Walking Disaster

leaned her back, and her arms fell behind her, her fingers nearly touching the floor. She laughed out loud, and then we were upright, swaying back and forth again. She wrapped her arms around
my neck and sighed against my skin. She smelled so good, it was ridiculous.
    “You can’t do that when I start getting into the double-digit shots.” She giggled.
    “Did I tell you how incredible you look tonight?”
    She shook her head and hugged me, laying her head on my shoulder. I squeezed her to me, and buried my face in her neck. When we were like that, quiet, happy, ignoring the fact that we
weren’t supposed to be anything more than friends, it was the only place I wanted to be.
    The door opened, and Abby’s arms fell away. “Parker!” she squealed, running over to hug him.
    He kissed her lips, and I went from feeling like a king to a man on the edge of murder.
    Parker lifted her wrist and smiled, mouthing something to her about that stupid bracelet.
    “Hey,” America said loudly in my ear. Even though the volume of her voice was louder than normal, no one else could hear.
    “Hey,” I said back, still staring at Parker and Abby.
    “Keep your cool. Shepley said Parker is just stopping by. He has something to do tomorrow morning, so he can’t stay long.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “Yeah, so keep it together. Take a breath. He’ll be gone before you know it.”
    Abby pulled Parker to the counter, picked up another shot glass, and killed it, slamming it on the counter upside down like the five times before. Brazil handed her another twenty, and she
danced into the living room.
    Without hesitation, I grabbed her, and we danced with America and Shepley.
    Shepley slapped her on the butt. “One!”
    America added a second swat, and then the entire party joined in.
    At number nineteen, I rubbed my hands together, making her think I was going to bust her a good one. “My turn!”
    She rubbed her posterior. “Be easy! My ass hurts!”
    Unable to contain my amusement, I reared my hand far above my shoulder. Abby closed her eyes, and after a moment, peeked back. I stopped just short of her ass, and gave her a gentle pat.
    “Nineteen!” I yelled.
    The guests cheered, and America started a drunken rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” When it got to the part for her name, the entire room sang “Pigeon.” It made me
kinda proud.
    Another slow song came over the stereo, but this time Parker pulled her to the middle of the room for a dance. He looked like a robot with two left feet, stiff and clumsy.
    I tried not the watch, but before the song was over, I caught them slip off to the hallway. My eyes met America’s. She smiled, winked, and shook her head, silently telling me not to do
anything stupid.
    She was right. Abby wasn’t alone with him for more than five minutes before they were walking to the front door.
    The uncomfortable, embarrassed expression on Abby’s face told me that Parker had tried to make those few minutes memorable.
    He kissed her cheek, and then Abby shut the door behind him.
    “Daddy’s gone!” I yelled, pulling Abby to the center of the living room. “Time to get the party started!”
    The room exploded into cheering.
    “Hang on! I’m on a schedule!” Abby said, walking into the kitchen. She took another shot.
    Seeing how many she had left, I grabbed one from the end and drank it. Abby took another shot, so I did the same.
    “Seven more, Abby,” Brazil said, handing her more cash.
    The next hour we danced, laughed, and talked about nothing particularly important. Abby’s lips were locked in a smile, and I couldn’t help but stare at her all night.
    One in a while, I thought I’d catch her glance at me, and it made me wonder what would happen when we got back to the apartment.
    Abby took her time drinking the next few shots, but by her tenth, she was in bad shape. She danced on the couch with America, bouncing and giggling, but then lost her balance.
    I caught her before she fell.
    “You’ve made your point,” I said. “You’ve drunk more than any girl we’ve ever seen. I’m cutting you off.”
    “The hell you are,” she said, slurring her words. “I have six hundred bucks waiting on me at the bottom of that shot glass, and you of all people aren’t going to tell me
I can’t do something extreme for cash.”
    “If you’re that hard up for money, Pidge . . .”
    “I’m not borrowing money from you,” she sneered.
    “I was gonna suggest pawning that