The One With The King of Shots
In college, I held the record for most shots drunk at a single fraternity party; it was a title I proudly and stupidly defended every semester from sophomore year on. Taylor would always say I was an idiot and that I’d regret it in the morning; while his predictions of me taking a headfirst dive into the toilet by the end of the night generally came true, I never did regret being the Shot King. It was some weird drive in me, as if my mind twisted Taylor’s cautions into some kind of challenge, and regardless of the severity of hangover, I would flaunt my victory proudly. Usually from behind a pair of Ray-Bans.
Taylor, ever bent on causing me untold amounts of grief for no real reason, made it his mission to make the morning after being dubbed Sir Shots-A-Lot a nightmare: loud noises, bright lights, and the smell of liverwurst simmering on the stove generally had me seeing red. I never did get him to tell me why he felt so compelled to be such a dick about my drinking habits, but had always chalked it up to him having an obnoxious need to be the center of everyone’s attention. The way I saw it, Taylor was just jealous that people were more interested in me than him.
I wish I could say that his incessant need to be the worlds largest, and most histrionic, tool had waned over the years, but much to my dismay, I was woken the morning after my surprise party by the ear-piercing sound of Taylor attempting to play “Taps” on a kazoo. My first instinct was to punch him in the ‘nads, but quickly realized that would only make Taylor more obnoxious and lady-like than he already was. As tempting as it was, in lieu of damaging any chance he had of procreating in the future, I decided a down-filled pillow to the face would work just as well.
Taylor’s response was to increase the force and tempo with which he was blowing into the kazoo, all while tearing the covers off of me. “What the actual fuck, Taylor?!” I shouted. In reality, it came out more like a whisper–the act of speaking hurt like hell. My mouth was dry and tasted like I’d eaten week-old roadkill, and my throat was on fire. I coughed, the action causing my stomach to turn. I sprang from my bed, pushing Taylor to the side as I did so, and crashed through the bathroom door. I barely made it to my knees before my stomach forced its contents up my already-scorched esophagus.
When I’d finally finished, I sat back against the tub, taking deep breaths; for the first time in my life, I regretted drinking myself into oblivion. I must have sat there for awhile, dazed and feeling like I was going to die, until there was a knock on the door. “Go away,” I managed.
Taylor either didn’t hear, or just didn’t care; he opened the door slowly and peeked his head in. “You need anything? A glass of water, a hair tie…your stomach pumped?”
“I need you to leave me the hell alone!” I groaned.
“If that’s all that you need, too bad,” Taylor’s entire demeanor had changed, his tone less playful and concerned. “Ruby wants us at the club in an hour.” He closed the door loudly, leaving me alone in the bathroom.
Again, I was alone in the bathroom, yet still not away from him: The stereo in the other room got turned on, the bass thumping through the walls so hard I felt it in my molars. I forced myself to stand, turning the shower on as I did so. The water was comforting as I stepped under it, wrapping me in its warmth and soothing my aching muscles. When the water started to run cold, I dragged myself from its spiteful spray, and hurried to throw clothes on. When I walked into the kitchen ten minutes later, Taylor was sitting at the table with a travel mug in one hand and what could only be described as a man-purse draped over his shoulder.
“Finally ready?” he inquired, standing up.
“Let me at least get some coffee, man,” I groaned, rubbing my head. Every sound was amplified, his terse tone not excluded. I set about making my cup of coffee, but concentrating on the task was proving hard through the earthquake going on in my head and the hurricane whirring in my stomach. To make matters worse, Taylor decided to start whistling a very poor rendition of Thrift Shop.
When he still hadn’t stopped by the time we got to the car, and chose to slam his door on purpose, I finally snapped. “What the fuck is your problem?!” The yelling was immediately regretted, as sharp pains stabbed my temples, but I didn’t think it would have had as much impact if I’d just whispered it to him.
“Problem? I don’t have a problem,” he shrugged. “I’m just going about my day, hoping my irresponsible, hungover roommate and co-worker has not made me late for work.”
“I don’t know why you’re so pissed off that I got drunk last night. You organized the party. You wanted me to have a good time. So I did.”
Taylor didn’t respond right away, and for a brief moment, it seemed as though he was going to drop it, and stop acting like such a jerk. Much to my dismay, Taylor spoke again just a few minutes later. “You just don’t even get it, do you?”
“Get what, Tay? That you’re an obnoxious drama queen who needs all the attention in a room? That if you’re not the center of attention, you try to make everyone around you feel like shit? I’m hungover, I’m tired, and I might vomit in your car at any moment, all because you had to throw me this huge surprise party for my birthday, and all morning you have purposefully made my life a living hell…but you’re pissed at me?”
He sighed heavily, shaking his head. “Just…forget it, Zac.”
I chose not to even respond, hoping to get some sort of peace before we arrived at the club. It was early still, around three or so, but when Ruby asked you to come in early–you did it. I just hoped she kept the house lights dim; my eyes and head wouldn’t be able to handle a barrage of fluorescence.
“Oh, good–you’re alive. Now, I can kill you.” Ruby’s words contradicted the smile on her face.
“Trust me–this hangover is worse than death,” I muttered, brushing past her.
Despite practically breaking into a sprint to get to the dressing room, Ruby stayed right on my tail the whole way. Much to my surprise, she didn’t say anything, merely watched me as I put my stuff down, hands on her hips all the while. When I’d finished tossing my backpack and sweatshirt on a chair, Ruby finally spoke.
“So…last night…” Her voice trailed off and she walked another step into the room. I just raised my eyebrows, silently advising she had my attention, begrudgingly. “You broke the rules, Zac.”
“What?” My mind replayed the events from last night in a strange, slow-motion way, but I could not remember what rules I broke or when. “Look, Ruby, if this is about getting obliterated at your place and showing up to work hung over, I’m really sorry…I wasn’t expecting to drink that much, but every time I turned around, there was alcohol in my face.”
“Don’t play dumb with me Zac. I couldn’t give a shit. I’m talking about Brenda.”
Brenda…the name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place the face. I struggled for a few minutes, trying to remember the events of last night in hopes I would understand Ruby’s anger. It wasn’t until Taylor walked into the room that it all suddenly came rushing back to me. “Oh, my God,” I whispered, my stomach starting to churn again. “Ruby, I’m sorry…I know we aren’t supposed to fraternize with customers but I–”
Ruby held up her hand to silence me, and I could do nothing but comply. “Do you know why I have that rule, Zac?” I shook my head–I could guess, but I knew they would all be wrong. “Because my friends come here. My cousins come here. My sister comes here.” She paused, allowing me time to absorb what she had said.
“Brenda’s…your sister?!”
“Yes, Zac, Brenda is my sister. And she was mortified when you ran out on her. It took me hours to get her out of my bathroom, and she still won’t look me in the eye.”
“I didn’t know, and even if I did, I was obliterated last night, Rube. I’m sorry.” I was concerned my voice didn’t sound as sincere as I felt, and I braced myself to be torn to shreds, but Ruby just sighed heavily.
“Truthfully, I’m more upset that you didn’t have sex with her than I would have been if you did. She’s 24 years old and a virgin…you wouldn’t have been a horrible choice for her first time.”
“Um…thanks, I guess?” I was trying to make sense of what was happening in front of me, but Ruby didn’t give me a chance to process. She was off talking about how she had dragged Taylor and I down here so early because she wanted us to revamp our routine to include the Halloween costumes we had worn.
The request wouldn’t have been so comical if Ruby hadn’t started to dance around the room, showing us what she thought would be a good routine. Something I had found out about Ruby over the years was that despite her love of music and movement, the girl could not dance. Taylor and I could only laugh as she swung her arm over her head, imitating a cowboy, then immediately moved into channeling her inner John Travolta.
“So?” She asked, a huge smile on her face. “What do you think?”
Taylor and I–who had silently made up during Ruby’s performance–looked at each other, then back to Ruby, and then burst out laughing. “We’ll work on it,” Taylor laughed.
Ruby rolled her eyes over dramatically, but smiled widely at us. She then proceeded to tell us we could have the night off, which led me to believe she had dragged me out here to punish me. I couldn’t really blame her, but I did think it was a bit of cruel and unusual punishment.
With my temples still beating like a kick drum, Taylor and I made our way back to the apartment. Despite still feeling like death, I was happy that Taylor decided to engage in some conversation, even if it was about Ruby’s dance moves.
“I think we could work with it,” he was saying. “Get some better costumes, work in a prop or two. It could be awesome.”
“Mmm,” was the best response I could muster, but Taylor didn’t seem fazed; he just kept rambling about our new routine.
I must have dozed off, because all I could remember happening next was Taylor shaking me, calling my name. When I opened my eyes, I saw we were stopped in what appeared to be a deserted shopping plaza. “Tay…where and why the hell are we?”
He took a deep breath, turning to face me in the driver’s seat. “We need to talk, and this was the only place I could think of where you couldn’t run away or avoid me.”
My stomach, which had been blissfully still since the club, was starting to do somersaults again. I swallowed, fighting the nervous shake I felt in my voice as I spoke. “The only thing we need to do is go home so I can go back to bed.”
“No. We’re talking about what’s going on between us, or you can walk home from here.”
“I don’t even know where ‘here’ is, Tay! Come on, please let’s just go home?”
Taylor didn’t respond for a minute, a look I couldn’t quite define on his face. “We’ve been best friends for a really long time, and I don’t know what has happened since the threesome, but things are different between us…and I don’t like it.”
“Of course things are different; we had a threesome. The same threesome. We saw each other in positions no one should see his fellow man in.”
“Yeah, and most guys would be all high-fives and ‘awesome, bro!’ about it. But not us…well, not you. And I can only assume it’s either because you were put to shame by my skills with the ladies, or it’s because you realized something about yourself that maybe you didn’t know before, or that you were denying.”
I was ninety-percent positive if he kept talking, I was going to hurl.
“Zac, I’m just going to ask…are you attracted to me?”
“What?!” I laughed, nervously. “No!” I scoffed, turning my head to look out the window. I almost wish I had thrown up, if only to end this conversation.
“It’s OK if you are,” Taylor continued, placing a hand gently on my arm. “Because, if I’m being honest, I have to admit that I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t hate the idea.”
“Look, Tay, as hard as I’m sure this is for your ego to hear, I’m not attracted to you.” I rolled my eyes, shrugging his hand off. “If I were, that would mean I was gay, and I am definitely not gay.”
“It wouldn’t mean you’re gay, Zac. Bisexual, maybe. And anyway, it wouldn’t matter. I’m bi–nobody cares, and I have a lot more fun knowing who I am.”
“Taylor, for the last time, I’m not attracted to you.”
A smile spread across his lips. “Methinks thee doth protest too much,” he wiggled his eyebrows to accentuate his accusation.
“For fuck’s sake, just take me home!” I growled.
“Not yet. I have one more question. If you’re not attracted to me, why have you been kissing me and dry humping me while sober?”
My mouth ran dry–I didn’t have an answer to that question for myself, much less Taylor. I could only shake my head and try to tell him it didn’t mean anything, but the words came out in a staccato stutter, and finally I just gave up.
“Hah! I knew it!” I really felt like I was going to barf, but before I could even think to open the door, Taylor asked another question that captured my attention. “Just one more thing. If I said I was attracted to you, too–would that help?”
I blinked back at him, unsure of how to respond. I was just about to open my mouth to say something, what I wasn’t sure, when Taylor lunged across the front seat and pulled me into a rough kiss. Instantly, fire coursed through my body, a low moan escaping my lips. I couldn’t deny it anymore, not to myself and certainly not to him. At that moment, I let go of all the crap floating around in my brain and just let him kiss me. His lips were growing more persistent against mine, and I was powerless to stop him. A familiar feeling was beginning to grow in my abdomen, exacerbated by Taylor’s hands against my my chest.
Taylor suddenly broke away from our kiss, searching my eyes for a reaction. The only thing I could do under his scrutiny was to pull him back to me and crush my lips against his again. I could feel myself growing beneath my jeans, and it wasn’t long before Taylor noticed it, too. A small squeak left my lips as his hand found its way between my legs.
I let him touch me, shock and desire winning over sense and terror. He had somehow managed to free me of my jeans without me being aware, and a moment later, his lips broke free of mine, his head dropping.
When his lips circled around me, I could do nothing but moan. His mouth felt different than Brenda’s had, but it was a good different. It was better. So much better, in fact, that it didn’t take long for me to reach the edge. I bucked my hips forward, my head hitting the back of Taylor’s throat. He pulled away, coughing, as I came. Our eyes turned wide, and I could not tear my gaze away from his hand, still holding my pulsing dick.
Taylor quickly grabbed napkins from the glovebox, wiping his hands and tossing a bunch at me. I cleaned up, put myself back together, and leaned back in the seat. Taylor started the car, and we drove home in silence, my brain suddenly cluttered with a billion thoughts.