Sam July 2000
"How much has she had?" I asked Bridget when I finally made it out of the laundry, sporting a crisp, clean shirt and a valuable lesson about Jackson. By now, the party was in full swing, and my absence had mostly gone unnoticed.
Veronica was chugging down a bottle of pre-mixed whiskey and coke like it was water, as she and the fireball swayed out of rhythm to the god-awful, ear-bleeding noise that was coming from the stereo, some boyband break-up song which had my girl singing along like it was her anthem.
"That would be her fifth," Bridget said, taking a swig of her bottle of watered-down lolly water that passed for alcohol. "I'm guessing you two talked?"
"If by talk you mean I told her the truth and she bolted, then yeah, we talked." And almost kissed until I ruined it
