They ended up in the kitchen, where the counter doubled as the night’s bar. Bottles of whisky, vodka, and bourbon, along with red cups and mixers, covered the surface. Off to the side, a large trash bin filled with ice served as a cooler for beer. “Why don’t you just get a keg?” she asked.
“I love her!” Manny said. “It’s on the way,” he explained. “Ralphie’s late, and he’s got hell to pay. But beer isn’t on the menu right now. We’re doing shots.”
It had been a long time since Amber threw back shots. Well, actually, she did a few that night in the bar with Robert, but before then it had been years. She also knew that he couldn’t get wasted between games and worried he was succumbing to peer pressure. She sent him a wary look. “Are you OK with this?”
“I’m only going to have a couple. I promise.” He looked down at his arms pinned inside the plastic. “I can only have as many as you’ll feed me.”
Manny poured the shots, and they tossed them back. She tried to be careful as she fed one to Robert, but the awkward angle made most of it slip down his chin and join the stripes of beer.
“Sorry!”
“You did that on purpose so I wouldn’t drink the whole thing.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“We’ll just have to have another,” Manny said, already refilling their glasses.
The second shot went straight to Amber’s head. She couldn’t believe two shots affected her already, but the buzz was real. This time, when she tried to give Robert his shot, she did better, but a portion of it still dripped down his chin.
She laughed, feeling the effects of the alcohol, and slung her arm over his neck.
He tried to lick the whisky from his chin with his tongue, and she couldn’t decide if it was more comical or erotic. Inhibitions pushed aside, she licked the alcohol off his chin.
“Mmm,” he replied, then darted his tongue out again to meet hers.
She snuggled into him, cupping his face and kissed him fiercely, forgetting they were in a room filled with people until she heard a round of whistles.
When she pulled back, she knew her face was beet red, but she didn’t care.
A girl passing through the kitchen dressed as a ninja with two fresh beers in her hands stopped, and they made eye contact before the girl laughed heartily. “I thought it was two guys kissing!” She looked at Amber’s full-length vinyl apron. “Cool costume. I loved Anarchy Parlor.”
“What?” Amber asked, on a laugh, but the girl already walked out of the kitchen.
“Anarchy Parlor,” another girl answered, this one dressed like Little Red Riding Hood. “It was a slasher flick. The guy wore an apron like that, but he had neck tats, and he was bald.” She held out her hand. “I’m Sammie. Craig’s wife. He sent me in here to check out your costumes.” She eyed both Amber and Robert’s outfits and nodded with a smile. “Great, by the way.”
It made sense now. Craig was a wolf, not a werewolf, and they’re two-part costume was cute. Amber was happy to meet one of the girls, and she gave Sammie a big hug. “Thanks. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Over the next few hours, Amber met the rest of Robert’s crazy college buddies and their wives or girlfriends. And she drank way more than she planned to. Robert wasn’t in much better shape, but at least he’d ditched the plastic wrap and was more comfortable. She also decided to lose the wig, apron, and plastic gloves and brushed out her hair and put on a little lip gloss.
The best part was listening to Manny talk about the college pranks Robert and his buddies used to play on one another, but the house was still packed with people and loud music, so they moved outside to the yard and sat around the fire pit. The night was chilly, even with the hoodies that Manny provided them, so Amber and Robert huddled together under a blanket while Manny continued with one of his stories.
“I was the mastermind behind the whole thing,” Manny boasted. “I got, like, a dozen freshmen to help me switch all the furniture. We put Craig’s room in Eric’s. Eric’s room in Johnny’s. Johnny’s room in Robert’s. And Robert’s room in Craig’s. We moved everything and reconstructed it down to the last detail. Matt was the distraction. He took them all out to a bar, so they were sauced by the time they got back. We had cameras set up so we could see their faces when they walked in. They all stopped, looked around, then walked back into the hall to check their room number. Except Craig. He was so drunk he didn’t even notice! He just crashed in Robert’s bed!”
Amber laughed so hard she could barely catch her breath. “I love it! Girls don’t do elaborate pranks like that. The craziest thing we did was super glue the rival sorority’s toilet seats closed.”
“That doesn’t work with guys,” Manny said. “We don’t need toilet seats.”
“We don’t even need toilets,” Robert added. He glanced at Amber. “Don’t ask.”
“Where’d you go to college?” Manny asked Amber.
“Columbia. Princeton for my masters. And my medical degree from Feinberg School of Medicine at Northwestern.” Alcohol obviously made her ramble, and she clamped her lips together. She could have just stopped at Columbia.
“She’s working on her second masters,” Robert bragged.
The pride in his voice made Amber’s drunken heart swell. It was crazy—and stupid—how much that little bit of encouragement touched her.
“A second masters?” Manny asked, impressed. “From Princeton?”
