Devon Hartford - Reckless

“You want one, Jake?” I asked.

“Whatever he’s having,” Jake said to the bartender.

“Two shots of Wild Turkey,” I said to the bartender.

“Is that two and two,” the bartender pointed two fingers at me, then at Jake, “or just two total?”

“That makes six,” I grinned, amused with myself. “Three each.”

The bartender smirked. “Let me know when you need the bucket below the bar,” he said before walking off.

“Dude,” Jake said sarcastically, “You sure you don’t want to order a few more shots before he runs off?”

I smirked at Jake and shook my head, ignoring his comment. “So, how’s Madison?”

“She’s awesome. She’s some kind of business genius, man. Once I told her about starting a clothing line, she jumped all over it. She handed me a business plan two weeks later.”

The bartender brought over a tray with six full shot-glasses and set the tray in front of us. “Bottom’s up, boys,” he nodded, then walked off to help another customer a few seats down.

Jake and I each raised a shot glass, clinked, and pounded.

Did I think about the fact that my dad first started drinking when the pressure of painting for a bunch of demanding rich fucks started getting to him? No. Did I think about the fact that I was probably going to be in jail inside of ten days? Fuck no. I just drank my drink. I didn’t want to think about any of it.

“Good shit,” Jake said.

“The best,” I said. “When are you and Madison getting married?”

Jake laughed. “Whenever she says yes.”

“You ask her already?”

“No, but damn, she’s great, man. I can’t imagine a tighter girlfriend.”

“She’s tight all right,” I said. “And she’s a good person, I can tell. Hold on to that shit, man.” I raised a fresh shot glass to Jake. “To you and Madison.”

He raised his own and we clinked. “To me and Mads,” he said.

We pounded.

“Sam’s pretty damn awesome herself,” Jake said. “Gimme a minute, and we’ll raise that last shot to her.”

“You pussing out on me, bro?” I jabbed.

“No, just wanna keep the drinks in my stomach and not put them in that guy’s bucket,” he smiled. “They’re costing you good money.”

“Me? I’m fucking paying?”

“When you order six fucking shots for the first round, you are,” he smirked

“Totally,” I smiled back.

“Dude, not to be a bitch,” Jake said cautiously, “but I haven’t seen you drink like this for a long time. It’s the trial, isn’t it?”

I sighed heavily. “Yeah.”

“Is your lawyer having any luck?”

“Man, I’m spending a fuck-load on Merriweather. He’s got the best people all over that shit. But it isn’t getting me anywhere.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Roll the dice.”

“You mean go to trial?”

“Fuck yeah. I’d rather take a risk than sign up for nine to twelve months down at Thunderdome.”

“What’s Thunderdome?”

“That’s what they call the jail down past Otay. Where I’d be going. And that’s not even the prison, which is worse. I could end up there if I’m found guilty for everything.”

Jake was silent.

I didn’t blame him. “At least I’m out on bail instead of sitting in that hole awaiting trial.” I picked up the third shot. “Here’s to fucking making bail,” I said sourly.

Jake picked up his shot but rested his hand on my forearm. “No, we don’t drink to that shit, man. Like I said earlier, we drink to you and Samantha. To good shit.”

I looked him in the eyes. He was right. I needed to crawl out of the cesspool in my head. “To Samantha.”

“To you and Samantha,” Jake said, clinking his shot glass against mine.

“To me and Samantha.” I threw my shot back.

SAMANTHA

I set my Sociology reading down and rubbed my eyes. They were crossing from staring at the page all evening. How long had I been reading and re-reading the same paragraph? I had no idea, but I did know I hadn’t the foggiest idea what the paragraph said.

All I could think about was calling Christos. I was worried about him. He had seemed off. I didn’t know what it was, but for the last two days, he’d taken a sudden, dark turn.

When he’d come over last night, after my blowout call with my parents, he’d smelled like alcohol.

I knew that smell.

I used to smell like that, back in high school.

Emo. Goth. Suicide Watch…

Christos was hiding something. But what?

Another woman? That stupid Isabella? I’d claw the bitches eyes out.

Bitch. Slut. Whore…

But I didn’t think that was it. In truth, I had no idea what it could be. I’d believed that telling Christos I wanted to move in with him was going to magically fix all my problems. I guess I never considered his problems. But what problems did he actually have? None that I knew of.

Unless…

Did it have something to do with me moving in?

Oh, no. Was my mom right?

Had I somehow scared Christos off, now that I’d agreed to live with him? It couldn’t be. He’d seemed so excited the night I’d told him. So what was wrong? Was it possible he was having second thoughts? I wasn’t sure, but I knew he was pulling away.

Oh, God, please no.

Maybe I’d been stupid to think Christos was so perfect. He was human, after all. He had to have some flaws somewhere.

Whatever they were, I would love him and accept him. If he would only tell me. The not knowing was driving my crazy.

I jumped up from my couch and grabbed my phone. My finger hovered over the speed dial for Christos.

I was going to call him again and ask him to come over right away. I desperately wanted to sort things out with him.

But he was out with Jake.

Groan! I suddenly felt guilty at the thought of calling. I knew Christos needed a break. He’d been working hard on new paintings ever since New Year's Eve. He never took any breaks, other than when he was with me, and that wasn’t nearly often enough, considering how busy I was with my jobs and classes.

Maybe he just needed space. For tonight.

I reluctantly set my phone down on the coffee table and went to my kitchen.

I’d been a good girl lately. I’d barely touched my ice cream in weeks. I pulled a pint of Double Dark Chocolate Devil’s Delight out of my freezer, grabbed a spoon, then went back to my couch.

Ice Cream always helped me study. That’s the only reason I was going to eat any. Because Sociology 2 deserved no less.

I would not let Sociology 2 down at any cost.

I swear, my worries about Christos had nothing to do with my sudden urge for an ice cream splurge.

I wondered if perhaps the red cartoon devil printed on the side of the ice cream carton would be waiting for me at the bottom of the tub when I reached it.

Nope, just cardboard.

CHRISTOS

Jake and I stumbled out of the bar a couple hours later. I’d lost count of how much I’d had to drink after the beers at Dick’s and those shots of Wild Turkey.

Whatever.

We cruised the streets, trying to sober up.

Neither one of us was in any shape to drive.

“Maybe you should call Sam,” Jake belched.

“Naw, we’ll be fine in a while.” I didn’t want to tell him that I felt like a dipshit for getting so loaded, and I didn’t want Samantha to see me like this.

“I can call Mads,” Jake said.

“We’ll be fine, just give it some time. There’s an all-night coffee shop around here somewhere. We can sit in it and suck back espressos until the booze bleeds out.” At this rate it was going to be sunrise before I saw Samantha.

We strolled through the thinning crowds on the sidewalk in the Gaslamp.