Fast Draft
The party was in full swing. The keg was flowing, and the table was occupied. Two teams, one at each end were battling for victory, lobbing an orange pingpong ball into the opposing pyramid of cups at the opposite end of the table. Loud rap music, DMX, blared from the stereo, as June stepped through the door. She had walked over to the guy’s apartment building from her own, quickly. Although it was winter, she wore a summer hippie dress, light blue, with a shawl-like grey sweater - soft and cozy. She knew she looked good tonight - it had been a good hair day, and that carried over into the night. Her black eyeliner and eyeshadow looked even better than usual.
June felt shy, although she knew most of the people, and her good buddy, Dave Goodwin gave her a hug and a high five. Some people knew what to say to everyone, and she so envied that. Cup in hand, one of the guys filled her beer. She scanned the kitchen for handsome guys, thinking, “Maybe there’s someone here. Luckily, I AM wearing “the good dress” tonight.” Dave, already several beverages gone, was the life of the party. “Hey, kid! Get up on this table! We’re on!” June felt instant relief, there was a perfect distraction from the mandatory socialization with random people. Small talk was like a foreign language - but beer pong? Now we were talking! She and Dave high-fived, and June dipped down, aimed, and sank her first shot. The beat of the bass pounded within her, and June felt the warmth born of confidence mingled with beer, flow through her veins.
Dave high fived her, and somebody pulled out a camera. He hugged her, his short frame and waist-length mohawk at least a full five inches below her own head. June saw the flash of the camera, and knew she had smiled a genuine smile. It felt good to not worry how she looked in a picture. Dave, a Peruvian Inca, was her safe-zone. June could laugh, joke, trade filthy language, and never feel self-conscious. They were kindred spirits, both lovers of the Adam Sandler goat skit. “Quit dickin’ the dog!” Dave’s equivalent of “hurry up” was a favorite phrase that he used even more when he was drinking. June came back to the table. They missed their shots this round, but the night was progressing. June could tell one of the guys leaning against the wall with his buddies was watching her. Out of the corner of her eye, she tried to surreptitiously check him out. Hmmm... short, red hair, loose fitting jeans, skater sneakers, hoodie - typical New England college guy. Pothead? Probably. And he was cute as hell.
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