by M. J. Fields
“What is it?” Christy asks.
“Look, his dick has a Yelp page.” I chuckle.
“What!” Elle snatches it from me. “Well, he certainly has a type—blonde.” She laughs, but it’s totally forced as she hands me back my phone.
I read the section of reviews. “And, apparently, a huge dong.”
“Let me see that.” Lisa takes the phone and slowly scrolls through it. “Well, I guess so. There’s a picture.”
“Gimme that dang thing.” I grab the phone back and bust up laughing so hard tears roll down my face.
Lisa starts laughing, too, and Christy does, as well.
“What the hell is going on?” Mitch interrupts, chuckling himself.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Elle answers for us as she stands up and looks at Logan. “You ready, little guy?”
We all bust up again, but Elle’s is forced.
I briefly consider that it might be risky to just take off with two guys, but there are four of us, and we’ve been seen with them. I’m also pretty good at reading people, and they don’t seem harmful at all. Quite the opposite, actually.
I get up, grab my crossbody, and sling it over me as I walk over and link my arm through hers. “Let’s go, girls.”
“Wait out front. We’ll swing around and pick you up,” Mitch says from behind us.
When I look back at him, I see him smirk at me.
Damn them players. Just … damn.
When I see a black 4x4 creeping up, I can’t help feeling a little excited.
“Black Betty is chromed out. The Missing Links is ballin’.’”
When he comes to a stop, Mitch opens the door to the song “Black Betty” by Ram Jam, blaring from inside.
He jumps out and opens the back door. “Ladies, your ride has arrived.”
Lisa and Christy climb in the back, and I follow.
Mitch looks at Elle. “You’re riding bitch. Can you handle it?”
“I think you should. I’ll take—”
“Oh, hell, no.” He laughs. “Get your little ass in the truck.”
As she climbs in, Logan pulls his white hat down, so it nearly covers his eyes.
The rest of the snarly conversation is muffled by the music, but when it cuts out, Mitch laughs and says, “Blindfold on? And Logan likes to be called god, as in, Oh God, Logan!”
It’s obvious I’m not alone in the observation that my new roomie, Elle, and Logan Links have something going on.
I grab a bag off the floor so I don’t step on it as Logan begins pulling away from the curb.
“Wait!” Elle yells.
Logan glances at her. “You are a real pain in the ass, Elle.”
I set the bag on my lap, and chance a peek inside.
Holy. Shit.
“Well, safety is important,” she snaps at him.
“I think Logan might just be the safest man I’ve ever met.” I giggle, holding up a bag that clearly contains several boxes of condoms.
“You’re such a pig,” Elle mumbles to him.
He shrugs. “Safety equals no accidents. You good, Elle?”
“Need a helmet?” Mitch asks, opening the glovebox then tossing something to her.
A condom.
“Durex XXL, huh?” she jokes as she rips open the package, pulls out the rubber, and shakes it a bit, so it unrolls.
The girls and I laugh.
Holding it up, she looks at Mitch. “So, do you two share them?”
“Only if they agree to it.” He winks.
“I mean the condoms.” She waves it around. “You buy the big ones and cut them in half to save money?”
“That wouldn’t cover the tip,” Mitch immediately responds.
Big boots, big man.
“I don’t think either one of you gets as much real action as you do in that imagination of yours.”
She is in way over her head with these two. Again, I feel the need to save her from … herself.
“Here’s an idea for all the extras.” She puts the damn thing to her lips and starts blowing it up.
We laugh.
“What the hell?” Mitch chuckles. “Christ, Logan, I think I may be in love.”
“Shut the fuck up, Mitch,” Logan warns.
The cab falls silent. I’m sure he didn’t mean to just call dibs, but he did.
“I mean, you know I don’t play with freshman.”
“Who said anything about you?” Mitch goads.
Elle ignores them, still blowing up the condom.
I look at Lisa and Christy, and we all silently laugh.
She finally pulls it away from her mouth, “Yuck.”
“Yuck?” Mitch chuckles.
She nods and points the blown-up condom at him. “Jocks.”
He laughs out loud while she starts twisting the damn thing. We are all rolling.
“What the hell are you doing?” Logan asks after stopping at a red light.
“It’s a balloon animal.”
Mitch snorts. “Looks like a dick.”
She smacks him in the head with it. “Dick smack.” Then she does it again.
Now all of us laugh as Logan pulls onto Marshall Street.
As soon as he pulls over, Mitch jumps out and opens the door, giving me a brilliant smile and a once-over.
Players … gaw.
“Wow, this place is close enough to walk,” Christy says as she follows behind me.
“Not real safe to do at night,” Logan yells back.
I look back as Mitch shuts the door while Elle starts to slide over. I can’t help laughing.
He looks back and winks.
“Let’s go, ladies,” he says, stepping toward me.
“What about Elle?” Lisa asks.
“I think she’s in good hands.”
When he places his hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the door, I get the goosies.
He opens the door and nods toward the bouncer. “They’re with me.”
We walk through without question.
Lisa grins. “Let’s get drinks.”
I look back and see Mitch giving the guy a bro hug, but he’s looking at me.
I shake my head and glance toward Christy.
He rolls his hazel eyes and smirks.
“Yes, let’s,” Christy scoffs.
I put my arm around her shoulder. “No girl needs to play with any man who can’t make up his mind.”
“He’s hot.”
“Look around, Little Red.” I wink. “He’s but a dime a dozen.”
Getting drinks was much easier than I anticipated since the little Hispanic bartender hardly even looked at our IDs. Then again, she is ass-deep in testosterone and clearly pregnant, so we’re the least of her worries.
She looks young, probably about the same age as my mother when she was pregnant and trying to hide me.
I glance over and see Elle walking in our direction. Worried she won’t see us, I tell the girls, “Make sure she doesn’t get lost.”
With two beer bottles under our arms and two one-dollar shooters of cheap tequila in our hands, we push our way through the crowded sports bar that is full of ’Cuse fans and toward her. The oasis of Orange reminds me once again of part of the reason I chose this school.
Lisa and Christy both hand Elle a shot.
Christy jokes, “Quick, before we get busted serving a minor.”
“What?” She chuckles.
“Bottoms up.” I clink my shot against hers.
It’s revolting, but I’m not about to waste the opportunity to enjoy my college experiences. I promised Maxine, my cool aunt, I wouldn’t.
I hand Elle my second, and when I’m about to take a drink of my beer Christy gives me pleading eyes as she holds out her Tequila shooter. I take it. Then Elle and I look at each other, and she shoots hers down.
“Impressive. That was easier than sneaking you a beer. Guess one-dollar tequila shots it is for our Elle.” I wink, trying to keep my disgust at bay as I watch hers. Th
en I look at Lisa and hold up my shot.
She shakes her head. “I’m not a big drinker.”
“So, why the fake ID?” Elle asks.
“Safer to be in a bar than a frat house,” she answers. “My parents’ idea.”
“And I about died when they suggested the same for me.” Christy giggles. “Your parents were definitely taken by aliens.”
“I’ve only had a beer, maybe two before, or a glass or two of wine,” Elle admits.
I laugh. “Well, we have a couple of days before classes start, and I, for one, am going to enjoy the night with The Missing Links and hottie Mitch.” I point at Elle. “And you, you’ve got grade-A, homegrown, corn-fed beef sniffing your ass like a dog in heat.”
She shakes her head. “Not a chance.”
Jamie
After we hit the bathroom, we leave Elle to grab a couple more drinks.
When we get back, I notice she’s staring at the table, where Mitch and Logan are surrounded by the cast of White Girl.
“Elphaba no likey,” Christy says loud enough so we can hear her over the crowd, then laughs.
“What?” I ask.
She groans. “I know how Elphaba feels about the Glinda’s of the world.”
Must be the alcohol, because I’m not catching on.
Elle nudges me. “Wicked.”
“I get it now.” I look around at my new besties. “Well, y’all, let’s make them remember who they came with!” I grab Elle and pull her through the crowded bar toward the dance floor.
“I’m not good at this,” she yells over the music.
“Dancing?” Lisa asks as she begins to move to “Feel It Still.”
She nods.
“Oh, please, you’re a fucking SU theatre student—you have to be able to dance!”
“Ballet, jazz, tap, and musical theatre dance,” she sputters.
When the song ends, she looks like she’s going to hightail it off the floor.
I grab her hips and stop her as “What Lovers Do” begins. “Dance like you fuck!”
Her jaw drops.
Okay, she’s adorable.
“I got you, baby girl.” And I do, by her narrow as hell hips, helping her do as the song says.
She looks back, grins, and laughs. So do I.
“Loosen up, Elle. You gonna ride that donkey dong, you better swing those hips wider than that!” I say, referring to Logan Links’ YELP pic.
“I’m not!”
“Not what?” I take her hand and spin her, so she’s facing me.
“Riding him.”
“DD?” I wag my eyebrows.
“Gross.” She giggles.
I let go as she begins to shake her little white girl ass by herself now. “That’s it, girl. Shake that moneymaker.” I hip-check her. “Shit!” I gasp when she stumbles into a man … who is dark, fine, and, no doubt a football player.
“Sorry,” she tells him.
He smirks. “Fuck, babe, I’m not.”
“Jones!” A girl shoves him. “Leave the little hoes alone!”
“What the hell did she just say?” I spit.
Elle grabs my hand. “Screw her. I love this song! Dance with me, Jamie.”
My girl’s feeling those shots, and so am I. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel judged and actually feel like I’m living. Instinct tells me that I’ve found my squad.
When the song changes to “Bad at Love,” we continue dancing. I give the bitch who called us hoes my back and enjoy myself.
When the same guy gets between Elle and me, I remember the girl calling him Jones. My alcohol-soaked brain slowly catches up. Football player, receiver, I think.
Dear God, I’m in football fangirl heaven.
He hands her a beer, and me one, as well.
“Thanks, Jones.” Elle laughs.
“Sorry, babe, I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m little ho,” she jokes. “And these are little hoes, too.”
All of us laugh, including Jones.
Then I see Logan Links’ angry, narrowed eyes. He takes the beer from Elle and says, “Let’s go now.”
Well, shit, that was quick. The Missing Links is staking some sort of claim.
She doesn’t even look back at him.
“Links, I bought the ladies a drink,” Jones says, eyebrow slightly cocked.
“We’re no ladies.” I laugh, and so does Elle.
“Good to know.”
I look back to see Mitch smiling.
Buzzed, I turn to face him. “Is that so?”
He lifts his chin, takes my hand, and spins me around. Pulling my back to his chest, he whispers in my ear, “Any man ever tell you that he’s made you scream Moore in his head a dozen times before he’s even kissed those sexy red lips?”
Holy sh—
Elle grabs my hand and tugs me as she snaps at Logan, “Later, losers.”
As he stops her, I look back at Giddy-up. His sparkling eyes are a bit darker as he looks at me like he’s expecting an answer.
I hear Logan say, “You, fucking stay.” Then, “What the fuck did you give her!”
I snap around to see Logan step in Jones’ space.
Jones steps back. “The fucking beer you jacked out of her hand.”
“Bullshit, she’s fucked up. You slipped some shit in it!”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, fifth year?” Jones cackles at him.
Out of nowhere, Logan jabs him in the nose.
I feel hands on my hips, pulling me backward, as Elle lurches forward and yells, “Logan, NO!”
I yank her back as fists fly.
Within seconds, there is a pile of guys on the floor, all fighting in the same spot we were just dancing and having fun. The music suddenly stops, and the bouncers begin pulling people out of the mix.
The pregnant bartender has a bat in her hand. Logan points at her belly.
I look over at Elle, who looks shocked and give her another tug.
“I don’t feel so good. We should go,” Elle says before hurrying toward the exit.
I yell to Lisa and Christy, and together, we run to catch up to her.
“Grab her!” I hear Logan boom from behind us.
As soon as I step outside, I hear someone—Elle—throwing up.
Mitch chuckles from behind me. “Son of a bitch. Let’s get you in Black Betty.”
I look at Mitch, and then I look around for Logan, but he’s not out here.
“No, I wanna go now,” Elle says, wiping her mouth as she pulls out her phone.
I hurry toward her.
“We brought you ladies; we’ll take you home,” Mitch calls from behind me.
“Uber’s on its way. You should all feel free to stay and—”
“No,” Christy cuts her off, “we’re all in this together.”
“High School Musical,” I whisper jokingly to Elle as I rub her back.
“Yeah,” she sighs out.
Christy turns toward Mitch. “Looks like your boy’s gonna need you.”
I glance back to see his reaction, but he’s looking directly at me.
During the entire five-minute Uber ride back to the dorms, Elle hiccups, stares out the window, and apologizes … repeatedly.
“What are you apologizing for, girl?” I ask. “It’s not your fault The Missing Links clearly wants a piece of you.”
“You taunt a dog with a bone, and he’ll come after you.” She sighs. “Just didn’t realize I was taunting or that he was a freaking Rottweiler.”
“Act interested; that does it for me,” Christy only half-jokes as the car pulls up in front of our dorms. I look back at her, and she smiles a big, bright stage smile and repeats my words, “He’s just one.”
Before I have a chance to reply, Elle groans, opens the door, and sighs out, “I need a shower.”
We all pile out behind her.
“Act straight,” Lisa whispers as she reaches for the door. “We don’t want the RA—”
“Fletch
er Reeves.” Christy’s voice is sickly sweet when she says his name.
I look over my shoulder at her as she bats her eyes at Lisa.
“Is that his name?” Lisa tries to act all casual.
“It is. Should I introduce you?” Christy jokes.
“I will pull your hair,” Lisa whisper-hisses at her as we all pile into the elevator.
As the elevator starts to ascend, my stomach lurches. I hold my hands over it and glance around to see if anyone saw me. Elle did.
She smiles slightly and holds her hand over her own belly.
When the elevator door opens on our floor, I hurry out, with Elle right beside me.
“I have pizza. Maybe it’ll help soak up some of the tequila.”
“Doesn’t tequila go with tacos?” I joke, lamely.
“Apparently, only on Tuesdays.”
We all hurry past the group congregated in the floor’s common room, and then move even faster past the RA’s dorm and into our quad.
Once the door is shut behind us, we all let out a sigh of relief.
“Who wants pizza?” Elle asks.
Christy and Lisa both say, “Me,” and I hurry to the bathroom, knowing damn well it won’t sit well with me.
After tying my hair up, I strip down and step into the shower.
I’ve never been sick drunk, never queasy, or nauseous. Then again, I never did four shots of tequila and drank two beers in that short of a timeframe, or ever.
“And I never will again,” I say aloud as I hold my breath and turn on the water, knowing I’m either going to throw up or sober up.
“Holy shit,” I gasp when the cold water hits my body.
“Five, four, three, two, one,” I count then quickly turn the dial to get the water as hot as I can stand it. It takes a long damn time.
I reach for the lavender-scented body wash, my new nighttime ritual. Yes, new, outside of my hometown, where everyone knows me as the preacher’s daughter, Bible girl. Here, I can reinvent myself.
So, maybe not get drunk, but not go through any more embarrassing rebellious phases outside of my small community of people—the watchers, as I refer to them. The “religious” folk who get all up in people’s business and try to cause problems, which goes against every one of Christ’s teachings.
Well, Mom would be proud. I’m thinking about Jesus, even though I’m drunk. I laugh inside as I scrub my body.