I turned around when I heard my door squeal a little, to see Walker with a shit-eating grin on his face, standing with his arms crossed in my doorway. “Why don’t you do that in the bathroom like normal people, Mags?”
I sighed and then smirked “You know it’s been a habit since you guys lived in the frat house. Besides, this is more comfortable.”
Walker strode over to the bed in his khaki cargo shorts and black cut off that said ‘Bust the U’ in gold letters, and took a seat. I tamed my frizzy mess while Walker strolled me down memory lane of hilarious drunken game days past. I was snapped back to reality when five text messages came to my phone all at once, all along the lines of it being beer-thirty.
Standing in front of the fraternity house, digging for a beer in my cooler, made my entire body shake with anticipation of a wonderful day with old friends. Once I started getting messages while pampering myself, Walker hopped into action and got us straight to our fun-filled day of boozing as fast as possible. We kept a casual distance in the crowd of our former classmates. Everything seemed to be back to normal in my old world, and the comfort of friends and smiling faces warmed up my icy guilt. I was surprised about how casually people would talk about Randy, or throw out funny stories about him. I was so used to people treating me with kid-gloves that the calmness and normalcy almost felt thick in the hot fall Florida heat.
The house had not changed since the first time I stepped foot in it my first week on campus. The walls were beer stained white, with years and years of fraternity member portrait collages hanging, dating back to when their fraternity first debuted on campus. The smell of locker room, cologne and booze wafted into my memory bank and brought a smile to my face. This was the first place I met the greatest guy friends I ever had. All of those years ago, I never pictured my life to be the way it was, knee-deep in confusion and depression. Luckily, that heavy sadness was starting to release me.
Warm arms glided around my shoulders, sending me crashing back into real time. A deep, raspy voice curled in my ear. “Mags, let’s keep this day just about remembering the good times.”
I spun around slowly in Mitch’s arms and gazed up into his ice blue eyes as he wiped a tear from my cheek. I nodded and pulled him into me. I hadn’t realized I had wandered into Randy and Walker’s old room they used to share, and had been crying. Luckily, Mitch was the only one in our group to notice my suddenly melancholy state.
In our large assembly, we gathered our coolers, tents, chairs, grill and long table and began our short trek to our usual tailgating spot. I chatted with a junior Mitch had just introduced me to about Professor Ridgeway, who I loved in school. Apparently, over the years, she had stopped being the cool psychology professor who let you get extra credit by juggling in the front of the class. Now she was the one who, on a rating professor website, had all sad faces and warnings from former students that her tests were nightmares, and she loved to strike red all over final papers.
Setting down my chair in the shadiest spot I could find, I sighed. “I guess everything over time really does change.” The junior cracked another beer and said he didn’t mind the difficult work as long as he learned something. I was shocked, that was the first time I could remember someone saying those words and actually meaning them.
From a few steps away, Walker motioned to me that we were up in beer pong and I reluctantly obliged. I was absolutely terrible at drinking games, and enjoyed spectating with a casual beer much more.
To my surprise, I made the first two cups of the game and started to enjoy a little friendly competition. Walker was the perfect mix of calm and excitement I needed. Even with every sip of beer, he kept his promise of friends only for the day, and acted like our passionate fighting, loving making, and almost relationship were nonexistent.
After playing a few rounds and beating the pants off Mitch and the junior, whose name I couldn’t remember, Walker and I went to try our luck at corn hole. That was where my luck ran dry. I couldn’t even get the beanbag onto the board, even though I was trying. Luckily, by that point, most people were too drunk to care, or to even continue, the game.
The sun started to beat down on the backs of our necks as the wind died down to nothing. It was just about eleven in the morning and I was feeling no pain. Stumbling over to where Walker was chatting with some girl I didn’t know, I slid my arm around his waist, asking him to escort me to the bathroom. Smiling at the temptress with his flirty grin, he excused himself. He threw his arm around my shoulders and started to guide me along, keeping my steps as straight as possible.
Once we were safely out of sight of anyone my drunken eyes could recognize, I gripped Walker’s shoulder and pushed him up against the wall of a building. With my face inches away from his, I slurred, “If you’re trying to make me jealous, it’s working.” Without another word, our lips collided and Walker’s hands were gripping my hips.
After a few whistles and hoots from co-eds walking by, Walker broke from my grasp, panting. “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. But if jealousy does this to you, I might need to consider it.” He gripped my sides firmly, letting his lips gently dance over mine, “Mags, I’m yours. You have nothing to worry about.” Walker kissed the nape of my neck, letting his tongue taste my tingling skin that was yearning to feel more of him as he lifted me off the ground, holding me firmly enough so I could feel the magnificent ripples of his sinewy physique.
I wrapped my legs around him and I breathed out, relieved from his words as they soaked into my beer soused, jealous brain, “OK, good, because I’m yours. Can you forgive me?”
Walker set me down, leaning my swaying body against the wall, his southern accent thicker than normal, “Mags, I know ya better than you think. It’s flattering when you’re protective.” His mouth tasted mine more intensely, letting his tongue graze my own and his teeth softly nibble my lower lip, sending chills of passion through every nerve in my body before walking me the rest of the way to the bathrooms.
By the time we made our way back to the tailgate area, it was time to start loading up.
Shoveling a few bits of a charred hotdog into my mouth, I folded a bunch of chairs and helped load up the few truck beds pledges had driven over. It was so convenient having them around, I realized how much I enjoyed their devoted help for years. Always being the significant other of an older brother really had its perks. While I was in school, Randy made sure I was driven to and from the classes he couldn’t take me to, and we always had a sober driver no matter where we were going.
Looking back on all of the people who I’d grown up with during my college years, I saw how much I really had gained, not just from Randy, but from all of the guys I’d the privilege of getting to know. A wave of sentimental emotions rolled over me and I walked over and hugged Mitch tightly. He looked down at my drunken face and smiled. I was known to be an affectionate drunk.
We all made our way back to the fraternity house to watch the game out of the sun and the heat. Being in the stands was always exciting, but being on a comfy couch in the air conditioning was not easy to beat in the hotter-than-hell Florida weather. I was sandwiched in between Mitch and the junior that hated his psychology teacher, on a couch that was probably older than any of us judging by the holes and faded gray spots all over.
We all started booing when our school’s wide receiver fumbled the ball. Walker was sitting on the floor right in front of me. He reached down into his pocket to hand me my phone, placing it in my lap. Letting his fingers glide slowly across my thigh, he asked if I needed another beer. I nodded and creased my brow, wondering why he even had my cell in the first place. I shrugged, remembering my pockets were shallow and I was not the most put-together drunk.