Pashmina's book club just ended.
Maxwell picked her up and took her home.
And she couldn't stop thinking about the boy in her book club. She smiled. Oh, he was so smart. But he was fun and actually did things. She glanced at Maxwell, who misunderstood the message and smiled her way.
"Maxwell, I think we need to start seeing other people."
"W-what?"
"Sorry, there's someone else."
He started bawling.
Or at least that's what she imagined would happen if she said that. Maybe if she ignored him, he'd get the idea and dump her instead.
That's what she planned on doing until he pointed a bottle of Vodka in her face, once they arrived at Pashmina's.
"Oh! Maxell," she clapped her hands, and she batted her lashes, "You shouldn't have."
He really should have.
"I knew you liked peach the best."
Peach vodka really was the best. She licked her lips, and grabbed the bottle. She started walking into the kitchen, and said, "Do you want a shot?"
"Already? Pashmina, it's only 3 on a Saturday!"
She turned around and stared. "And we have Vodka."
They ended up drinking more than they should have. Maxwell only had three shots, and he was done. Pashmina was drinking by the mug, rather than the shot. "I missed this."
"I missed you!" Maxwell tried to lean forward towards Pashmina's chair for a kiss. He misjudged the distance and almost fell, though Pashmina didn't make much (or at all) of an effort to help him reach. "Why don't you want to kiss me? I bought you Vodka."
When he says 'bought', he usually means he paid a friend to get it for him.
"Because." She took another mouthful of the Vodka she put in her mug. She grabbed the bottle to refill it, but before she could reach it, Maxwell grabbed the bottle. He shivered from her icy glare. He suddenly looked as if he was going to cry. Poor baby.
"W-well, you've already drunk enough, sweetheart. You might want to lay off?" he hic-uped. Drunken bastard.
"Don't fucking tell me when to stop drinking!" She roared. He stiffly and nervously handed her the bottle, eyes praying she wouldn't take it back. She did.
"P-Pashmina."
He began bawling.
If she could say that, she totally would.
However, instead she patted down her dress, brushed off the invisible dust covering it, and stood up. "Well, then."
"N-no, wait! Sit down," he pleaded, "Pashmina. I bought you Vodka."
She was drunk, and angry. And he was such a goddamn pussy; always begging, silently threatening to cry, and that book – his goddamn book that really made him boring from the start. It pissed her off. She wanted to hit him.
She ignored his pleas and walked inside from the back porch.
Although she came back in 5 minutes, wanting to smoke a Parliament.