Bimbo beer

chapter 2

“I think I’ll be full by the time I’m finished eating this,” Sam leaned forward to pick up her bag of food.
“Oh…” I slumped noticeably.
“I mean, if you feel like drinking, I got some red wine in the fridge. Want some?”
“Sure,” I perked slightly. “But I can’t drink too much if I drive home.”
“Don’t worry. You can sleep on the couch again like last time.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Although – I thought as I found the half-emptied bottle in the fridge and carried it back to the couch – Sam did tend to be the one who decided what we did together, down to little details like what we ate and drank. I guess I adored her so much that I didn’t mind or notice.
By the time I was sitting next to her, she was starting the movie from Netflix.
“So you said this is your favourite movie?” I asked, acutely aware that her thighs were inches from mine.
“I love 300,” Sam grinned. “It’s been too long.”
“You don’t mind if I drink from the bottle?” I asked as I flipped my shoes off and sat cross-legged. This brought my knee precariously close to touching her leg.
“No,” Sam shook her head. “That’s what I’ve been doing.”
“Oh good. I’ll – hang on. You drink?” I smirked in her direction.
“Yeah? What is it?”
“I thought you didn’t drink?”
“What gave you that idea?”
“I dunno. I guess it was your reaction when I brought the bimbo beer out.”
She rolled her eyes. “I drink, Michael, but only a little. Red wine is good for your health.”
“You’re good for your health,” I chuckled, toying with the idea of prodding her arm. “I mean… you’re good for my health…”
“It’s starting!” Sam interrupted.
We spent the next hour watching the television screen, snacking on Sam’s Chik-fil-a as I explained how 300 was actually an accurate depiction of one of the books in Herodotus’s Histories as Sam googled the facts I fed her. At this point, the wine bottle was nearly empty, and my body swung loosely as I wove my impressive tales of facts.
“Sorry,” I said finally, wincing. “I tend to ramble when I get excited; you have to tell me to stop.”
“Nah, it’s fine Michael,” Sam leaned towards the coffee table to grab a handful of Chic-fil-a potato slices. “Are you drunk already?”
“I’m buzzed,” I swayed slightly. “I am not drunk.”
“Riiiiight.”
“Am not. Sam? Sam Dominique… I am not drunk…”
As she leaned over her knees to reach the coffee table, she glanced at me with a smile. Then, shaking her head, she plucked one of my beers out.
“Just one,” she said emphatically. “I’m watching my carbs.”
“Carbs? What are carbs, even? I haven’t gotten a straight answer yet.”
“They’re what makes it so hard for me to lose three pounds,” Sam replied smoothly.
“Three pounds? You sure you didn’t forget to take your shoes off when you stepped on the scale?”
“It’s nothing,” Sam gripped at the bottle cap. “Hey, can you get the bottle opener? It’s in the cupboard left of the sink.”
“Left of the sink?” I asked. “There’s two cupboards left of the sink. You mean the –”
“I got it,” Sam interrupted me again as her bottle hissed. “It’s a twist off.”
“Damn, you’re strong,” I joked as she took a light swig. “Getting that thing open with your bare hands… how is it?”
Even before her lips parted the bottle’s head, her eyes fluttered with shock. “It’s sweet!” she raised her eyebrows. “Really sweet! You sure it isn’t cider?”
“It was in the beer section… and it’s called Bimbo Beer…”
“Kinda warm too,” Sam stared down her torso. “You can feel it go all the way down… like vodka.”
“So it’s good?” I asked. “Maybe I can have some.”
“Shouldn’t you finish your wine first?”
“Ha! Is that a challenge?”
“No, I’m saying space your drinks out. Take some sips, maybe have a glass of water…”
“But I told you I’m not drunk,” I winked, swinging a mouthful of red wine that made me sputter.
“Michael!” Sam rested her hands on her hips. “Small sips!”
“Sure! I promise! Also, now you can catch up.”
“Please. I’m not a lightweight. One beer won’t get to me.”
We continued watching the mighty Persian Empire falling victim to King Leonidas’s piercing one-liners. Too buzzed to talk, I reclined comfortably into the warm softness of the couch, revelling in the experience of being next to my favourite human being. Sam sat nearby with her legs straightened over the couch’s edge, the bottle of Bimbo wedged snugly between them. From time to time, she sipped its contents, smiling at the pleasant taste. Seemingly moments later, I watched her tilt the bottle high, craning her head upwards to suckle the last few drops. Apparently, I was too buzzed to notice how close she was to finishing.
“Ugh,” she rested back against the couch. “So good.”
“Was it?” I smiled. “I’m glad. Now then, if I could have one…”
“You’re too drunk to have one yet!” she whined happily as she bent clumsily forward to grab another bottle.
“But I can have one,” I reasoned. “If I just hold it without drinking it right away…”
“Stooooop,” Sam pushed my shoulder playfully. “I can’t trust you when you’re drunk.”
“I’m not…”
Sam twisted the second bottle open, closing her eyes and sniffing the sweet, intoxicating fumes. There was something about the way she was acting that brought my consciousness into just enough focus to realize that I had never seen Sam drunk before, and the way things were going, she was very close to that point.
“Are you really drunk already?” I laughed. “One and done?”
“Michael! I am totally not a lightweight. I told you already.”
“Yeah, I guess you did.”
“You think I should stop?”
“Oh no, not at all!”
“Well then,” she smirked, tipping the bottle to lips that puckered sensually around the rim to gulp a large mouthful – a giant mouthful.