Within The Lights. (Series)

Chapter 7 - Barlights

ok a lil note before u read this one is a little bit more mature than the ones before so if ur under 13 i suggest u stop here but i guess the story is pg-13 so idrk what im trying to say just dont have a heart attack when u read it ok that is all enjoy

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When I woke up that morning, all the memories of the previous night flooded back into my mind.

“Macy, slow it down a little!”

“Why? You're paying!” I giggled, downing another shot. Fourth one of the night.

“Yes, but one more and I'm making you buy them all.”

“Fine, fine.” I said, shoving the shot glass to the other end of the counter and spinning my chair around to face him. “I'll buy the next one myself.”

“No, you won't. I'm taking you home right now.”

“No, I want a drink.” I objected, and turned back to the bartender. “One purple haze, please. With a straw.”

“Do they even serve that here?” Cody asked, and it didn't sound like it was to me. More as though he just... Threw it into the air. Metaphorically speaking.

He was answered by the drink being placed in front of me. I looked over my shoulder, shrugged with a smug smile and took a drink through the straw.

“Hurry up, I wanna go.”

“Alright.” I said, and, as I stared at him, as slowly as I possibly could, took sips of the drink.

“Of, for Christ's sake-” He started, reaching his hand out to grab it. I pulled it away and rolled my eyes.

“I'm just joking around. Let's go,” I threw the straw to the floor, took the rest of the drink in less than a minute, and put the glass on the counter. Then I stood up, stumbling a little because the chairs spun and I was as intoxicated as it gets (Not really, but you get it).

“You know, it worries me how fast and how much you can drink.” Cody laughed, grabbing my arm and walking me out of the bar.

I only shrugged. “Lots of practice, I guess.”

“How much did you drink at Uni?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at me.

I put my index finer and thumb slightly apart from each other, as if to say a little bit, and we both laughed, because we both knew it was far from “a little bit.”

“Where did I park?” He asked to himself, standing on his toes (Which, by the way, wouldn't have made any difference because he already stands at 6'2).

“Over there.” I pointed across the road to his girly little red car.

“Great,” he laughed, “The intoxicated person has a better memory than me. Marvellous.”

“It's not that I remembered,” I pressed my finger into his cheek where his dimple was.“You just have a girl car.”

“I do not have a girl car!” He objected, crossing his arms and jutting his bottom lip out in a pout. Immature little baby.

“Yes, you do.” I smirked and switched to fixing the collar on his plaid button-up shirt.

He smacked my hand away and dropped his arms back to his sides. “It's not a girl car. It's a very manly Mustang.”

“Girl car.” I said quietly, but loud enough for him to hear. He shot me a glare but it quickly turned into a grin.

“Come on, let's go.”