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“One for our inhibitions.” I grin, slamming the next. Stafford winces after the shot.
“An’ one for the Fates,” Caleb interjects, stealing Stafford’s last shot.
Vivian shakes her head at us. “Wow, Staff’s drinkin’? I’ll place my bet now.”
“Get the table!” he shouts.
“So soon?” I give him a sly grin.
When we decide to have drinking competitions, we lay out shots of whiskey, and go shot for shot until someone quits or throws up. Then the winner continues. I am the reigning champion.
Once the table is brought out, the night is a whirlwind. I drink, and drink, and drink until Stafford steps in as the final challenger. He can hold his liquor. He lasts so long that my vision starts blacking out, and we’re leaning on each other to stay standing.
“Should we agree that it’s a tie?” he slurs.
I groan, pouring another. “Never.”
“I’m out,” he sighs.
The crowd that has gathered cheers. I bow, and Stafford catches me before I fall on my face. As everyone dissipates, socializing, I stumble over to a hay bale, sit, and prop myself against it. I dig into my pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes I had forgotten about. Stafford comes over and grunts when he slings himself to the ground next to me.
Vivian charges over, narrowing her eyes. “You’re smoking again.”
“Moving stresses me out.” I shrug and light two, smoking them both at once just to piss her off.
She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “You’ve made your point.”
“I’ll have one o’ those.” Stafford snatches one of them out of my mouth and takes a hit.
“Staff, don’t encourage her,” Vivian admonishes him.
“Gosh, whatever will I do without my moral compass?” I ask him.
“You migh’ not make it.”
“I suppose I’ll just have to stumble onto a bunch of dicks until I figure it out,” I sigh dramatically. Stafford snorts.
“That’s not funny, Jo.” Vivian tries to hold her composure and not laugh, but a smile breaks through.
I flick the cigarette. “It is, and you know it.”
“What do ya plan to do with your newfound freedom?” Stafford asks.
“Who knows,” I shrug. “Maybe I’ll get a hobby.”
“She’s going to die,” my sister frets.
“Don’t ya think ya might be bein’ a li'l bit dramatic, lass? Josie is perfectly capable o’ handlin’ herself. In fact, I’ve seen ‘er handle four grown men on ‘er own,” Stafford says cheerily.
“Don’t remind me,” my sister huffs.
“Since it’s our last night out—” I begin dramatically.
“It’s not the last night ever.”
The air is thick with humidity and full of trouble. “Might as well be. Moving in together is where fun goes to die.” I reach up and try to pat her head.
“You’re ridiculous, and you’re drunk.”
