Tequila wasn't the only thing that made a woman's clothes fall off … Vodka did, too. And amaretto mixed with a bit of sour mix. And a shot or two of whiskey the same way. Hell, pretty much any alcoholic beverage in large enough quantities could heat things up.
Jazz stumbled down the barely lit street, feet catching on this and that while she made her way toward home just a few blocks away. Stumbled being the operative word. Two steps from her best friend's door, she decided that her shoes were the cause of her bumbling walk. They were cute ones with delicate black leather straps that crisscrossed over the top of her foot. She couldn't recall the brand, but she did know that she'd gotten them on sale. “Score!” She kicked them to the side, heels thumping on the well-manicured lawn.
"Jazzy! What are you doing?” Her best friend and partner in crime screamed from the doorway.
"Bitch, quit your yelling. I'm right here."
"You quit your yelling."
"Did you just call me a yoohoo? Whore, you've had way too many,” her friend stated and downed another shot of … something.
"Naw, not enough.” Not nearly enough. “See ya. I'm goin’ home before I get really drunker."