Even Wilder

Wilder

"I don't think he is going to be able to walk out of here," Saint laughed, watching as I downed the next beer and took the two shots sitting in front of me. The beer and liquor had done its job, fucking me up and walking out that would happen because I was a professional party boy. I never met an alcohol that could defeat me.

"He's on his sixteenth shot," Joel announced to the party-goers all there for my twenty-first birthday. The plan was to make it to twenty-one shots before the night was over, and I was well on my way.

I slapped a hand down on the table. "Bring em on boys. I have all night." I eyed the brunette playing pool, admiring her ass in her shorts. She noticed and smiled back.

"I have to piss, and I will be back for the rest of these shots," I announced to the room, standing up.

"He's going to puke. Somebody watch him," Saint said.

I made it a few steps. "Fuck off. This guy doesn't puke."

All my friends rolled their eyes. They all knew that wasn't true. One time I puked on a girl I wanted to hook up with. That night didn't end well.

I made it to the bottom of the stairs and started climbing. I kept a hand firmly planted against the wall, so I didn't fall on my ass, trying to get upstairs for the bathroom.

When I got to the top and reached for the handle, the door flew open, and I fell face-first into the tits of some lucky lady.

Only she didn't see it that way, and she screamed. She screamed because her best friend's face was buried in her tits — not a place for me to be. We'd talked about it before. Violet couldn't imagine us ever sharing an intimate relationship. Sure, we made out a couple of times throughout the years, but it was more for the hell of it than anything serious. She was afraid of falling in love—or loving anyone. So, when she told me I was her favorite person, that meant a lot, and I took it seriously.

She was wearing this off the shoulders yellow dress with sunflowers on it, and her hair was pulled high up on her head with a white scrunchie, the curls loosely spilling all around her like a crown that highlighted just how beautiful and perfect she was.

And she smelled like coconut body spray, the same damn spray she used since we were fourteen. Everything I owned held a hint of Violet when we were kids. But now that she left for school, I could only wish for things to smell like her again.

"You're drunk," she pointed out, eyeing me. Her green eyes were happy to be looking at me even if I was drunk.

"And you're back." I pointed out. After many growth spurts, I now towered over Violet. We were no longer face to face when we spoke. I was a strapping six foot four, and she a measly five-foot-two give or take a quarter inch that she liked to argue about whenever she got a chance.

With puberty came attention over the years. It wasn't a secret most women loved me. Violet admitted how much it bothered her our freshman year when she overheard some girls talking about me in the bathroom. I assured her it would be fine. I wasn't looking for a serious girlfriend.

"Yep. Here I am. Happy birthday." She pulled me in for a hug and I obliged, squeezing her tight. I lifted her off the ground, relishing having her back in my arms again. She was my other fucking half since day one.

Growing up did a number on her as well; if it was possible, she grew even more beautiful than she already was. She bloomed into this whole person—a woman — a walking talking angel sent from some magical place. Violet made me nuts. I wanted Violet in every way a man could want a woman.

We'd been friends just about our whole lives, and she was the only person who never did anything to disappoint me. She was perfect.

And she only let me kiss her twice. I never forgot either kiss. Or the way her lips felt. I imagined doing it again every night for years, and then I gave up and started hooking up with other girls to get her out of my head—it didn't work that well.