“But I thought you were hot for the pretty boys,” Shelly teases.
I bat my eyelashes at her. “Damn! You got me.”
And then we are all laughing. Yet another reason why I love hanging with Jonas and Shelly. We can say the stupidest shit and there is no judgment. We love each other for who we are and would never want anything different. That is how friendship should be—unconditional acceptance. Quirks and all.
The waitress drops off another round of drinks and I request an order of tortilla chips with salsa and guacamole. Might as well get comfortable, seeing as karaoke night started with a bang. One can only hope the next act is equally awesome. And by awesome, I mean not another rendition of geriatric porn.
“You guys want to hang tomorrow?” Shelly pipes up. “Maybe we can hit Putt-Putt and go-karts at Celebration Station. I’m feeling the need to speed past some prepubescent punks.” She laughs then sips her fresh cocktail.
“I’m in,” Jonas answers.
“Definitely,” I say. “I’m always up for putting punks in their place.”
Just as Shelly is about to screech with excitement, karaoke grandpa’s competitor jumps onstage. Let’s just say she is trying to up his show and is making a valiant effort. The unmistakable intro and beat of “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-A-Lot pours from the speaker. Every possible body part on her body is jiggling as she attempts to shake her ass.
Maybe I shouldn’t have ordered food.
Dear Lord, someone save us from the hell we are being subjected to this evening. Shelly and Jonas simultaneously gape at the stage before turning to stare at me. All of us thinking the exact same thing.
“You guys want to head out?” I ask, praying one of them will relieve us all from this new form of torture.
“It’s like you read my mind,” Jonas states. “You want to hang somewhere else?”
It was still early in the evening and I had only had a couple drinks. I wasn’t quite ready to say good night to my friends. “Yes. You want to go to another bar? Or we could hang at the house. Whichever you prefer.”
Shelly pipes up. “Let’s go to your place. We can stop and grab drinks on the way. Maybe watch a comedy on Netflix.”
“Cool with me,” I tell them both.
Bringing my beer to my lips, I swallow the remaining liquid and signal the server. When she steps up to the table, I ask her to pack my appetizer in a takeout box and bring us the check.
One more glance up at granny and I contemplate stopping at the grocery store across the street and raiding the cleaning products aisle. Is it a full moon? A new moon? Whatever celestial event is happening, it has definitely brought out the crazies tonight.
Will my eyes ever be wiped of this night? No. No they won’t.
Three beers and two shots in me later, and the three of us are laughing our asses off to Sausage Party on Netflix. It is a toss-up between Shelly and me on who is drunker. I would suggest we flip a coin, but I don’t think that will work out so well. We may have consumed equal amounts of alcohol, but her tolerance is higher than mine. Sometimes I envy her that. Either way, our inebriation is in full swing and life is good.
My eyes grow heavy and I lean more into Jonas’s body with each passing second. The warmth of his skin on my bicep adds a new flush to my skin. Like the sensation of a fresh sunburn. Hot, but not unbearable.
It would be easy. Tipping my head, a little more to the right, I could kiss him. Just like that. And I want to. I really want to. But even in my tipsy/borderline drunken state, I still hesitate. I still resist the urge.
Why do I always keep us in the friend zone? What the hell is wrong with me?
Pressing more weight into his side, I inhale deeply and absorb the scent that is pure Jonas. A strange blend of sunscreen and gasoline and grease. His scent so familiar and somehow appealing. Pleasant and comforting and—
“Cora?” he cuts off my thoughts, my name spoken like a prayer on his lips.
Tipping my head back into the couch pillows, my eyes wobble to his as I half-ass smile. “Jonas?”
The air grows heavy between us. The room quieter than I remember from thirty seconds ago. It is one-hundred-percent possible Shelly fell asleep on the blankets near my feet. But I can’t see her face, so there is no way to be certain.
“What are you doing?” His simple question comes out breathy.
My brows pinch together as I study his eyes. “What?”
He leans in closer, his lips inches from mine. “What are you doing?”
Was I doing something? I don’t remember anything from a couple minutes ago. Having him this close, though, makes me dizzy.