front, a DJ with crazy dreadlocks spun records while girls
in bikinis and neon colored boots danced in cages on either side of him. The
bar to the left was manned by tan men in bike shorts covered in far more oil
than could ever be considered appropriate, while the bar on the opposite side
of the club was operated by girls dressed just as slutty as their male
counterparts.
Chris grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the bar with the
female waitresses. Shocker. After a few seconds, a brunette in a black
bikini approached and smiled at Chris, ignoring me completely.
"What can I get you?" she asked, leaning over the
table and pushing her breasts together.
"Let's start with a round of shots. Vodka."
"Sure thing." The girl jotted down his order on a
sheet of paper and then put the back of the pen in her mouth. "If there's anything else you need, just let me know."
"Do you really think I should be having shots?" I
asked. "I don't want to be hung over for my game tomorrow."
"Come on! Don't be such a party pooper."
"But my game..."
"Your game doesn't matter."
"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Asshole!
Just because you have a gold medal doesn't mean I don't want one too.
"You've already qualified for the quarterfinals so it
doesn't matter if you win or not."
He was right. Kind of. We had won all of our games so far and
qualified for the quarterfinals, but Brazil hadn't. The only way for them to
avoid being eliminated was to get a victory against us. "Of course it
matters. We have a chance to take down Brazil."
"I know. But one shot isn't going to hurt you. You're so
good that you could beat Brazil even with a hangover." He flashed me his
stupid charming smile that always got him what he wanted.
"Alright, fine. One shot. So how does it feel to have
your gold medal?"
"It's pretty awesome. But really I'm just excited to be
able to bang you again."
"Uh, about that..."
The slutty waitress interrupted me by putting a tray of vodka
shots on our table. I grabbed one and raised it. Chris and the waitress did the
same. Really? She's going to do shots with us?
"Here's to your first gold medal!" I said and
emptied the shot glass down my throat. It burned as it went down. The alcohol
hit me almost immediately. I was never much of a drinker, but during training I
hadn't been drinking at all. My alcohol tolerance was basically nonexistent.
"Oh my God, you won gold?!" asked the waitress.
"Yup." Chris pulled his medal out and smiled.
"That's so awesome. Come with me." The girl grabbed
his arm and started dragging him up towards the DJ booth. He pulled back and
downed two more shots before letting her pull him away. I awkwardly followed
behind. What the hell is this girl's problem?
She whispered something to the DJ. He nodded and then turned
down the volume on the record and jumped over the side of his equipment with a
microphone.
"Alright, alright people!" screamed the DJ.
Everyone stopped dancing and looked up. "Tonight we're joined by another
gold medal winner. What's your name, man?" He held the microphone over to
Chris.
"Chris Hamilton."
"Let's give it up for Chris!"
The people on the foamy dance floor cheered.
"Any song requests?" The DJ asked.
"Hmm...how about the thong song?"
The thong song was the first song we danced to the night we
met in college. At first I thought it was sweet that he would choose that song
tonight, but then I realized it meant Chris was going to want to dance with me
in that horrible pit of sweat and foam.
"Excellent choice, my man." The DJ jumped back
behind his booth and hit a few buttons on his laptop. He turned the volume up
and waited for a spot to blend the beats. After a few seconds I heard the
familiar sound of Sisqó sounding creepy talking about "the finer things in
life." The bumping and grinding immediately resumed on the dance floor.
"Shall we dance?" asked Chris.
I sighed. Do we really have to? "Okay, one
dance."
The dance floor was even more disgusting and loud than I