Apparently when Perry said that he'd DD, he had extended that offer to everyone. By the time I realized, the only sober person besides Perry was Nate, and I wasn't going to be the one to ask. By nine, all seven of us were squeezed into Sam's car. Heat radiated off of our intoxicated bodies in waves, and I hoped that The Captain's Hook had air conditioning cool enough to unglue my legs from my pants. A heavenly scent hit my nose. Weed.

In the back seat, Sam was coughing up a storm, as she frantically waved her hands to disperse the cloud. I turned, hoping to get in on the action.

"Nate... cough... cough-cough... I am so sorry, man. I really didn't mean to do that right in your f-face, buddy!" Sam apologized profusely to the divine presence on her left.

"That's alright, Sam." Nate winced but gave Sam a weak smile to assure her. The sight of his lips curling upward was enough to suck breath from my lungs, and I stared at him, slack-jawed with glazed over tipsy eyes, until he snapped his eyes onto mine. 

I diverted my gaze from Nate to Sam with expert speed, giving Sam a cheeky grin as I met her blood-shot eyes, flashing with curiosity. I hoped that Nate hadn't noticed my gawking, but I knew his eyes were on me now, drilling fiery holes through my flushed cheeks. I couldn't remember the last time that I'd had such a physical reaction to an attractive stranger.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Hm?" Sam's eyelids were droopy, matching the lazy smile plastered on her face.

"Mind if I hit that? First round at the bar on me?" I asked hopefully, vaguely gesturing to the dab pen in her hand.

"Girl, you already know I'm not turning down free drinks. Here ya go," she giggled softly, tossing her pen into my hands. I rolled the glass tube back and forth in my fingers, examining the golden resin that would be in my lungs momentarily.

"Thanks," I inhaled from the pen, and held my breath as long as I could before exhaling towards my feet, a gentle cloud flowing through the humid air. I stretched my hands out in front of me, my whole body visibly relaxing as I felt the familiar drug taking effect.

Experts have said that marijuana isn't an addictive substance, but I disagree wholeheartedly. Pearl and I had both spent the better half of our lives between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one with a dab pen nestled in our hands or with fruity little gas station gummies dissolving under our tongues. Pearl used to sprawl out on my bedroom floor after she got off of her waitressing shifts, sketching and smoking every night away while she talked about the future. She wanted to be an interior designer. 

It haunted me everyday; the way her face would light up even after a long day, the way her passion gave her life meaning. I envied her. My life didn't have meaning.  When the only reason that you're alive is to be pretty enough to be married into wealth, and you're already betrothed to enormous wealth, there's no reason to do anything but get high and stay pretty. Monday through Friday ever since I graduated high school I locked myself in my room, watching shitty reality television and every rom-com you could think of until I got to go back to sleep again. My only responsibility during the week was to bring my weight back down from any alcohol-induced bloating or weight gain from the previous weekend. 

Saturdays I would make my pilgrimage to downtown Atlanta, or occasionally Athens, or Duluth. Anywhere where I could get drunk with rowdy strangers, where I could buy friendship with hits from my pen, drinks on-me, or quickies in the men's restroom. Anything to fill the hole in my life that had been empty ever since Pearl left for art school a year ago. Pearl left a year ago, but it didn't feel like it. My continued dependence on weed made the last year fly by in record time, but nothing had gotten any easier. I was still standing in place, unmoving and unchanging, and when I was sober enough to think clearly, I was miserable. The only solution was to make sure that I was never sober enough to think clearly. 

I took another hit of Sam's pen as we pulled into the parking lot of the abandoned strip mall where The Captain's Hook had its claim to local fame. Sun-bleached asphalt with coastal grasses ripping through their crevices surrounded the stand-alone bar, faded parking spaces only visible due to enduring concrete parking blocks at the front of each spot.

Despite having an appropriately Floridian name, The Captain's Hook looked like it had been plucked from the wild west. My dreams of proper ventilation and air conditioning were rapidly slipping through my fingers as I noticed the open air western-style dark wooden bar off to the right side of the restaurant, where a handsome asian guy in a cowboy hat and a bolo tie was pouring drinks for a couple in their sixties. On the deteriorating mirror behind him, a large neon sign of a bull's head cast a haze of red and orange light around the edges of the man's hair and face. The bartender was a hunk, but the bar itself was dead apart from the older couple and a small group of middle-aged men shooting pool.

Bummer, but not surprising.

Even the attractive bartender offered little consolation, as I'd already passed the point of no return with the Florida heat. There was no way that anyone was getting into my sweaty, sticky mess of a crotch tonight and the sooner that I accepted this the better it would be for everyone. When our large group approached the bar, I excused myself to find a bathoom.

"Mind if I joinya?" Sam slurred, hooking her arm around mine when she caught up to me.

"Go for it,"  I said, grinning at her lazily. I really didn't mind. I was starting to get bitter that Pearl had seemingly abandoned me for a night with Johnny, and Sam was my favorite out of the locals I'd met so far. She was easy to talk to, and she seemed more predisposed to perception than judgment, a quality which I lacked but enjoyed in others.

I was relieved to find that the restrooms had air conditioning, even if the air inside smelled like a public pool. Looking into the dingy bathroom mirror, I was relieved that even though I was stupid enough to wear pants in June in Florida, at least I was smart enough to wear a white top that wouldn't show sweat stains. Sam spun to face me, her unblinking almond eyes fixed with mine.

"June... I've gotta know," Sam squeezed my arm a little tighter as her voice dropped to a whisper. "What's Perry's deal?"

"Perry?!" I stopped dead in my tracks. I tried to jerk my hand away but Sam's grip was way stronger than what was normal for a girl of her size and muscle mass.

What the-

"He doesn't even have to be the best guy... ya'know... I don't gotta date him, but I'd love a hookup as long as he's notta total creep or a... a-a weirdo that is."

So that's what's wrong with her! She has terrible taste in men!

"Perry's... obnoxious, but no, to my knowledge he's notta creep or a weirdo. Whatever makes you happy girl, but I think you can do better. You're so... so pretty."

"Ohmigod June that's so so nice of you, wanna do another shooter?" Sam asked, magically pulling two shots of whiskey from the sides of her black, knee-length cotton dress.

"Holyshit! Holyshit, does your dress have pockets?" Sam eagerly nodded back in response to my question, and it felt like the most exciting moment of my life. Nothing was more significant than drinking and dresses with pockets. I was drunk at this point, and high, and I probably should've waited a while before having another drink. But I was twenty-two and I had nowhere to be tomorrow so I said, "and fuck yeah I'll take anotha shooter." We quickly and sloppily finished our shots before heading off to our respective stalls to 'break the seal.'

We were washing our hands in the twin copper sinks side by side when I worked up enough courage to bravely ask, "So... uh... what about..., what I'm trying to say is what's the, the deal with uh..."

"Nate?" Sam and I made eye contact in the mirror and she shot me a knowing smile, one eyebrow lifted in amusement. I nodded, swallowing hard. "Nate's a good dude, I think. Hard to tell." Sam shrugged, her face falling back to a neutral but thoughtful expression. "I dunno know him outside of work til tonight, but he's always been pleasant to me."

I nodded, my eyes now fixed on my hands. I finished washing them and turned the warm water off with the signature rushhh and creak of old plumbing. "Does he have like a... girlfriend?" I hoped that I came off as nonchalant. 

"No. None that I know of, anyways," she shrugged, shaking her head slowly as she turned the water off, snappily shaking excess water off over the copper basin.

After dried our hands on our clothes like barbarians, we exited the bathroom together. We leaned against an open pool table and continued our conversation, looking up periodically to make sure that the rest of our group was still out of earshot.

"I've literally never seen him with a girl and Rosemary's put all of her charms on that man to little avail. Sometimes we wonder if he's gay and just not out yet." 

"Makes sense. That's my type," I joked. 

"Hm?"

"Nothing, sorry," I said quickly. Sam was quiet and I think we were both confused. I was spiraling inside of my head, panicking that I'd said something insensitive on accident. After a moment, I could feel myself forgetting what I was panicking about so I zoned back in before I could move on.

Gay people are great.

Dean Maxwell is a great fiance, and I'm going to be very happy with him.

It's not their fault that I can't find a straight guy who likes me.

"What didya just say?" Sam slurred, her face dropping into the agape jaw and furrowed brow of confusion.

I said that outloud, didn't I?

"Yea." Sam nodded at me slowly, waiting for an explanation.

"Can I explain later? I really don' wanna talk about it righ' now." My face was burning up and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

Sam looked worried. Very worried. But she felt the sense of urgency in my words and gaze and let it be. She pulled me in for a hug. It was like getting a hug from a bony middle schooler with killer arm strength, but it managed to make me feel a bit better. I would just have to call Dean tomorrow and let him know that I'd slipped up with his secret, again. Then I could fill Sam in, guilt free. She seemed like someone I could trust, but I needed to remember to reevaluate that judgment when I wasn't plastered.

"All I need ya to know is that I'm free to s-sleep with or date whoever. I jus' don't want you to think that I'm a cheater or anything like tha." I whisper-yelled into Sam's ear. "I'll explain more later."

    "Sam... June." An ethereal male voice sent a chill down my sweaty body. I pulled away from Sam's embrace, looking Nate in the eyes with new-found confidence. The liquor had sufficiently loosened me up by now, otherwise the moment would have been too tense. Too intimate. 

    It appeared that the boys had taken care of getting Nate drunk. His curls were dark with Florida sweat, pushed back off of his flushed face and forehead. Lips were pinker, poutier and slightly swollen. His Adam's apple bobbed and I snapped back to reality.

    "How can we help ya?" I asked, as normal as I could muster. I threw my left arm around Sam's neck, pulling my fellow drunk girl close to me.

"Uh, well," Nate broke eye contact with me, reaching his arm back to rub the back of his neck, "Johnny wants to shoot some pool with y'all." 

"Oh. Uh, I've actually never played before," I admitted reluctantly. Back home I was typically eye candy for the guys playing pool, but the game itself seemed trivial to me. Cue balls weren't the balls that I went downtown for, if you catch my drift.

"You've never played pool before? That's it; she's playing!" Sam exclaimed, a little too loud and right in my ear. "I'll coach her. I've got you girl." She bumped me with her shoulder, grinning mischievously. 

"I guess I'm playin' then," I said shortly, eyeing Nate's face until he responded.

"Aight, cool. I'll go grab the balls and the others," Nate nodded as he spoke, already beginning to turn his body to walk away. He kept his demeanor reserved, but he didn't seem as annoyed by my presence as he had at the package store. Progress was progress.

By the end of the summer maybe I'll be the one grabbing balls.

"Heh. Grabbin balls," Sam immaturely joked as if she could read my mind.  We broke into a fit of giggles and Nate looked back at us, an unreadable expression flashing over his features as he made his way back over to the bar.

"So, how do I hold the stick?" I asked, cocking my head to the side as I grabbed a checkered pool cue from the chalkboard wall behind me.