Page 36 of Hold the Pickle
“Who’s this?” he asks, taking in my bare shoulder, the hint of cleavage over my tank, and my jeans. I feel thoroughly evaluated.
Max steps forward. “My baby cousin Nadia, and if you even look at her the wrong way, I’ll break your face.”
“With what? Your pretty tan?” Hex laughs. He turns to me. “Happy to nail you in the back alley, but normally I like you to buy me dinner first.”
I ought to be intrigued by him, his white T-shirt straining against his chest and the short sleeves doing little to contain crazy biceps that defy the laws of ordinary human physiology.
But I don’t think he’s my type either. I imagine him over me, and all I can picture is me gasping to breathe under all that muscle.
Luca returns with the new margarita plus another test tube shot, the one I had before. He noticed which one I chose.
This is more attention than I’ve gotten in a good while.
He passes me the shot. “You seemed to like the last one.”
“I did.” I salute him with it and down it. I’m hitting my limit. I will sip slowly on the margarita. “Thank you.”
“Hey, Hex.” Luca says.
“What is it, Pukinator?”
Luca scowls, his face contorting like a toddler. “That’s not my name.”
“It is for me.”
I catch Camryn’s eye. She shrugs.
Luca and Hex glare at each other, as if I’m a prize they have to fight over.
I’m not used to this. I take another icky sip and realize I’m stress drinking. That’s why I’ve gone through these so fast, even though they’re terrible.
But as I try to think of something to say to either of them, my stomach turns. Great. Cheap tequila and crap ingredients. I grin and bear it, hoping it will settle down.
Hex watches my face with a scrutiny I didn’t expect. “You are very beautiful, Nadia, cousin of Max. Do you live in LA?”
Dang, he’s direct. “I do.” I forget and take another absent-minded sip of the drink and instantly regret it. Bile rises in my throat. Am I going to throw up? Panic courses through me, and I miss whatever Hex says next.
“Excuse me a second.” I set the drink on my stool and hurry for the back hall where I spotted a bathroom sign.
Couples are lined up along the walls in the darkened space, hands all over each other.
I push my way through. “Excuse me. Sorry.” And as I feel increasingly bad, “Move!”
I barely make it through the door and into a stall before I collapse, throwing up yellow-green margarita into the bowl. What was in those things?
I pick up my phone to text Camryn to come help me. What have I done, drinking them so fast? I know better. And those shots? What type of liquor was it? I chose it for the pretty green color.
My stomach heaves, and I throw up again. Ugh. This is the worst.
My eyes water and burn as mascara melts into them. My phone beeps with a text and in my rush to lift my head to look at it, I smack it on the metal box attached to the wall.
Shit, shit, shit!
I feel weak, throwing up again into the blurry bowl. I can’t hold myself up. I sink to the floor.
I have to tell Camryn. Or Max.
I fumble with my phone, blinking to clear my vision. But it’s no good, so I give up on texting and put through a call to my most recent contact. It should be Cam from when she told me what to wear.
