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“A toast to me,” Ray said, holding up a shot of whiskey on the rocks, “the most perfect specimen of a 22-year-old to ever exist.”
Emma cackled, the sound carrying over the other chattering patrons of the bar. “Modest much? I know you’re my boyfriend, Ray, but that’s rich.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Emma.” Norman’s eyes glittered playfully as he paid for Ray’s birthday drink. “You wouldn’t be dating him if you didn’t think the sun shone out of his butt.”
Ray had never drunk before, not even for his 21st birthday. He’d decided to wait until his 22nd so both Emma and Norman could join him in imbibing. Norman had struck it rich by playing the stock market, but while he was willing to pay for the entire night’s debauchery, Emma insisted on paying for half of Ray’s alcohol and most of her own.
Ray grinned at his friends. He knocked the shot back and immediately choked. “Holy c-crap,” he said between coughs. “That burns!”
Norman offered him a subtle smile. “I told you to start with an Arnold Palmer.”
“Nah, Ray’s not an iced tea kind of guy.” Emma giggled, swirling her mojito in its glass before taking a sip. “Hot tea, sure, but iced?” She slanted him a sly look, the corners of her lips turned up in an infuriating smirk. “He’s uncultured that way.”
“Uncultured?” Ray muttered, slapping the bartop with a flat palm. “I’m not some sort of boorish swine, Emma.”
Emma pointed her lime slice at Ray. “Your words, not mine.”
Ray huffed, folding his arms. “Remind me why I’m dating you again?”
Norman threw an arm around Emma’s shoulder, rubbing his cheek against hers. “She’s cute, remember?” Then he released her to pull his wallet out of his pocket. “What’s the next drink, Ray? You’re not nearly tipsy enough to be teased yet.”
Ray drew a deep breath through his nostrils, surprised that his nose hairs were still intact from the whiskey burn. “What do you recommend, Norman?”
“Hmm.” Norman tapped his chin. “A pineapple sunrise mimosa.”
Emma drained her drink. “What is this, brunch? We’re trying to get him drunk, not tiptoe around it like a soccer mom.”
“All right, Emma.” Ray squinted at her. “What do you think I should get?”
Emma didn’t hesitate. “Jungle juice.”
Norman’s eyes widened. “That’s basically fruit and absinthe. Do you want to kill the poor man?”
Emma shrugged. “You told me you’d help me bury a body, Norman. I wanted to test that.”
Ray scoffed. “I knew it. I knew you were dating me for the money.”
A slow smile curved Emma’s lips. “If I were dating you for the money, Ray,” she said, biting her lip to stifle a giggle, “I’d be dating Norman.”
Norman and Ray both reacted at the same time. “Ouch.”
Norman rubbed the back of his head. “You’re brutal, Emma.”
Emma shot them both finger guns. “Just doing my job as an agent of chaos. Sowing discontentment between friends.”
“So?” Ray opened his palms in a gesture of surrender. “What am I drinking?”
Norman slapped money down on the countertop, speaking to the bartender. “He’ll be having a Moscow mule.”
Emma laughed. “Go for the gold, Norman.”
“A Moscow mule?” Ray blinked at his friends. Warmth bloomed in his chest, but he chalked that up to being happy with his friends and not being tipsy at all. All he felt was a bit more focus and a tingling numbness in his face and extremities. “What’s that?”
The bartender grunted and took the money, putting it in the register. Then he mixed up a concoction in a copper mug and passed it to Ray.
“A Moscow mule,” Norman said, sounding like a documentary on alcohol, “is a blend of vodka, ginger beer, and lime juice served in a copper mug.” He held up one finger as Ray picked up the cup. “The copper keeps the drink cool in a different way than glass; the metal immediately takes on the temperature of the drink and makes each sip feel even colder than a sip from a glass.”
Ray took a swig of the drink and smacked his lips together. The ginger beer was both sweet and fizzy, and the lime was just tart enough to counteract the sweetness. “Tasty.”
Norman continued his lecture. “The Moscow mule was invented as a marketing scheme in the 1940s to sell more vodka, ginger beer, and copper mugs. Hollywood fell in love with it, and there were a plethora of images released in tabloids of celebrities drinking mules in copper mugs.”
Emma ordered a straightforward gin and tonic, squeezing a lime into the glass the bartender presented her. “I think you should try a Cosmopolitan next, Ray.”
Ray downed the contents of his copper mug, giving himself a brain freeze. He pressed his tongue to his palate, wincing at the sudden, sharp headache. “Ugh. What’s in a Cosmopolitan?”
“Citron vodka, sweetened cranberry juice, Cointreau, and lime,” Emma said, knocking back her gin and tonic. “With your sweet tooth, you’ll love it.”
Ray ordered one, which Norman paid for. The bartender mixed the drink up in front of Ray and passed him the martini glass. “It’s pink,” Ray said, grinning at Emma. He ruffled her hair. “Cute, but not as cute as you.”
Emma laughed as Ray drained his glass.
By now, Ray was feeling warm from his head to his toes, and everything seemed… funnier, somehow. It was a good thing he was seated at the bar, because he felt sort of… wobbly and light.
He just knew he could impress Emma with his debonair wit. “Hey. Hey, Emma. What’s the best part of living in Switzerland?”
Emma beamed at him, booping his nose. “I don’t know, Ray. What is the best part of living in Switzerland?”
“Uhh…” Ray blinked down at her. “Norman! You’re smarter than me. What’s the best part of living in Switzerland?”
“I don’t know,” Norman said, and Ray’s shoulders slumped even as a slow smile curved Norman’s lips. “But the flag’s a big plus.”
Emma threw her head back and guffawed, her laughter long and loud. Louder than she had any right to be, Ray thought, but he also thought she was adorable.
He joined in the hooting laughter, slapping his knee. Or, rather, trying; he couldn’t quite connect his palm with his knee, being uncoordinated. “What am I drinking next?”
“Shouldn’t you slow down?” Norman, ever the wet blanket and the mom friend, asked. “You’ve had a lot of alcohol already.”
“You saying I can’t hold my liquor?” Ray said, ignoring the slur in his voice. “Emma! What am I drinking?”
“I can’t help you if Norman cuts you off, Ray.” Emma grinned at him, ordering another drink for herself. “He holds the pursestrings.”
“You won’t buy me a drink?” Ray slung an arm around her shoulders. “For old time’s sake?”
Emma giggled and set some cash down on the bartop. “A Tom Collins for the man, bartender, if you please.”
Norman shook his head as Ray downed the new source of warmth. Laughter bubbled up past his lips; Norman’s pinched expression was so funny. “Norman! You should get drunk!”
“Perhaps not.” Norman offered him a smile entirely too subtle for Ray’s liking. “I fear the loss of control that being drunk offers.”
Ray held up a single finger--which he squinted at, seeing double--and swayed in his seat. “Just one drink. Just one.” He grinned shamelessly. “Come on, Norman, it’s my birthday.”
Norman sighed. “I suppose one drink couldn’t hurt.”
Emma slapped Norman on the back. “Atta boy.”
Norman ordered a champagne cocktail and took his time sipping at it, which Ray thought was a bit silly.
After another drink that Emma paid for, Ray was feeling great. No, better than great. He stumbled to the bathroom and back with Norman’s help. And when Ray returned, he saw a hottie at the bar--a redhead that was too cute for her own good--and desperately wanted to talk to her.
“Holy heck, you’re cute,” Ray slurred, sidling up to the girl--no, woman. No mere girl was that hot. She was a woman of exquisite taste. “Do you have a boyfriend? I’ll fight him.”
The woman giggled, covering her ruby-red lips with a hand. The laughter sounded oddly familiar. “I do have a boyfriend.”
“I’ll fight him,” Ray said again, leaning heavily on Norman, who was still working through his champagne. “What’s his name?”
The woman booped his nose. Ray remembered another woman booping his nose earlier in the evening. This one grinned at him. “My boyfriend’s name is Ray.”
Ray gasped. “Not only did that jerk steal my girl, that jerk stole my name!”
“Ray,” the woman purred, setting his blood on fire, “you are my boyfriend.”
Ray flailed. “I’m going to fight myself!” Getting out from under Norman’s hold, Ray swung a fist at his own nose and missed. He stumbled into a stool and landed on his tailbone on the ground, hard. “Oof.”
Norman let loose a cackle. He’d finished his drink and was trying to slap his knee, but he kept missing. “Oh. Oh, no, Ray. You’re drunk. Emma, isn’t he drunk?”
Emma. So that was the woman’s name. Ray beamed at her as she took his hands and helped him up.
“We’re all drunk, Norman,” Emma said, wrinkling her nose in a way that was too, too cute. “Some of us more than others.”
Norman turned to Ray, laying a clumsy hand on his shoulder. “Ray. Hey, Ray. You’re dating Emma.”
“Me?” Ray gasped. “I’m dating Emma? How could I have gotten so lucky?”
“Yessss,” Norman said, drawing out the ess sound. “And that bar… That bar is sleeping with Emma.”
Emma threw her head back and shrieked with laughter. “No, it didn’t! I’m a virgin!”
“That bar slept with my girlfriend?” Ray snarled, raising a fist. “Not even I’ve slept with my girlfriend!”
Ray was faced with a choice. Let the bar get away with its crime or dole out an appropriate punishment.
He did the only rational thing and punched the bar.
A sudden and unexpected burst of pain jolted his hand, rocketing up to his elbow. But Ray didn’t care; that bar deserved to be punched.
Using his probably broken fingers, Ray dragged himself up on top of the bartop, staggering down the counter and kicking glasses over along his way. Some of the other patrons cried out in outrage, and the bartender reached for a phone.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s right!” Ray stomped on the bar, pretending he was stepping on its face. He kicked a drink into someone’s chest. “That’s what you get!”
“You want a piece of me, homeslice?” the customer said, dragging Ray down to his level. Ray went down fighting, swinging his fist and connecting with the patron’s nose.
“Norman! Emma!” Ray cried, feeling himself being thrown across the bar. “Help!”
He landed among a tangle of bodies; Norman and Emma had caught him. They shoved him towards the other patron and joined the fray, as did several of the other customers. Flailing with uncoordinated kicks and punches, Ray scented the tang of blood in the air.
A glass collided with the back of his head, and everything went black.
***
Ray woke up with his cheek pressed into someone’s thigh. He was stretched out on a metal bench, peering at a selection of bars. Fingers carded through his hair. He licked his teeth and tasted blood and fuzzy rot, like a moldy banana, and every inch of him hurt. His mouth felt like he’d eaten a pack of Q-tips.
Running his tongue across his lips, he found they were split. One of his front teeth sported a new chip. Both sets of his knuckles were bloody, and he’d messed up his right hand something terrible.
Keenly aware of the ache in his head, Ray turned to see his prison mates. He was lying in Emma’s lap, and Norman sat with his head pillowed on his arms, leaning against the wall. Emma had a shiner and a twisted nose as she beamed down at him.
“Hey.” Ray’s voice bounced around the inside of his skull, and he winced. “Did we win?”
Emma shook her head. “For a certain definition of winning.”
“You three,” Anna said from outside the bars, drawing Ray’s attention to her, “are idiots. What am I going to do with you.”
Ray scowled at her, hating that she was right. “You could get me an ice pack.”
Anna folded her arms. “That wasn’t a question.”
Ray would have spat blood at her, but that seemed too rude even for him. Thankfully, Norman stood up and stepped in. “Hi, Anna,” Norman said meekly, offering her a sheepish grin. He pressed his index fingers together. “Are you going to post bail?”
Anna glowered at him, but Norman, to his credit, didn’t shrink away from her glare. “I should just let you all rot.” She pointed at Ray. “This is your fault. Promise me you’ll never get that drunk again, and I’ll think about posting bail.”
“I promise.” Ray sat up, using his grip on Emma’s shoulder to haul himself upright. Nausea punched him in the throat as he hung his head between his knees. He tasted bile in addition to blood. “Trust me, getting that drunk again is the last thing on my mind.”
Anna left them to their misery.
“You said that just to make her leave.” Emma grinned at him. “Trying it once was worth it, though, right?”
Ray grinned back. “Despite my aches, I did have fun.”
Norman crossed to them and offered them each a fist bump, which they took. “Happy birthday, Ray.”
Emma laughed. “Happy birthday!”
“Yeah,” Ray said, smiling through his split lip. “Happy birthday to me, the most perfect specimen of a 22-year-old to ever exist.”
And the three of them laughed.