Chapter 17
She walked way hurt and I sat there in my car feeling like an ass for giving her a dose of her own medicine. I was so arrogant at times it drove people away from me and this time I wondered if my own hard-to-get game just destroyed the tender flame that I knew existed inside of her. "Take me to the bar," I snapped, and the driver took off. As the limo slowly rolled past Cici, walking to the subway entrance, she glanced at me. I swore I saw her crying, but I rolled the window up and focused on trying to not feel so guilty. I typed up a long message apologizing to her and letting her know how I felt, but I just couldn't hit send. I wanted to tell her in person.
My driver stopped outside the little dive on Eighty-Second Street and I climbed out, locking my phone instead of sending that text message. Beck and the guys were waiting on me, though they probably started the festivities without me. I was merely the designated driver since I had the limo and a sober driver to cart us around on the bar crawl. Beck insisted on the old tradition, though we hadn't done it in a few years. It was something we started in college.
"Hey!" The cheer went up from the table as I approached. I saw half a dozen empty beer glasses and a few shot glasses lined up. "Jäger!" Tom said as I sat next to them.
"Already? It's a bit early for Jäger."
"Are you kidding? Beck's had two shots already." Tom emptied his glass and the others followed suit. I eyed the glass not certain it was how I wanted the night to go. I knew my temper got out of control while drinking whiskey and so did Beck, and we weren't really on good ground right now.
"Come on, Drew," Beck slurred, elbowing me hard. "Drink!"
The guys started a chorus of chants. "Drink, drink, drink!" So against my better judgement, I picked up the shot glass and downed it quickly, feeling the burn of the strong alcohol down my throat. They cheered at my willing participation into my own descent of madness, but I wasn't cheering. I was angry with myself for not giving Cici a ride. They could have waited and I'd have had a chance to tell her how I really felt. She'd just irritated me with that comment about us not dating, and then reminded me I hadn't been invited. Why did I always get so defensive?
Someone turned the jukebox on so loud it was easy to get lost in my thoughts about her. She had been so smitten by my behavior that she had initiated kissing me, and it hadn't been because we were arguing. It was all genuine too--the compliments, the way I held her to me. It felt so perfect. I wanted that to be the way we were together, and I had let myself get so into it, that when she wanted that peck, I gave her full-on lip service.
The night went on as it usually did. Women approached our table and the guys took numbers, but all I did was order more drinks. I didn't want another woman's number. I wanted Cici. They guys didn't seem to notice, except Beck, whose scowl continued to deepen every time another woman approached me and I rebuffed her with the line, "I'm not interested, thanks."
"What gives man?" Beck rammed his shoulder into me. He'd had far too much to drink and I knew it would be trouble if I responded in any way, but he'd press the issue. My nonresponse would constitute as an aggressive response, so I had to say something.
"Just not feeling well tonight. Think I ate something off." The beer in front of me didn't even look appetizing. I kept thinking of the text I typed up and hadn't sent.
"Seriously? The great Drew Pratt, womanizer and player extraordinaire isn't interested in any of these gorgeous women who keep throwing themselves at you?" It sounded like he was forcing himself to be funny, but I could hear the anger building in his chest.
I slid out of the booth and moved toward the bar, but the others followed en masse, as if it were time to move to the next location. "Just getting a drink, guys."
"You had a drink," Beck snapped. Tom raised his eyebrows and moved away slightly. "What's going on, Drew? You never act like this."
"I told you," I said, tapping my finger on the bar to get the barkeeper's attention, "I'm not feeling well."
"So you're getting different alcohol?"
"I'm getting water." I could see the rage just beneath the surface. Beck was about to blow his lid. I was grateful I'd only consumed a few drinks because I knew I would pound him if he took a swing at me.
"You did something with her, didn't you?" His accusation was a dagger in my chest.
"I don't know what you're talking about." I watched the bartender moving around, serving others. He hadn't seen me yet.
"I'm talking about Cici." From the corner of my eye I could see Beck's hands curl into fists.
"Woah! Pratt, you're screwing his baby sister?" one of the guys called, and they howled. "She's a baby. You robbin' the cradle?"
"Yeah, man," Tom chimed in, "you need a woman, not a kid. Besides I heard she slept with that Kyle guy and--"
"Knock it off, bozos. She's more woman than any of you will ever nail, so back off." I turned on them, chest puffed out, ready to knock their heads for talking about her like that. My sudden reaction was met with a violent right hook to the chin.
"You did! Didn't you!" Beck rubbed his knuckles as I took a step back. I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth against the pain, and rubbed my face. "You had sex with her."
