CHAPTER 2: INTOXICATED ENCOUNTER

**Update:** After two hours and three vodka shots, Charlotte Collins, though amusingly drunk, is struggling to keep up. She couldn't handle it, and it's not clear why we bothered with fake IDs given our pace. The rest of us managed about five shots on average before leaving the nightclub, but the night was far from over.

We're currently taking prepaid Ubers back to Isla Vista for some fraternity parties.

"Which one should we hit?" William asks as we exit the cars, with Samuel carrying Charlotte bridal-style.

Henry advises his brother, "Find the busiest one; those always have the best booze. And trust me, we need it. This tequila won't last for all seven of us."

Avery notes, "We're on Del Playa, and they're all packed."

"Isabella, your call," Noah instructs. "You've always had a knack for this kind of stuff."

"Alright then," I contemplate for a moment before suggesting, "Alpha Epsilon Phi will be too crowded, and I doubt you all want to scrub neon paint off yourselves tomorrow with a hangover, so scratch Delta Tau Delta. That leaves Alpha Theta Omega."

"And that's why we love you," Caleb says, throwing her arm around my shoulders, and we head off to intensify our revelry.

As always, the guys let Avery, Caleb, and me enter first, with Samuel and Charlotte trailing behind. We locate two unoccupied couches and a few chairs in the far corner of the bustling living room. Samuel gently places Charlotte on one of the couches and uses his jacket to cover her like a makeshift blanket, while Noah and the twins search for shot glasses, salt, and, of course, lime.

Not even five minutes later, we're consuming tequila shots like Carrie Bradshaw downs cosmos. Who knows, with the way tonight is going and growing, we might have our own "Sex and the City" moment.

Four hours later, we're still going strong.

"I wonder if Max Blackwell will show up tonight!" Caleb suddenly shouts above the blaring music as she goes to pour herself another vodka shot.

"Can you believe we found two full, unopened bottles of the stuff in the kitchen half an hour ago? Trust me, that party was off the hook. One of the best events I've ever been to, even to this day," I reminisce.

"Who?" Avery hollers back, salting Caleb's already damp fist as she bites into her own lime. She had just taken a vodka shot a few seconds ago.

Meanwhile, I'm gearing up for tequila shot number 8, or is it 9? I've honestly lost count after the sixth.

"Max Blackwell, come here!" Caleb yells even louder this time before licking the salt off her fist, downing her shot, and polishing off the remaining lime that Avery didn't finish. "You know, the guy that Kalix hangs out with now?"

"Oh!" Avery replies, seemingly recognizing the name. "The really good-looking one from LA?"

"Exactly!" Caleb affirms.

"Well, they both attend this college, so anything's possible!" Avery teases.

"Are we talking about Kalix Miller from middle school?" I hear Samuel shout from the couch. "I heard he used to be in a gang and is now completely covered in tattoos."

"Oh, Kalix Miller? Yes, I know him! Which also means Avery is right, because the pictures we've seen of this Max Blackwell on Kalix's I*******m show that he is incredibly good-looking."

Darn it! Why won't this cap come off?

"I'm not sure about the gang stuff," Avery hollers back while I continue to struggle with the tequila bottle cap, "but I can tell you he's hotter than ever now. And don't get me started on Max Blackwell! That guy is like a Greek god!"

"A tattooed Greek god!" Caleb chimes in, and they clink their vodka shots together before shouting, "Cheers!"

Pop!

Finally! Whose brilliant idea was it to secure this cap so tightly?

"Oh, right, yours?" Suddenly, a voice in my head overpowers the other commotion inside my brain. "Remember, you didn't want the bottle to tip over and spill its contents all over the floor."

Is that my conscience? I thought that thing had retired ages ago!

Now that the tequila bottle is open, I grab my empty shot glass and fill it almost to the brim. I place the prepared shot on a tall table to my right, making sure it's visible.

A normal person would have called it quits after the third shot, but Isabella Vega isn't your typical individual. So, instead of stopping, I'm propelled by my current buzz into overdrive. I grab the salt shaker with one hand and close my now significantly heavier fist with the other. I make sure to give it a good, wet lick — when did my hand get so massive? Weird — before sprinkling the white crystals on its side.

"What in the world —"

Then I grab my shot from the table, raise it for a toast to my intoxicated friends, and once again give my mysteriously enlarged fist an enthusiastic lick before downing the shot like a pro.

I release a contented sigh as the fiery liquid hits my taste buds, close my eyes, and take a bite of the lime.

But when the sensation subsides, and I finally turn around, open my eyes, and spit the lime into a nearby trash can, boy, do I encounter a sight.

In my naturally dark brown eyes, I'm met with the deepest chocolate brown eyes I've ever seen. I continue to lock eyes with this Greek god until the faintest yet most sly smirk creeps onto the corner of his mythical mouth.

"Cute," he comments, and if his mesmerizing eyes weren't already sobering me up, his slow removal of his damp fist from my grip most certainly does the trick.

Did I just...

He grabs my hand, curling my fingers into a fist, momentarily stopping me in my tracks. Is he about to...lick and salt me? Next, he casually downs not one, but two shots of tequila from the same high table where I had left mine. Did I set those up as well? Then, my salty fist makes its way to his mouth, and he gives it an even more lingering lick than the first, all while downing the shots simultaneously. The whole ritual unfolds slowly but steadily, and his gaze never leaves mine. I might be just moments away from a mix of excitement and embarrassment, to be perfectly honest.

As if that weren't enough, he takes the lime slice that had been resting in my mouth, bites into it to extract the last drop of juice, and only then releases my hand, not before placing the lime back in my mouth. Yes, you read that correctly, he put it in MY mouth.

"Blackwell! Hurry up, man! Let's go!" someone calls out to him. "Catch you later, Shots," he bids me farewell.

With another smirk and a wink from his stunning brown eye, he turns on his heel and joins the tattooed crew who had beckoned him seconds earlier. I'm left standing there in a daze, trying to process whatever the hell just transpired. It isn't until they've disappeared from sight that I turn around and notice something even more intriguing: all six of my previously intoxicated friends, along with a wide-awake Charlotte, have suddenly sobered up after witnessing a real-life food-porn reenactment right before their eyes.

The lime drops from my mouth for the second time, leaving me wide-eyed, just like my friends.

"How much of that did you all see?" I finally manage to ask.

"Isabella," my best friend chimes in, "did you really just lick THE Max Blackwell's hand?"

"So, I didn't imagine that?" Noah inquires, "It actually happened?"

And those words are enough to snap me out of my stupor.

"Ughh," I groan, slumping onto the couch beside the twins, "I'm so embarrassed."

"Alright, trust me. Judging by the looks of it, y'all were a single lick away from that happening," Henry teases, prompting laughter from everyone, including me.

Come on, as mortifying as my actions were, if I can't laugh at my own blunders, what can I laugh at?

"I swear off tequila forever!" I declare, sinking deeper into the couch as if it might swallow me whole.

I can't believe I just licked Max Blackwell's hand. Who even does that?

"Clearly, you do," my inner voice chimes in mockingly.

William affectionately pats my head and reassures me, "Don't worry, chica, we all know that's a load of crap."

And just like that, another round of laughter erupts, and before we know it, we've reached the end of yet another unforgettable night that will go down in our collective memory. Being the responsible (or perhaps just more normal) person that I am, I stick to vodka for the remainder of the party...as if that's any better.