Tequila Tequila

by Emma Hart

  Blaire stared at the shirt Luke had given me earlier today and burst out laughing. “Normally, I’d tell you where to stick it, but that’s so good I’m not even gonna say a word. Please tell me you accused him of saying you were fat.”

  “I did, and it was oh so good. He walked right into it.” I pulled the shirt over my head and put my arms through the holes. It fit me perfectly—with just the right amount of give that my over-indulgence in tacos a few hours ago wasn’t visible over the waistband of my jeans.

  I swear if Luke wasn’t straight…

  “He’d be a great stylist if he were gay,” Blaire mused, glancing at how the shirt fit. “How does he always know to size up for your comfort and up two for my boobs?”

  “Probably because I never wear anything skin-tight because of Abuelita’s cooking, and you constantly whine about clothing companies never considering women with big boobs.”

  “They don’t, though! Have you seen these things?” She cupped her sizable chest. “You think they make “Size ten plus boobs” for the busty among us? No. And don’t even get me started on bikini tops.”

  “Okay, I won’t.” I shrugged. I wasn’t exactly small-chested, but I wasn’t quite the walking weapon Blaire was, that was for sure.

  She had the boobs. I had the ass.

  Put us together, and we’d scare even the Kardashians.

  I stood up and looked over all my angles in the floor-standing mirror opposite my bed. I’d throw on a pair of heels and a nice kimono to keep Blaire happy. It still didn’t change the fact that all I wanted to do was put on some sweatpants and watch trashy reality TV, but I was comforted by the fact that nobody in our friend circle had a birthday until the beginning of October now.

  My liver would get a break.

  Maybe.

  Who knew when Blaire would break out a reason to get drunk?

  She could do it in her sleep.

  And I had no reason to believe she wouldn’t pull out every trick in her little handbook tonight.

  And I was more than a little scared about that.

  ***

  “To Aspen!” Tom lead the toast, raising his tequila shot high above his head.

  This was shot five.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to drink it.

  But I would. I was weak-willed, and it really didn’t go in my favor that Blaire noticed my hesitation. She reached over, tipping the shot into my mouth before I had a chance to realize what she was doing.

  The tequila burned as it went down, and Blaire threw hers back as I wrinkled my face up.

  “Ahhh! I wasn’t ready!” I shouted, giggling into my hand right after.

  “You’re good, you’re fine, you got this!” Blaire waved her hand, the empty shot glass moving with her. “Just choke it back!”

  “That’s what she said!” Justin shouted across the table.

  I flipped him the bird as I slammed the glass down. There was no lime—I didn’t know what to do with myself.

  “Yo, Dec!” Will leaned back and waved toward the bar. “Princess over here needs some lime!”

  “Princess is gonna kick your bitch ass!” I shouted, grabbing the glass of water from the center of the table.

  Declan laughed, holding up a finger. “Y’all give me a minute. The next couple rounds are coming up. Salt, tequila, lime. Perfect for the princess.” He cast a glance my way and winked.

  “I’m not a princess!” I shouted.

  Luke tugged on my hair. “Then why are you wearing a tiara?”

  I touched my fingers to the tiara I’d been presented with within seconds of walking through the door. “I was made to. It’s not my fault. It was shoved on my little head!”

  “Little head? Does that include your ego?” Justin grinned.

  I pointed at him. “You. I don’t like you.”

  He laughed, along with everyone else.

  “Tequilaaaa!” Blaire shouted, snapping her fingers as Declan presented us with two large, circle bar trays.

  Salt. Tequila. Lime.

  I didn’t know if I could do a sixth.

  Jesus.

  I hadn’t signed up for this.

  Luke pushed a tequila shot toward me, complete with the salt shaker and the wedge of lime.

  I wrinkled my face up. “I need a vacation from all y’all pushers.”

  The entire table erupted into laughter—Luke, Blaire, Tom, Justin, Will, Sean.

  All it did was teach me that I needed more female friends.

  Or maybe not. Women were bitches. Nobody needed more bitches in their lives than absolutely necessary.

  Either way…

  I already regretted this.

  CHAPTER TWELVE – LUKE

  Truth Bombs

  I wrapped my arm around Aspen, helping her out of the cab. The driver laughed as she almost tripped over her own feet.

  Her bare feet.

  I’d stolen her heels an hour ago.

  I tossed Declan’s brother a twenty for his troubles and closed the door behind us. I knew I’d stayed sober tonight for a reason, and that was because Aspen and Blaire had the self-control of a piece of paper under a running tap.

  And I didn’t want a repeat of last weekend.

  “There’s a curb there,” I said, stopping just short of it. “You think you can get one foot up on there without falling?”

  Aspen stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth, narrowing her eyes. She leaned forward so far that the only thing stopping the both of us tumbling over was the fact my upper body strength eclipsed her entire body.

  That was a very clear no.

  “Jump.” I barely bit back a laugh as she leaped onto the sidewalk.

  “Ah-ha!” She fist-pumped the air. “Got it!”

  Oh, Jesus. It’s like she was in Pac-Man or something.

  “Okay, you little lush, let’s get you to bed.”

  “I want fooooooood,” she said, wrapping her arm around my waist. “Did Abuelita give me quesadilla?”

  “Yes,” I said slowly, inputting the code for the apartment door and taking her inside. The elevator seemed like a smarter bet right now. “You want me to heat you up some?”

  “Mmm, quesadilla.” She hiccupped, then giggled.

  She was adorable drunk. Seriously—she was so fucking cute. She giggled like a little kid, and her hiccups were so quiet yet forceful.

  I pressed the button to her floor as she leaned into me, giggling at seemingly nothing. She was hammered. The only thing that would save her now was, literally, eating her weight in carbs to line her stomach and drinking a pint of water in the hope her body caught up with her good ideas.

  Tomorrow was going to be a hoot.

  The last time she’d been this drunk she’d turned twenty-one.

  Another night I’d stayed sober, just like she had on my birthday.

  What were best friends for?

  “Come on, Asp. Let’s get you upstairs and out of those jeans.”

  She snickered. “I’m pretty out of my pants.”

  “You’re pretty in them,” I said without thinking. “But I think you’ll hate me tomorrow if I let you wear them to sleep.”

  “I could never hate you.” She patted my stomach.

  Yeah, well, if she could remember last weekend, she probably would.

  The elevator doors opened. I guided her out, then reached for her purse.

  She jerked from me, assuming a ninja position with her purse held tight to her body. “Whatchu doin’?”

  “Getting your keys,” I said slowly. “So I can heat up your quesadillas, Jackie Chan.”

  She looked at her purse, widening her eyes. “Oh. Quesadilla!” She produced her keys faster than any person who’d consumed their body weight in tequila should have been able to and threw them at me.

  On the floor, to be more precise.

  Sighing, I bent down and picked up her cluttered ring of keys from the ground in front of my feet. “Yes, quesadilla. You think you can walk from there to the door?”


  She held her arms out at her sides to balance her like I was asking her to prove she was sober. Tongue out again, she focused extra-hard on one foot in front of the other until she reached me…

  Two feet to the right of where she’d started.

  Hey, at least she could walk.

  I unlocked her front door and stood aside so she could walk in. She was doing real good until her toes came into contact with a rogue sneaker. That was her undoing. She stumbled over the sneaker, shrieking, falling so fast not even I could catch her.

  Aspen landed on the floor with a thud, but fell over, rolling onto her back with a laugh.

  Man.

  I couldn’t wait to tell her those bruises came from a sneaker.

  Right now, though, I shook my head and helped her drunk ass up. I was finally able to coerce her to the sofa and pull quesadillas from the fridge to heat up.

  Babysitting your drunk best friend was hard work.

  Nobody told you that.

  Pay your taxes, they said. Pay your rent and your cable and your electric. Make sure your car has insurance.

  Nobody ever fucking told me to make sure my best friend could get her drunk ass to bed.

  Nope.

  Then again, she’d probably felt that way about me a lot of damn times.

  Friendship. Never mind through thick or thin. Through sober or tequila should have been the motto.

  Aspen arched her back and pulled off her jeans. I paused for barely a second before I returned my attention to the oven and the food I was heating in them.

  I was fucking hungry, and whether she was hungry or just alcohol-hungry, she needed to eat.

  I didn’t want to clean up her vomit tomorrow.

  “Luke?” she asked from the sofa, staring at her hand.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I have some water?”

  Oh, look. Sober Aspen was in there somewhere.

  “Sure. Gimme a sec.” I pulled a bottle from the fridge and walked to hand it to her. “I even popped the top for you.”

  “You say that like I’m a chi-ult,” she said, eyeing the water bottle.

  “Yeah, well, when you can say “child” like the average person, I’ll let you open your own water.” I hid my laughter as I went back to the kitchen.

  She rolled her head back. “That smells good.”

  “Abuelita’s quesadilla. So it should,” I said, checking the oven.

  “Yum. I’m hungry.” She paused. “I drank a lot of tequila tonight, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” I confirmed. “Blaire is a terrible influence on you.”

  Aspen sighed, sinking into the corner of the sofa. “This is why I wanted to watch movies. No tequila. No wings. No acid reflux.” She paused. “No you.”

  “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  Rolling her head to the side, she smiled, but it was sad. “Nothing. Did I tell you that you’re perfect?”

  “Not today, Asp.” I checked the oven and pulled the quesadillas out. Silence reigned as I served them up onto plates and took them over to the coffee table. “You think you can work a knife and fork?”

  Aspen glared at me, falling back in the chair. “I’m not a child.”

  I held up my hands.

  She grabbed her quesadilla with two hands, biting into it like it was a burrito.

  I was, thankfully, smart enough to not say a word.

  So much for not being a child.

  We ate in silence, except for Aspen’s random hiccups. It took everything I had to hide my laughter each time, mostly because she frowned at her quesadilla like it was to blame.

  I only let myself laugh quietly when I took my plate over to the sink.

  “I know you’re laughing,” Aspen slurred, hiccupping again. “I’m going to write to the tequila company. They broke my diaphu… diaf…”

  “Diaphragm?”

  “Yes!” She pointed at me, falling over the sofa until she was lying on her stomach. Another giggle and hiccup. “Diaphragm! That’s the badger!”

  “It’s the furthest thing from a badger, Asp.”

  “Whatever. I’m going to complain. They broke me!”

  “No, what broke you is your inability to pace yourself. And eat a decent dinner, because six tacos at two p.m. before you start drinking doesn’t make dinner.”

  She smiled dreamily. “But those were good tacos.”

  “Yes,” I said slowly. “But you were drinking on an empty stomach.”

  “Nooo. I can still feel the tacos in there. I didn’t poop yet!”

  I closed my eyes and pinched my nose. I forgot how…fun…she was when I wasn’t also drunk. “Well, that was a little too much information.”

  “Oh no.” Her eyes widened, and she stumbled to sit up. “Was my poop supposed to be a secret?”

  “I’d prefer it to stay that way.” I walked over and held out my hands. “Come on. I think you should go to bed now. Sleep off those hiccups.”

  She giggled, yet another hiccup interrupting it, and put her hands in mine. She was definitely unsteady on her feet, so I gave up with the hands and wrapped my arm around her again.

  “Secrets are fun.” She leaned right into me, making me stagger against the doorframe.

  “Fucking hell, woman. At least try to put one foot in front of the other.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry.” She dropped her chin and stared at her feet. Her tongue poked right out of the side of her mouth, and she bit down on it, carefully putting her right foot in front of her left.

  We were going to be here all night.

  “All right. Come here.” I stopped us both, then bent down, hooking one arm behind her knees and lifting her up.

  She hiccupped, then burst out laughing, holding onto my neck. I hauled her over to the bed and set her down.

  “I’m gonna help you take your jeans off, okay?” I looked down at her.

  Aspen pushed hair from her face and propped herself up on her elbows. Her eyes were wide, staring at me like I’d just kicked her puppy. “You’re going to take off my jeans?”

  “Do you want to sleep in them?”

  Her shoulders shook, then, well. Then, she laughed her fucking ass off.

  I blinked at her.

  “You’re going to take my jeans off!” She whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. “Ohhhh! Is it going to happen again?”

  “Is what going to happen again?”

  “Ssshhhhhh. Nothing. It’s a secret!” She tapped her finger against her lips in a “shh” motion. She did that for another few seconds before she reached down and undid the button of her jeans.

  I frowned but said nothing. I helped her peel the skin-tight jeans down her legs and over her feet. Tossing them on the floor, I reached over her and pulled the covers back.

  Aspen yawned. “Oh. It’s not happening again. Good.”

  Still holding the covers, I said, “What isn’t happening?”

  She looked around the room, honey-colored eyes darting back and forth. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Then stop talking about it.”

  “I can’t!” She gasped, covering her mouth again. “But I can’t say. No. It’s a secret.”

  “Okay. That’s the tequila talking.” I tucked the covers up over her and turned off the light on her nightstand. “Goodnight, Asp.”

  “You’re going?”

  “I’m going to sleep on the sofa. I don’t want to be vomited on by you later.” I smiled.

  “Will you stay if I tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “The secret,” she whispered conspiratorially. “But you can’t tell Luke.”

  I opened my mouth to remind her that I was Luke but stopped.

  I wanted to know what in the ever-loving fuck the crazy shit was talking about.

  “I won’t tell Luke,” I said slowly.

  She snuggled right under the covers and patted the bed next to her. When I sat down, she said, “Do you promise you won’t tell him?”

  “I won’t tell
him a thing. Promise,” I replied.

  Well, I wasn’t fucking breaking it, was I? It wasn’t like I could tell myself a secret.

  “Okay. Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Last weekend, I had really bad drunk sex with Luke.”

  Fuck.

  “Like, really bad.” She paused. “And I can’t tell him, because he doesn’t remember, and he’s my best friend.”

  Fuck.

  “And it’s awkward,” she sing-songed, sounding even more tired. “Because he’s kind of hot,” she sighed. “And I had a dirty dream…”

  Wait—what?

  “Where it was better than tap-tap-squirt…” she finished on a yawn.

  I waited, but she didn’t say anything else. “Aspen?”

  A tiny snort answered me, and when I peered over, her eyes were closed. She smacked her lips together, licking the lower one, and stilled.

  She’d passed out.

  And there was no fucking way I was going to be able to sleep tonight.

  ***

  She remembered.

  She remembered that night, and so did I, and now our friendship was irrevocably fucking changed.

  There was no way she’d forget what she’d said last night. There was no way I could move on like she hadn’t said a thing. I had to tell her what she’d told me and admit that I remembered last weekend, too.

  If I didn’t, the secret might just be the one thing that killed our friendship.

  It was fine when I didn’t think she knew. It was easier before. I could move on from that bad night, and any lingering thoughts I had about her beyond being my best friend would die eventually.

  Now?

  No.

  Now, it was different. There was no going back from here.

  I rested my forehead against the top of the island and clasped my fingers behind my neck. The island was cool against my skin, and it was soothing. Thank fuck something was because my stomach was in knots.

  I reached for my phone and looked at the time. I had a new message from Blaire.

  Blaire: Is Aspen awake yet?

  Me: No. Thank fuck.

  Blaire: Why? Did she try to striptease for the building manager again?

  Me: No, but you nearly showed the bar a second full moon.