38
Our waitress jokes that we should have ordered a pitcher of watermelon Margarita, instead of
Individual glasses, but you like yours on the rocks, and I prefer mine frozen.
I can't feel my nose, so I ask for a Coke in an effort to practice some semblance of moderation.
"This is fun." You hum. Your eyes are glassy, and your cheeks are flushed thanks to the alcohol.
You ask me if I want another shot, but I shake my head and try to convince you to eat something.
"Did you try the elote? It's so good." I spoon some on your plate. "Try it on a chip."
You take a big, messy bite and dance in your seat. "You're right!"
I pass you a napkin and coax you into eating some more food.
When you're finished, you sit back with a happy sigh. "I think I'm done."
"Do you want another drink?" I ask and flag down our waitress.
"No. I mean I'm done. I'm ready to go home," you slur.
I nod and ask for the check and a couple boxes because you want to save the leftovers for a
midnight snack.
"I'm going to need something to soak up all this tequila." You hiccup and steal my soda.
I request an Uber, pay our tab, and lead you out. You're a stumbling mess, so I keep my arm around your waist to keep you upright.
Your honey brown eyes glow in the moonlight, and I wish we didn't drink so much because the night is clear, perfect for swimming. It's too bad.
Our ride arrives, and it's not until we pull into my driveway that you remember that we left your bag in my car. I loan you some clothes, and you have all your necessities in my bathroom.
We're standing side by side, brushing our teeth in front of the double sink when the idea strikes me.
"You should move in with me," I blurt out.
You spray the mirror with toothpaste.