"This is such a bad idea," she says. And Rachel's conscientious, but she's no prude. Like she likes to remind him, she does have two gay dads. But he has no idea how that relates to whether or not she's gotten drunk before.
"Oh, come on. Not even during high school?"
"I've had wine, Finn," she says with an eye roll, "I've just never gotten drunk. It seems very sloppy."
He coughs out a laugh. "Let me take you out then," he says, watching her arch her brow. "Come on, Rach. It isn't every day you turn 21."
"No strip clubs."
"Why would I take you to a strip club?"
"I don't know. With the way our society's been going, I thought it was important to cover my bases."
"You have to trust me. You'll love it."
"That's what Daddy said about me getting a gerbil. And that didn't turn out so well."
"Well," he says, fumbling for the right words, "Alcohol isn't a gerbil." Smooth.
-
He takes her out to a slightly upscale karaoke bar (one that doesn't destroy their budgets for the year) and he buys her a glass of champagne to start off with. He tilts the neck of his beer bottle towards her in salute. "Happy birthday, Rachel." She smiles and drinks the champagne.
She experiments with a couple different drinks and he tries to make sure she doesn't end up mixing too much (vomiting is not the way to go). Mojitos, Cosmos, Vodka and Cranberry – she's pretty much sticking with clear. By the time she gets to seconds of the ones she likes, she's pretty well on her way to drunk.
And the karaoke bar was such a wise decision on his part, he thinks, as she steps up to the platform of their little booth and starts singing "I Will Survive." It's very likely that she will never do this while sober or conscious ever again. This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. She makes these overdramatic hand gestures that are just this side of clumsy but she stays pretty well with the beat and her dance moves are a bit more sensuous than he would have expected. A smile quirks his lips as she starts belting the notes. She attracts attention with her voice and she knows it, usually, but this time, when she finishes and the other people in the bar start cheering (turns out she won a karaoke contest of the night, a hundred bucks), she blushes.
She plops back down in the booth and casts him a look. "Your turn."
"What do you mean?"
"That's only your second beer," she says, reaching for her second Cosmo and draining it. "This drunk thing is fun."
"Yeah," he murmurs. "You look like you're having fun." His delivery is dry but she leans in towards him anyway in the small booth, fingers playing with her necklace.
"Anything you can do, I can do better," she sings softly with a flirtatious smile. "I can do anything better than you."
He heads to the bar to get her another Cosmo and returns with a bottle of whiskey. She eyes it curiously. "I didn't drink that tonight, did I?"
He tries to hide his amusement. "No, you didn't."
"Sing, Finn. Please?"
He opens the bottle and takes a draught before standing on the platform. He picks something he knows regular, sober, conscientious Rachel would hate – Air Supply's "All Out of Love" – but drunk Rachel is clapping and laughing and singing along. He didn't even know she knew the words to this song. She even harmonizes with him for the last chorus.
She grabs the bottle of whiskey then and takes a swig. She coughs, grimacing. He has to stifle his laugh at her expression. "Don't like it?"
"Yecch," she groans. "That did not taste as good as mine."
"Anything you can do, I can do better, right?"
She drains her Cosmo and leans back against the seat. "Mmm." She grins. "I like this."
They don't leave until closing.
"My shoes hurt," she says as they trot down the street. "I mean, my feet." He's holding his bottle of whiskey and her purse. She giggles when she trips.
"You okay?"
"Fine. I'm fine. Finn, I'm fine. Finn. Fine." She turns to him and bursts into song. "Some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world. I want to be the one to walk in the sun, and girls, they want to have fun. Oh, girls just want to have –" She bursts into giggles before putting on a straight face. "It's true, Finn. They really do. I should know, I am one."
"That you are."
Her hand flies to her ear with a gasp. "Oh, no, I think I lost an earring." She crosses her ankles, turns to look backwards. "How far have we gone? You think I can find it?"
He settles his hand on the small of her back, gently urging her forward. "No, it's late. I should take you home."
"Those were my favorite pair," she grouses. "My shoes hurt. I should take them off. Can I take them off?"
"We're in the street."
"Dancing in the street! I always loved The Mamas and the Papas." She purses her lips. "Gather round, you boys and girls - no, that's not it. Finn, I don't remember the words. I want to take my shoes off."
"There's like glass and stuff. Keep your shoes on."
Her eyes sparkle. "You could…carry me."
He holds up the other things he's carrying. "I don't think I could."
"If I jumped, you'd have to catch me," she says, breathless.
He lifts his finger. "Don't even think about it."
"You used to play football. Where's your sense of adventure?"
"My sense of adventure isn't about me carrying you four blocks to the car."
"Four blocks is a lot, isn't it?" She crinkles her nose. "Wait for me." She runs after him and he drives them to her house while she tries to sing "Dancing in the Street" without knowing any of the words. It's a bit of a catastrophe. When they get there, he puts the car in park and looks at her.
"You okay walking to the door?"
She bats her eyelashes at him. "Walk with me?"
The minute he's out of the car, she pushes him up against the fence outside her house, lips pressed fiercely against his. Her hands are in his hair and his are on her hips, her tongue sliding along his teeth, and he pulls away for a second. "This is not your front porch. Anyone could see."
"Come inside then," she whispers, kissing the corner of his mouth.
"Your dads will kill me."
"They could never do such a thing."
"You had to get your aggression from somewhere, right?"
"They like me happy. And you," she says, poking him squarely in the chest. "You make me happy. For the most part." She kisses him again, grinding her hips against his.
"Keep doing that and we could get arrested for indecency."
"Are we going to be doing indecent things?" she whispers, huskily. "Because I have this house, you know, and we're not too far. We could go inside." She gives him another tempting kiss. "Do you remember that song we did?" she whispers, tongue sliding along his ear.
"Rachel," he says, kissing her quickly, "Go inside. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
She pouts. "I, unlike one of your previous girlfriends, have no contract with God over chastity."
His lips twitch. "I know."
"Good night." She's already stomping her way towards the front door, though she wobbles a bit.
"Happy birthday!" He pauses, thinks for a second. "Drink a lot of water!"
-
She wakes up with the first, worst, and only hangover of her life (thus far) the next morning. He stops by, makes her pancakes as her dads sneak out of the house, and they sit and talk.
"I still lost my favorite pair of earrings last night and you gave me blisters."
"I gave you blisters?"
"By not carrying me."
"I didn't make you wear them either." She stabs a pancake and he reaches for her hand. "You had a good birthday though, Rach?"
"Yes," she says, with a smile. "Thank you." She leans in and kisses him sweetly. He smiles and licks his lips, the slight taste of maple syrup clinging to his tongue.