“THERE SHE BLOWS!” Becca hollers at the top of her lungs at the waves crashing on the sand. She’s drunk as fuck, but that hasn’t stopped her from dragging me down to the beach with her.
“Pass the damn bottle before you spill it all!” I shout, the laugh bubbling out of my throat. I refuse to believe I’m drunk. A tad tipsy, but not drunk.
There’s a pit barreling down into my stomach, but that doesn’t mean I’m drunk.
She takes another swig and passes it. The smooth neck almost slips out her grasp, but I catch it in time. I lift the bottle to my lips and relish the bubbles racing down my throat.
Yes, I am definitely not drunk. I take another drag. Nope, not at all. “Burp!”
“That was a hella of a wedding…” She sighs, her brown legs churning up wet sand.
I don’t know when or how really, but at some point between the reception and now, she’s changed out of her long gown and into a shorter dress. Something designer, I guess. I don’t know.
I take another swig.
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