Page 8 of Rev

“Yeah, but you are when it counts.”

The bus is chaotic. A quick scan of heads says there are at least twenty girls on the bus, each wearing tiaras, and necklaces with…um, men parts…on them. I’m not the only one wearing shorts instead of a dress, which makes me feel better. They’re all clearly a few drinks in, laughing uproariously, squealing and shrieking like only a bachelorette party can.

I wonder if I have any idea what I’ve gotten myself into.

* * *

The bar is a madhouse—itwas crammed and loud and wild when we arrived, and then the sudden influx of twenty-eight already drunk twenty-something women, most of whom are single, ratcheted the insanity up a notch or ten.

Angel drags me from conversation to conversation, feeds me shots and mixed drinks and glasses of water in between. She includes me in conversation, pulls me into the fun.

And truth be told, I’ve never had this much fun in my life.

Having no experience with drunkenness against which to gauge myself, I only know I’m feeling…a lot. Dizzy, loose, exuberant.

Is this drunk? I don’t know.

I like it, though.

Fortunately for me, at some point in the evening, the table we’ve been using as a home base for our shenanigans miraculously becomes laden with food. Mozzarella sticks, onion rings, chicken fingers, fries, spinach and artichoke dip. The food brings me back to earth a little, and I don’t even give one thought to how it’ll affect my booty.

I’m sure I’ll regret all this later, but for now, I just don’t care. I’m having fun.

I have no idea what time it is, only that the group is in a giant circle and there aremoreshots—tequila, which seems to be their shot of choice.

One of the girls in the party seems to have lost her shirt somehow, and she’s prancing around the bar topless, nothing at all covering her tatas except bright pink star-shaped stickers over her nipples. She’s got alotto flaunt, and she does it gleefully, relishing in the attention she’s drawing from the men.

And then, suddenly, Angel is tugging me to my feet. “Come on, Carolina. On to the next.”

“Where’re we goin?” I ask, finding it disconcertingly difficult to get the words out clearly.

When I stand up, the world is spinny. Angel holds me tight, guiding me out of the bar and into the still-sweltering heat of the Las Vegas night. To the bus, up and in, and I find myself sitting, Angel pressing a cold bottle of water into my hands.

My stomach feels sour, and I’m not so sure I’m enjoying this being drunk thing quite as much, anymore.

“You good, Carolina?”

I shake my head, but it comes across wobbly. “I dunno. I think maybe ‘m kinda drunk.”

Angel cackles. “You think? Sweetie, you’re three sheets to the wind.” She sits beside me, sipping a bottle of something. How can she keep drinking and seem as sober as she was earlier this evening? “Drink the water and relax. I guess we got a bit of a drive to the secret club.”

“It was fun, but now I feel kinda icky.”

She has a large white plastic bag, the kind you’d get carryout in. “You gotta blow chunks, just let it out into the bag.”

I shake my head, which is a mistake. “Nuh-uh. Hate barfing.”

“But you’ll feel better once you do.” She wraps a thin but strong arm around me. “This the first time you ever been wasted?”

I nod. “Yup.”

“I popped your cherry?” She touches her chest and sighs happily. “I feel like a proud mama. Now, drink the water and breathe and relax. You’ll feel fine once we get wherever the fuck we’re going.”

“Dunno if I should drink any more alco-lol. Ack-hol.” I huff. “Alcohol. Gosh, that was hard.”

“I swear, Carolina, you’re the most innocent thing I ever met.”

I huff. “Dun’t feel like a good thing, most days.”