girl."
"Good," he smirks.
I tap along to the music as I glance outside the frost covered window. Due to the ice sheeted over it, the view of the city lights outside are blurred. The image is quite beautiful. The colors seem to blend, looking less perfect, and perfectly imperfect. That's a good description of me, too. Perfectly imperfect. It suits me.
There aren't as many cars on the streets as there usually is during daytime, and even earlier in the night. I don't even know what time it is right now, neither do I want to know.
I wonder if Morgan has even wondered where I am. Does she care? Does she hate me?
I don't fully remember the conversation we had earlier, but I do remember her being really angry at me. I've never seen her that angry.
Well, besides that time I kissed Jeremy Dale in middle school when she liked him. But I didn't even kiss him, he basically kissed me. And I wasn't going to push him away. Afterwards she forgave me when I gave her cupcakes I made, my little thirteen year old self.
Those were the days. When everything was so care free. It didn't matter what job you pursued, if you even had one. And if you did, it was at a supermarket of some sort.
The days where I would listen to Timmy's band at night, and actually enjoy my life by day. When I would roll down all the windows of my once not so junky car, singing at the top of my lungs with Morgan by my side. Singing anything and everything that came on the radio.
I sigh and keep my eyes locked outside yet again. I bring my forefinger up to the frosty window and trace a heart. And before I even realize it, I have drawn the letter "N" in the middle.
For who, I have no clue.
But it feels right, like it belongs there. It belongs in my heart.
Metaphorically or not.
"What number?" Kevin speaks up and I snap back to reality. Well, also still in my own drunken reality.
"Umm, I don't know...but I think it's this one," I tell him, and point my finger.
"Yeah, it's this one, with the overloaded trash cans."
He pulls over in front of my apartment and stops the car, turning the engine off, and unbuckling his seatbelt. Does he want to come inside?
"Thank you for getting me home," I smile at him.
"It was nothing, I was glad too. Hey, let me give you my number. Hand me your phone," he says.
I grab my wallet from underneath my seat and take out my iPhone, handing it to him, after unlocking it.
In under a minute, he gives me back my phone, and opens the door, getting out. I am slightly confused because I don't remember ever asking him to come over after our little night together. I didn't expect to actually go anywhere with this, whatever this is. I thought we would talk, get drunk together at the bar, and go on with our lives. But he has already given me his number, taken me home, and potentially coming inside.
I do the same and unbuckle, first. When I am about to open the door, Kevin beats me to it and ushers me out.
"My lady," he says with his arms out.
"Thankyou," I slurr.
He shuts the door after I get to my feet and wipe my knees off. Not that there was even anything on my knees. Force of habit, I assume. I didn't realize I did it. Do I do it often? Maybe it's a drunk habit. That would make sense. Kinda.
He jogs in front of me and walks up the steps to my door. I take my key out, and unlock the door.
"Do you want to come inside or something?" I ask him, confused at his intentions.
"Oh no, it's too late. I just wanted to walk you to your door. You know, gentlemen motives," he says, with a smile.
"Oh," I blush.
"You know Allyson, I had a great time tonight. I didn't expect too, not really. I came with a group of guys I barely know from a few classes who eat breathe and sleep football. And yet, you were the highlight of my evening," he says, leaning towards me as I stand just outside the doorway.
"I had a pretty good time too," I say honestly.
"And to make it even better..." he trails, and I swear he is going to kiss me.
Is he going to kiss me?
His eyelids shut and my suspicions are confirmed.
Should I let him kiss me? Should I kiss him back?
Just as his lips are about to meet mine, I step back into my apartment, and it's like I am instantly ten times more sober.
"I'm sorry. I can't. Not right now," I explain.
"Shit, I mean. Uh- I forgot. You said you were just getting over a break up and I just tried to kiss you and...man I screwed up," he says, scratching his head with his fingers through his luscious blonde locks.
"It's okay," I tell him.
We stand looking at eachother awkwardly, and luckily a yawn escapes my mouth, sending me an idea.
"It's really late, I should go to bed. Thank you, again. For everything. And sorry about..." he shakes his hand out and steps down the few stairs.
"Don't worry about it," he says, walking backwards towards his car.
"Well I'll see you later," I raise my voice.
"Call me!" he shouts, cupping his hands over his mouth, and then slipping inside his car. I shut the door of my apartment, and a wave of exhaustion hits me like a tsunami.
I sit down on the couch, to take off my vans. But within seconds, my vision goes black as I swiftly fall asleep, with one shoe still tied on.