Twisting the key in the lock of the door, he closed his eyes for a brief second. Anything could be behind this door, anyone, doing something that maybe shouldn't be seen. Taking a deep breath, Spencer found the courage to open the door. Opening up his eyes, he saw his couch moved back against the blue wall, and at least ten girls twisted into knots on foam mats in his living room.
"Oh hi Spencer," the one in the kitchen greeted, her blonde hair was almost too hard to look at. Her skin was as orange as Dorito dust, and her fake mole above her lip was a terrible effort to impersonate Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn Monroe was a really classy lady, not a confused junk food item like this girl was, Spencer thought.
"Coco?" he asked, uncomfortable at how many half naked women were in his home tonight.
Coco smiled and laughed nasally. Putting a large black bag on the marble breakfast bar, the echoes of glass hurt Spencer's ears. Reaching into the bag she pulled out a large collection of booze. "You want a Jell-o shooter?" she asked, turning around to mix together water with something vile smelling in a bowl.
Making his way into the kitchen, he put his take out in the fridge. The smell of self tanner wasn't helping his appetite. "No thank you," he sighed, looking at the various high heeled shoes lined up against the wall.
"Pina Colada, Margarita, or an Apple Tini?" she questioned again, strutting back to the stove. Unlike the girls in the yoga gear, she was in full out club wear. Her strappy high heel sandals clicked and clacked too loudly on the tile. Pulling out the receipt to the alcoholic's paradise she bought, her face dropped. "Chrissie poo!" she whined, waving the thing in the air.
In the living room, a girl in a star printed top and tight leggings came and sat at the bar, "Hi Spencer!" she waved and smiled way too animatedly. Awkwardly Spencer raised his right hand from his corner and waved back slowly.
"This doesn't go on the card right?" Coco sighed; pouting her heavily lined pink lips. Her whole face threatened to come off at the weight of her eye makeup. Spencer moved to the coffee pot to rinse it out. He had to look like he was doing something.
'Chrissie poo,' a girl that had too much bronzer on, shook her head and rolled her blue eyes, "As if!" she cheered. Murmurs Spencer deciphered as, 'totes,' and, 'duh's,' erupted. Spencer felt bugs crawling all over his skin, or maybe it was the sight of Vagisil that the girls had left on the kitchen counter in plain sight.
"So have you changed your mind?" she pouted grabbing his hand. Shaking her talons off of his tissue without trying to be rude, he was trying to figure out how to express his… Common sense… To this troll in front of him.
Shaking his head, he answered, "No thank you." Pacing back over to where he had dropped his bag, he kneeled down to retrieve it. Feeling a sharp pain in his wrist, he ignored it for a few seconds. Yelping out in pain at the continuation of it, he shook his wrist. Snapping his head around to the site of the pain, Spencer couldn't believe it. A dog, a little puffball that looked like it rubbed up against a balloon too many times, latched its jaws into his flesh. "What the hell are you doing to her dog?" a girl with black curly hair and the common orange skin asked him. He was just trying to get the mutt off of his forearm before he was infected with rabies.
"What the hell is it doing to me?" he whined, trying to shake it off. The beast growled, not giving up.
The girl with the black hair shrugged, and continued to move with the rhythm of the tribal music playing. Coco's voice rang from the kitchen "Kumquat!" she called. As soon as the menace heard its name, he ventured over to the blonde in the kitchen. Grabbing his bag as soon as he could reach it, Spencer didn't even care about the blood trickling down his arm.
Stumbling back into the kitchen, Reid did decide he was going to drink tonight. Not an 'Apple Tini,' or whatever the hell that was. Reaching into his cabinet, he pulled out the bourbon Rossi had gifted him with months ago. "Whoa, is that blood?" Coco asked, popping open the cork on her many bottles of alcohol. It looked like the ABC store in the kitchen.
"No," Spencer emphasized, grabbing a paper towel to mop up the mess 'Kumquat' caused. "There are 4.5 million dog bite victims a year, and the number is rising," Spencer spit out as he pressed the crushed ice button on the stainless steel refrigerator. Reaching back up into the white cabinets, he got down a glass and went back over to the machine.
"But Kumquat here is the sweetest pooch ever," she crooned at the statically charged mutt. Playfully the mongrel licked her face. Surprisingly, no bronzer came off, but a line on her cheek was completely de-glitterfied.
Giggles flew in the other room; Spencer ignored them and sat his glass under the ice dispenser. Grabbing another paper towel from nearby, he pressed another cloth to his wound. Moving the icy glass from the dispenser, he poured the aged bourbon into the glass. Putting the bottle back up into the cabinet in the correct spot, Spencer sighed. These bimbos were getting him to drink. He shouldn't let them get to him like that.
"I saw your law book on the coffee table," Coco stated, pouring a red mixture into an array of shot glasses. "I read a little, because it is so Reese Witherspoon," she commented. Reid picked up the glass and chugged it. Bourbon wasn't necessarily supposed to be taken down like that, but did he really have a choice?
Smiling, a more pleasant universe overtook Spencer, "I don't mind," he laughed. Spotting the stairs out of the corner of his eye, he waved, "I've got to go read up!" he cheered. Stumbling up the stairs, he cursed the potency of the liquor and his lightweight alcohol tolerance.
