Whiskey Chick

by Ryan Ringbloom

  “Okay, you were right. That was ridiculously fun.” Adam beams as we make our way off the ride down the little stairs to the exit.

  “Where to next?” The big smile across my face matches his. “The Zipper?”

  “Wherever you want.” His brown eyes connect with mine, and I don’t know what comes over me, but I grab his hand. He grins down at me, and palm to palm with our fingers interlocked, we walk over to the next ride.

  “I want to try that.” She points towards a glittery sign. “It’s called the soda experience.”

  Five minutes and ten dollars later, thanks to the magic of dry ice, we walk away with two mystifying cherry-flavored sodas.

  “What else should we try?” We walk down the overwhelming selection of food trucks. There’s even one for s’mores. We quickly walk right past that one.

  “I don’t know. Everything looks good, but if we’re gonna go back on rides, we should probably just get something light.”

  “So then I guess fried peanut butter cups are out?” I say as we pass a truck that reads On the Fry.

  “Oh God, if we eat that I have a feeling we’ll wind up back home with the rest of them.” She takes out her phone and checks it real quick. “Jenn hasn’t texted me back yet. I hope she’s okay.”

  “She’s fine. My mom sent me a text before that everyone was starting to feel better and was mostly just sleeping after the long night.”

  “We are so lucky we didn’t have those stupid s’mores.”

  “I feel extremely lucky,” I say, but for way more than just the sake of the s’mores. I can’t get over the dumb luck of this all. The date I thought I’d never see again showing up at my door. Okay, so it was technically because of my brother, but she’s not interested in Henry, even though he seems to be the more popular choice when it comes to setups. She’s into me. We’re holding hands, bumping shoulders as we walk, exchanging glances. Magic is happening. There is something about her, about us, that is so right.

  “How about those dipped corns? That shouldn’t be too bad.” She sips her smoking soda, pink lips puckered around her straw, and I’ll be honest, I’d say yes to just about anything she asked right now.

  “Sure.” We walk up to the window and order two very buttery ears of corn wrapped in tinfoil. Between the soda and corn, our hands are occupied; unfortunately that means no hand holding as we leave the food area.

  There’s a section of tents ahead and we head toward it to investigate. Inside the first tent, we’re greeted with a giant pumpkin boasting a first-place ribbon. It’s huge, wide, and comes up to our waists. Remi hands me her corn so she can take out her phone and click a picture.

  “It’s so massive, I feel obligated to take its picture and post.” She laughs, retrieving her cob from me as we move on to admire second place.

  We stroll through award-winning squash, zucchini, melons, and stop in front of the eggplants. The long purple fruit with the first-place ribbon takes up half the table.

  “No picture?” I ask.

  “If I post that, it may attract some weird followers.” She finishes nibbling, takes a final sip of soda, and tosses away her garbage. I do the same, now free to take her hand again. Her fingers comfortably lace through mine. My Jersey Boy heart grows a jacked-up arm and starts fist pumping as we stroll through a tent full of vegetables. A tent of freaking vegetables, and I’m having the best date of my life.

  We exit the tent and a strong scent wafts our way from the next one. Cows. Lots and lots of cows.

  “Oh my God. That is strong.” Remi coughs. “I’m tasting it.”

  “Maybe we don’t need to see the cows?” I chuckle, steering us away from the pungent tent and back over toward the rides. She looks up at me and smiles.

  “I just want you to know that I’m having a great time.” She squeezes my hand, but it’s my heart that feels the pinch.

  I’ve spent the last two years telling the story of Whiskey Chick, laughing and reliving the awful turn of events of a girl I never thought I’d see again.

  Only now that I have, I can’t imagine ever letting her get away from me again.

  Hashtag No Filter

  “I would love to treat you for dinner,” I say to Adam from behind the menu. “And I would love for you to order lobster, a souffle, and a shit-ton of alcohol.” I lower the menu, peer over at him, and bite my lip. “As long as this place is cool with me using my dad’s credit card.”

  After we left the fair, he suggested dinner. With nothing but corn and soda in my stomach and the fact that I’m absolutely crazy about him already, I eagerly accepted. Today has been amazing. Adam is freaking amazing. A face I never thought I’d see again is now one I can’t stop staring at. Dimples. He gets them every time he smiles. And all he does is smile. Smiling has to be good for the heart because his smile mixed with mine is causing my heart to dance inside my chest.

  “Dinner is on me.” He laughs and so do I.

  “I’m sorry. Right now I’m living with my brother but still living off my father. It took me a long time to figure out what direction I wanted to go in life. But I finally did. Hair and makeup has always been my passion, and I can’t believe it took me this long to actually realize that and do something productive toward my future.”

  “I remember you saying that you were going to look into hotel management,” he says, and I close my eyes as embarrassment washes over me.

  “Hotel management, real estate, I was into cats for like a minute and looked into becoming a veterinary assistant. Believe me, if you could name it, I’ve probably ‘looked into it.’ I know I don’t have to tell you this because you already know, but I’m a hot mess.”

  “I don’t think that at all,” he says.

  “Really?” I have to laugh. “Drunk both times I’ve met you, barfed on you one time, kissed you another, sponging off my parents, no job. Geez, Adam, what do you consider a hot mess?”

  “You’re in school pursuing your passion; it’s okay to get some help from family until you’re on your feet. The barf washed off, the kiss was hot as hell, and you’re not drunk now.” He raises a brow. “Are you?”

  “No, I’m not.” I bite back a smile. “But the day isn’t over yet.”

  “Oh.” I was joking, but his expression is serious. “Does being with me make you feel like you need a drink?”

  “No. Not at all. I was only kidding when I said that.” Me and my stupid mouth.

  “Okay, good.” He runs his hand uneasily over his buzzed hair. “I guess I always wondered.”

  “Always wondered what? If I drank that night because of you?” Shit. Does he think I went all Whiskey Chick because of him?

  “Yes,” he says, looking at me and then down at the table. “I guess a part of me always figured it was something I did or it was because after meeting me you felt you needed to drink so much that night.”

  Oh God. It makes my stomach hurt that he thinks it was something he did that night. He was perfect. Too perfect. The night threw me; I wasn’t prepared. Or maybe I had prepared too much. I take a deep breath. In order to move forward, we need to go backwards.

  “It was just… so fancy. James Miu,” I say, twisting the paper bracelet still attached to my wrist. “I was out of my element. Guys don’t usually take me to nice places like that, especially for a first date, let alone a freaking blind date.” Most of my dates, if you can even call them that, were burgers and fries at the bar or a diner run on the way home from the bar. This was a real date, in a top-rated restaurant. The pressure was on before I even walked in the door. “I was all dressed up. Then I met you, you were so sweet and good-looking, and I ordered the Manhattan to impress you. And it relaxed me. So I got another one, and well, once that buzz takes hold, it’s hard to stop. Plus, I hadn’t eaten. That dress was so tight, and I wanted to look good in it.” Hmm. I pause for a second while realization sets in. “Okay, so, I guess technically I did drink because of you, but not in a bad way.”

  “You didn’t need to order a Man
hattan to impress me,” he says. “I was impressed the second you walked in.”

  “And when I stumbled out?” I ask, but don’t give him a chance to answer. “The truth is I fucked up. And I’m very sorry for that night. I’m glad that I’m finally getting the chance to apologize to you.”

  Adam opens his mouth to say something, and I wish he wouldn’t. I just want to move past that horrible night and focus on this incredible one instead.

  “Ready to order?” God bless this waitress and her timing.

  “I will have the Chicken Francąise,” I say, handing over my menu.

  “Porterhouse medium, please.”

  A waiter comes over with a basket of bread and fills our water glasses. I’m starving and don’t even butter the bread before taking the first bite. Mmm, bread. We should talk about bread and not the past.

  “My brother hates the way I eat bread.” I start the new discussion. “He uses the little bread plate and slices it and butters it evenly. But I like to open the little foil packets and just mush the bread into it before each bite.” I tell him this because I’m about to do it. I reach for a foiled slab of butter and start smushing. “This really is the better way, and he should listen to me because I am his older and wiser sister.”

  “Older? Isn’t he your twin?”

  “Yeah, he is, but I was born first, making me the older one.” I take a bite of the sloppily buttered bread. “What, did you think my mom has some double-wide vagina and we both came out at the exact same time?”

  Adam chokes on the sip of water in his mouth, and once his airway is clear he laughs. “I don’t know what I thought, but I can tell you, it was not that.”

  Phew. He’s laughing. Sometimes my words just come out on their own.

  “Sorry, I have filter issues. But I’m working on it.” I am. My brother and my parents are always on my case about it. I’ve even had a few friends ghost me over some of the things that have escaped my lips. Sensitive assholes. I mean, sorry, my intent was not to offend.

  “Well, you don’t need to filter yourself around me,” he says, and I think he honestly has to be the coolest guy I’ve ever met. But then he says, “Hashtag no filter,” while making air quotes.

  “Oh God. You did not just do that.” I cover my face and giggle. “I’m embarrassed for you.”

  “What? Isn’t that what all the kids say?” He grins. “I’m just trying to keep it 100.”

  “Stop.” I hold out my hand. “You’re making it worse,” I say, not able to contain my laughter.

  “Uh-oh, am I losing you?” he asks, chuckling along with me.

  “No.” My laughter subsides and my eyes lock onto his. “You’re not losing me at all.”

  The house is dark except for a few lights as we pull up the long driveway. My mind is so preoccupied with what comes next that I take my foot off the brake before putting the car into park, and tap the back of my brother’s Jeep.

  “Don’t worry, it’s sturdy. I don’t think I did any damage.” I laugh nervously backing up, putting distance between me and a possible scratched bumper.

  “Today was amazing. And I’m so glad that….” She stops talking and shakes her head. “Never mind.”

  “What? I thought you had no filter?” Whatever it is on her mind, I want her to finish the thought.

  “I’m glad that I got to spend the day with you.” She bites her lip sheepishly and then rolls her eyes before continuing. “And that I didn’t get stuck golfing with Henry. I’m pretty sure that would have been a nightmare.”

  Because of the s’more virus, Remi doesn’t know that Henry had requested me to be his wingman so that he could spend the day with Lori. I mean, I’m sure she knows something was up. The two of them hadn’t exactly been discreet with their common interest. But still, even though this all worked out for the best, and I am talking the best, I wouldn’t want her feelings to be hurt.

  “I’m really glad too. Hopefully Henry won’t be too angry at me for stealing you away. I think I’ll just explain to him that we have a lot more in common.”

  “He won’t be angry at all. Jenn told me she saw him kissing Lori last night. I’m sure he’ll feel as relieved as I do.” She unclicks her seat belt and opens the door to get out. Damn. I had kinda wished to stay in the car a bit. In the dark. Talk some more, see where it led.

  “His loss is my gain,” I say, meeting her behind the car where she hooks her arm around my bicep to walk inside.

  “Ya know what’s funny? I’ve only known Jenn a few months, but in that time we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well. She was eager to set me up with Henry but never even mentioned you. I didn’t even know she had two brothers. But clearly you would have been the better match for me. I’m surprised she didn’t see that. You even said it last night; she set me up with the wrong brother. Why do you think that is?”

  “I don’t know.” The question has definitely been on my mind as well. Jenn isn’t one to play favorites. At least not that I ever noticed. I don’t know what it was that made her think Henry was the better choice for Remi and not me. “I’m just glad how it turned out.”

  “And how did it turn out?” She stops walking and faces me.

  “I think it turned out very good.” I place my hands on her waist, urging her in toward me. “In fact, I think this is the part where we kiss,” I say, and she breathes out a nervous little puff of air right before my lips meet hers. The kiss is deep. Passionate. Her tongue gets well acquainted with mine; it’s as if they’re on a date of their own. She slides her hands up my chest until her palms are resting on each side of my jaw. Locked in, the kiss goes to new levels. Forget dating, our tongues have just checked into a hotel that charges by the hour.

  I groan. She moans. It gets noisy. My hands search for one of her breasts through the thick fabric of her sweatshirt. When I find the soft mound, she mewls softly against my lips and I go insane with want.

  We’re out in the open in front of my family’s home; anyone could come out at any moment and catch us like this. I don’t give two fucks. Let them. I couldn’t pry myself away from this girl if I tried. Her hands leave my face and soon tug at the button of my jeans.

  A light turns on in one of the front rooms. I hook my arm around her waist and pull her over for some privacy behind my cousin’s truck, pressing her against the door, our lips never parting.

  She lowers my zipper, and I slide my hand underneath her bulky shirt, running my palm over the soft padding of her bra.

  “This is bad, what if someone sees us?” she whispers, breaking our kiss.

  “We can go to my room,” I say, even though I’m not sure I’d make it.

  “It’s too soon for that?” She makes it a question. One I can’t answer.

  “That’s up to you.” My finger rims underneath the clasp of her bra. I control my breathing and retrieve my hand so she can make a decision without any pressure.

  She rises onto her toes, peering back at the house from our hidden spot behind the big truck. It’s dark where we are, private enough.

  “Hand stuff only,” she says, her lips crushing back against mine, and her hand returning to the zipper she undid. Her hand slips into my boxers and wraps around my eagerly waiting cock. The buildup of this date, of this weekend has been intense, and I growl at the first few tugs. My hand returns to under her sweatshirt, and this time I tear at the delicate clasp of her bra.

  “Adam… Adam.” The way she says my name has my dick throbbing double time in her hand. I grasp greedily at her breasts with a roughness I can’t contain. I want to see them, taste them. “Adam… Adam,” she cries, just as needy as I am.

  “Adam?”

  “Wait.” Remi pulls her hand away. “Did you hear that?”

  “Don’t stop.” My voice is hoarse. I take her hand and guide it back to where it was, my jeans lowering on my hips, my dick pulled free, exposed and hard. Her touch has me on fire. I bring my fingers to the front of her jeans and rub.

  “Adam… Adam,”
Remi purrs.

  “Adam?” Shit, that one was not her. The voice comes closer. “Adam?” It’s my mom. Fuck.

  “Is that your mom?” Remi’s whisper is panicked, and her hand goes away.

  “I know he must be out here. I see his car.” This time it’s my aunt’s voice.

  “Put that away.” Remi thinks she’s helping, pushing on my hard dick and trying to shove it back into my jeans.

  She is not.

  “Here, I got it.” I back up a few steps and carefully try to tuck the raging hard-on back into my now ridiculously tight jeans. Remi tugs on her sweatshirt and folds her arms across her chest.

  “Adam?” My mom is on the other side of the truck.

  “Over here.” I take a few painful steps with my sausage pressed up against my leg. Remi glances down in horror. She drops down to the ground and crawls the opposite way of the nearing voices, disappearing from sight.

  “Adam, there you are.” My mom walks over. I drop my hand down to cover the bulge and lean into my cousin’s truck. “What are you doing out here all alone in the dark?”

  “Just thinking,” I say through a very forced grin. My mother and my aunt eye me suspiciously. I should have crawled away too. “How’s everybody feeling?” I ask, inching backwards.

  “Better,” Mom says. “We were getting worried. It’s kind of late. Is Remi with you?”

  “Yes. Well no. She was.” Why isn’t this boner going away? Too much blood is still pumping and flowing from Remi’s magnificent touch.

  “Okay, well can you do another quick run to the drugstore for us? We need some aspirin. Everything in this house is expired. I guess we’ve never really had a need for these things in a while.”

  “Yeah. Guess not. Okay, bye.” I turn to limp away, grabbing my keys from my pocket, but they drop. Bending over might kill me right now. “Okay, bye,” I say again, turning around to wave, urging them to walk away.

  “Adam, are you okay? Let me feel your head.”

  “Oh God, no,” I yell and then try to laugh it off. This is a nightmare. “I’m fine. Go back in the house. I’ll go get the aspirin. Just. Go.” And thankfully they do.