This was written for the Two for Tuesday Challenge #10. Prompt: Dead Drunk (under 200 words).
She kept writing texts, under the table if she could get away with it, otherwise when she went to the restroom.
I’m so bored.
Everyone’s making a fool of themselves, but not in an interesting way.
Tenth shot, nothing so far. Apparently it’s because I ‘drink slowly’. I’m tired of Irish cream…
She finished the last message and moved it to her drafts with the others. She wanted to send them, but then she would be admitting to herself that she wasn’t even trying to enjoy the outing.
‘I’ll get the next round’, she heard Rob say, and almost groaned. She had to down the incoming amaretto in front of a dozen pairs of judging eyes. What’s the point of paying so much for a 50ml shot if you’re not even savouring it?
Cheers erupted as Rob pulled out two more shot glasses from behind his back (which spilled considerably in the process). She drank them quickly before excusing herself and going to the restroom. She was followed by cries of ‘Woohoo, thirteen! Two more coming!’
Shaking her head, she pressed send and waited.
Drink with me instead.
Her cheeks gained a rosy colour for the first time that night.
Word count: 200