Beg Me

My phone vibrates as the man rips his speedo off. The entire crowd of females goes wild as he walks down the aisle toward us.

I grab my phone and check it. Of course, it’s Rocco, and he’s decided to be real sweet to me.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

I swallow, chest feeling tight. He texts me again.

“I won’t do the merge. I’ll figure out other ways to save money. That stuff isn’t important to me anyway. You are.”

I grab my second glass and quickly drink. Soon after, everything starts to spin.

Oh, no…

“Are you having fun?” Dasha asks, clapping her hands as the man walks up and straddles her.

I shoo him away when he tries to do the same to me. I feel terrible. I want to go home.

I text him:

“We’ll talk later. I feel weird about everything and slightly embarrassed.”

Dasha glances at me and rolls her eyes. “Come on, put that phone away. Live a little!”

Three more men come out on stage, and I start to feel really dizzy. It’s hard to stay cognizant and aware of my surroundings.

Another drink comes, and I take a few sips before running to the bathroom. A minute later, I’m puking my guts out while Dasha holds my hair above the toilet.

“Girl, I’m so sorry,” she says. “I should have never brought you here. Shit, it was the vodka wasn’t it? I knew I shouldn’t have gotten it out of my glove compartment.”

“It’s fine.” I spit into the toilet and flush. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m drunk as hell and we need a ride home,” she says. “And I sure as hell don’t have money for a taxi. Got any cash?”

“Shit, I left it at home,” I say. “Don’t worry. I know who might be able to help us.”

“Rocco?” she asks, putting her hands against her hips with enough sass to shoot me dead.

I give a weak smile and shrug. “Unless you want me to lay in this bathroom the entire night, we should call him.”

I reach into my purse and pull out my phone, shakily handing it to her.

“You’re the worst,” she says. “But I guess it’s my fault we’re in this situation.”

She scrolls through my phone and finds his contact information, calling him from the toilet, waiting for his answer.

Except, there is no answer. He’s pissed as hell at me. I guess it’s for good reason.

Luckily, when she calls again, he answers. “Hey, this is Dasha. Yeah, the friend from the party,” she says. “Look, we have a situation. What’re you doing right now?”

She pauses, and I can hear the fragmented words come through the receiver, “Drinking… porch… nothing much…”

I picture him sitting on his porch, tears welling up behind his eyes. I can see him sitting there with a bottle in his hand, wondering how I could be so harsh. At this point, I’m not too happy with myself. At the same time, I feel violated and partially betrayed.

Was he really going to buy my father’s company without telling me? I lean over the toilet again and vomit. I feel and probably look like a monster.

I’m beyond embarrassed he might see like this.

“Your girlfriend Madison is on the floor of this bathroom, puking her brains out. I don’t have enough money to call a cab. Can you come and pick us up?” she asks, biting her lip.