Dunkin and Donuts by Daralyse Lyons Read Free Book Online Page A

me.
    “What if he has?” Brice wonders aloud.
    “Excuse me? He cheated on you—repeatedly and he treated you like shit.”
    “You’re right. I know you’re right. So why do I still want him back?”
    “Because you’re human and you loved him.”
    Two hours and two six-packs later, we are both extremely buzzed.
    “I hate him!” Brice says—referring, of course, to his ex.
    “Me too,” I slur. “We should tell him he’s a poopyhead.” Apparently, my repertoire of insults has descended to the level of my students. Note to self: Drinking makes me stupid.
    “Yes! We should tell him I’m over him.”
    “You’re over him. I guess that makes you the top.”
    We laugh ridiculously and, in the midst of his hyena cackle, Brice makes the ill-advised decision to drunk-dial Robin.
    Fortunately or unfortunately, Robin’s voicemail picks up.
    “Hey poopyhead it’s me. I got your message and I’m not buying. I’m too good for that. You had your chance and honey you lost me. Sure, I’m drunk now but, ya know, you fucked a bartender so we’re even Steven. Steven. That’s a nice name. I like that name…”
    I gesture wildly at my friend to hang up.
    “Okay, um…I gotta go. Thank you. Love you. Wait, no. I don’t. I dunno why I said that. Bye, poopyhead.”
    He hits the disconnect button on the phone with a flourish, which is odd considering the fact that hanging up an IPhone is decidedly undramatic. I guess we’re both pretty intoxicated. Then, for some reason, we put Tupperware on our heads and have a pillow fight. It is only later, after we’ve fallen asleep head-to-toe on Brice’s bed when I wake up to a pair of feet kicking me in the face, that realization dawns.
    “Holy shit! What did I do last night? Did I really call Robin?” Brice sits bolt upright in bed and looks at me panic-stricken.
    Unfortunately, neither of us got drunk enough to forget that.

Chapter Fourteen

    Over coffee at Starbucks, Brice laments his own drunken idiocy. And mine.
    “Me? What did I do?” I ask incredulously.
    “You should’ve stopped me from making an ass out of myself.”
    “Impossible,” I declare.
    “I’m so depressed. I need a bagel. I need two bagels.”
    “What about your resolution to take better care of yourself and to lose weight?”
    “I’ll start tomorrow.”
    “You said that yesterday.”
    “You’re not being a very supportive friend.”
    “I am being a supportive friend. Brice, you’re mad at me because, last night, I didn’t keep you from doing something stupid. Binging on bagels would be doing something stupid. So it’s my job to stop you.”
    “Point taken,” he admits. “Can I at least binge drink coffee?”
    “Is it black?”
    “Yes, Mom.”
    “Then go right ahead.”
    Placated by my willingness to let him drink himself into a caffeine stupor, Brice sits back in his chair and says “Who cares about Robin?”
    “Exactly.”
    “So what if I drunk dialed him?”
    “Right,” I agree.
    “He’s out of my life. Besides, my message to him was no more embarrassing than his message to me.”
    “Absolutely,” I acquiesce, even though I don’t actually agree.
    “Should I replay his message to me?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    And that’s when it happens. Right there in the middle of Starbucks. I don’t even feel it coming. The previous night’s beer decides to announce itself as I let out the loudest, most obscene, cheek-vibrating fart of my life. Every single coffee drinking patron in the place turns to look at me. I can’t even pretend it wasn’t me because my face turns bright red and then blanches a pale, anemic white.
    Brice goes apoplectic with laughter. “Now that’s embarrassing!” he shrieks.
    I’m so mortified that I rush off to the bathroom, partly to regain my composure, partly in case my anus sees fit to emit anything else. Now, I remember why I don’t drink beer. It makes me fart—that and the fact that I’m not especially fond of the taste.
    I splash cold water