Inside Out

The lights were low, the laughter was loud and the alcohol was flowing freely. Beside me my roommate Kyle was pressed up against me from knee to hip and hip to shoulder, radiating a warmth that was bordering on uncomfortable. Peter, on the other side, left a comparative foot between us as he stared longingly at Ryan’s girlfriend, Shannon. I laughed as everyone else did even though I missed the joke, far too content in the booth to pay attention to a joke or story I’d probably heard a million times over.

“More drinks?” Pete asked before moving to slide out of the booth without getting an answer. The open space breathed life into me, like a jolt of caffeine to my bloodstream, and I followed him out.

“I’ll get them,” I offered quickly, and Peter gave me a knowing smirk as Ryan shouted out the weird shot we’d be having this round.

When Ryan got the first round he was tasked with getting a Slippery Nipple, when Kyle went up it was a Screaming Orgasm and now they wanted me to get a Redheaded Slut. It was an obvious chirp at the coppery red tint my hair sometimes found in the sunlight after I let Shannon dye my hair to get rid of the colorful streaks she talked me into. Rolling my eyes at my roommates, I headed towards the bar with the easy calmness coming back to me as I went.

The bar was surprisingly full for Valentine’s Day and a sea of Rangers shirts surrounded me as I wove through the crowd. The bar was lined with people waiting but I squeezed between a guy in a Mets cap and a girl with a razorback tee. She elbowed me into the guy, a solid mass of a person with at least six inches on my 5’4” frame. I bit my lip to keep from insulting her fashion choice and quickly moved into her spot once it was vacated.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the guy beside me openly staring. I cocked an eyebrow as I tilted towards him, fully prepared to compliment him on wearing a Mets cap in Yankee territory. My throat closed up, swallowing my voice as I stared back at him for a long moment before forcing a smirk to my lips. The dim light coupled with the shadow from the brim of his snapback mostly covered his eyes but I’d know that face anywhere.

Turning back to the bar, I caught the bartender’s eye as he was starting to turn away and he nodded at me. “Five Redheaded Sluts,” I ordered easily as I slid my eyes over to the guy beside me. He was still staring. “Actually, make that six.”

He lifted his head a little and our eyes met as the bartender put the tray of drinks down in front of me. I bit my lip, silently arguing with myself over whether or not I was going too far before I caved and squared my shoulders. “So,” I started easily, my voice loud enough to propel it over the noise around us but soft enough so only he’d hear, “Do you want a Redheaded Slut?”

His eyes moved over my face as he took a swig of his beer. “I probably shouldn’t,” he replied as his tongue flicked out over his bottom lip.

“Not even in celebration of your two goals?” I offered, cocking an eyebrow as I did. “I mean, I’ll do one with you if that’s what you’d prefer.”

To his credit, his expression remained neutral. Through the innuendo, the flirting, and my revelation that I knew who he was. But his eyes gave away that he was thinking and he nodded after a moment. I kept my eyes locked on his as I slid one of the shooters closer to him and grabbed one for myself. Our stare was broken when I closed my eyes and focused on hiding the burn of the jager sliding down my throat.

Reaching over to tip my glass over at the bar, I brushed up against him and made sure to keep the contact as I pulled back. “Great,” I laughed, “I can’t wait to tell my dad about the Redheaded Slut I shared with John Tavares.” I smirked and turned to head back to my friends but not before adding, “But hey watch the stick, you’re no use to the Isles when you’re rotting in the box.”