Bad Enough for You (Currently Editing)

I Am Drunk. Please Bring Taco Bell and Sex

21.] I Am Drunk. Please Bring Taco Bell and Sex

Once Georgia had disappeared from my presence, having gone off to speak with our mother about upcoming dinner plans and to discuss her options for her wedding planner, I had remembered what my mother had said about Ci. Since my mother only ever tended to talk in business chat and one-word sentences, I really had no idea what she had meant. I did, however, know that there was something I had to do.

So before my sister could come hassle me for more info on the whereabouts of Eli’s folder, I quickly changed my clothes and (making sure to take the purse that Eli’s folder was in) hurried through the house, taking the back stairs and outside into the yarn. I ran past the gray stone and ducking beneath the windows, knowing that the gardner was going to have a fit when he saw the footprints I had left in the flower beds. I surprised myself when I managed to jump over the line of bushes that ran alongside the garage without toppling onto my face.

It wasn’t long before I was sitting in my car outside of the gate of Ci’s apartment building with a double chocolate cake topped with strawberry icing and a copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s sitting on the passenger seat. I waited for the security guard to hand me back my pass, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. After looking at it as close as possible, he handed it back to me, stepping back into his little hut and pressing the magical button that opened the gate. I smiled as I drove through, the final song on the Vegas Skies album that I had become addicted to playing softly in the background. Parking in Ci’s empty guest parking spot, I shoved the DVD into my purse. Carrying the cake in one hand, I walked down the pathway to the double doors that led into the calling lobby.

I heard my phone buzz in the depths of my purse, but ignored it. I had been so absent from everyone’s lives that I came to feel guilty about it all. So, if it was someone from the apartments texting me to see if I could come and have a drink with them or bail them out of jail, they would simply have to wait. Or call someone else. These next few days were all about my friends.

I had a lot of redeeming to do.

After I had located her call button near the elevator and had deposited the cake and my bag on a bench with a plaque dedicating it to a Mr. and Mrs. Ellinger. I pressed the button, waiting for her to press her own button. When the noise came through, signaling to me that it had been pressed, I said, “Hey, Ci. It’s Adrienne.” 

As I spoke, I inspected the layer of black Chanel nailpolish that was chipping dreadful and groaned. This is why I refused to do my own nails. I hadn’t had a real manicure in ages. If my nails looked this bad, I couldn’t imagine what my toes looked like.

Maybe I could convince Ci into getting a mani-pedi. It would be a better way to catch up than watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s, which we had both seen so many times that we spent most of the movie reciting the lines to one another.

“Adrienne?” I stopped inspecting my fingernails when it came to my attention that it wasn’t Ci’s voice coming through the speaker.

“Hey, Micah,” I said weakly. Even if we weren’t face to face, I felt myself blushing. Cecilia’s older brother, Micah, was seriously from another planet. He wasn’t an alien or anything, but his hotness could warm any girl’s cachoo, which was something I had never experienced on this planet before. Definitely human, he had gorgeous dark brown eyes that looked like the color of the chocolate cake and the same rich hair to match it. He was built rather nicely, the abs on his stomach a view that I had never seen before. He literally made me want to lick him from head to toe. And that was saying something.

Everything about that boy was hot. And his voice, oh god, his voice…

“Um, Adrienne?” My eyes flew open when I realized I had actually moaned those words out loud. “You probably shouldn’t…I don’t know how to say this other than just to say it. Voicing your sexual fantasies in the lobby isn’t polite. You’ll make people uncomfortable.”