You fall asleep briefly and are awoken as you pull up at Randall's

You could feel something brushing against your face and the slight sensation of movement. A feminine sounding grunt in your ear.

"C'mon, sleeping beauty. Time to wake up," said Randall in a sugary sweet tone.

"Ugh..." you moaned. You felt your consciousness stir. "But Mommy, I don't want to go to school today." Your joke managed to elicit a chuckle from Randall as you struggled to open your eyes and orient yourself. "Fuck." You were feeling considerably more drunk now than when you had passed out. The world was blurry and seemed to be spinning.

"Sorry I had to wake you up, buddy," said Randall. "Don't think I quite have the lifting strength to move you." He playfully flexed his arm. Though there was some hints of definition, Miss Card's arm was lithe and feminine.

"S'all... good," you slurred, stumbling out of the car. "We here?"

"Yeah," said Randall. "We're here." He took hold of your arm and pulled you close, offering support. You draped an arm over his narrow shoulders. Slowly, the two of you made it up walkway and into the house. "Tim, can you make it to the couch okay? I still need to call your mom." You flashed him a drunken grin and stumbled your way into the living room, rolling over the back of the couch. It was new and the coushins were comfortable. It felt a good deal better than how you were positioned in the car, passed out. You weren't particularly tired anymore, but you were starting to feel bored.

The booze had done a fine job of eviscerating your attention span. You could hear Randall's heels clicking on the tile in the entryway, muffling somewhat as he moved upstairs. A moment later, you could hear his muffled voice talking and laughing on what you assumed was the phone. You couldn't believe how easy it was for Randall to charm your mother. It was simultaneously mystifying and infuriating. For one, it genuinely seemed that your mother couldn't distinguish the idea of Randall, your best friend, from the body of Miss Card that he now wore. To her, he was Miss Card and Randall was only getting better at playing to that. Which lead to item number two, it pissed you off to no end that your own words held so little sway with her, especially considering you were on the verge of adulthood. All Randall had to do was giggle and make some joke about shoes and he could get her to agree to anything. Well, maybe not anything. You doubted that your mom would be fine with you being plastered at the home of your buxom history teacher, tossing care and responsibility into the wind.

Absently, you gazed around the room. Place actually looks half decent this time, you thought. After the party, it looked more like flop house than a space inhabited by a 30 year old woman. You could hear Randall's foot steps coming down the stairs.

"Alright, Jenny. We'll see you soon," said Randall, pushing his Laura Card act to the max. The second the phone clicked, his expression shifted. "Jesus, Tim! I always knew your mom was a bit of a control freak, but... ugh." He tossed the phone on the couch. "I think I'm gonna have a glass of wine. You want anything or are you still smooth sailing over there?"

"Yeah... GIMME another!"

Randall laughed. "Dude, you are so drunk right now. You sound ridiculous." He sauntered into the kitchen. "Tell you what. I'll go ahead a put a couple drinks in the fridge for you, but why don't you sit tight for a little first," he called back to you. "Let me play a little catch up."

A minute or so later (though it seemed like much longer), Randall made his back to the couch, glass and bottle in hand. You pulled your feet back, giving him room to sit and he set his drink on the coffee table. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he took a long drink from the glass and leaned back into the sofa. In your drunken haze, you made no discernible effort to keep your eyes from running all over his body. Gone was the black skirt and the creme colored blouse. The replacement outfit was epitome of casual. You had been too drunk and too scatterbrained to hope for something sexy, but faced with Randall's current state of dress, you felt underwhelmed. Disappointed, even.

"Sweats?" you asked, sounding significantly more confused than you intended. Baggy grey sweat pants hid the delectable contours of Randall's shapely legs. The rest of his body was equally obscured under the tent of a over-sized navy blue t-shirt. Despite the cover, the shirt still clung fiercely to the shape of his mountainous breasts and judging by the clear outline of his semi-hard nipples, Randall wasn't wearing a bra anymore. His long auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Miss Card's trademark spectacles still adorned his face, but the makeup had been removed. Nonetheless, drunk or sober, you knew that Randall was devastatingly beautiful, no makeup required.

"Well, uh, thanks, dude," said Randall, his cheeks flaring a deep crimson.

"Wait, wh-whut?" you stammered.

Randall chuckled. "Tim, you just told me that it didn't matter if you were drunk or sober, that my devastating beauty didn't need makeup," he answered, nearly **** on the words from his amused embarrassment.

"Oh God!" you lamented. "I can't believe I said that out loud."

"It's cool, Tim. It's cool. You're in rare form." Randall didn't seem like he was going to make a big deal of it, but as you continued to make drunken small talk, he noticed he wouldn't stop smiling. "And remember, dude, I promised," he explained, pulling at the sweatpants. You had to think hard, but you gradually managed to remember that Randall HAD promised as much as a condition of you coming over this week. Mentally, you kicked yourself. If it hadn't been for Allison, you might have had a chance to get Randall into something more appealing. On the other hand, you were glad that Randall was taking his promise so seriously.

"So, did you have fun tonight before you had to come BUST me?" you asked, candidly.

Randall raised his eyebrows. "Well, it was kinda weird being on the teachers' side of things. It was only the second dance I'd ever been to, first one like... ya know, this. I've been out on the town with fewer pervy dudes. Johnson was pretty relentless." Finishing his first glass, he poured himself another. "I catch students checking me out all the time, but tonight was crazy. It was like they didn't care that I was a teacher. I had to do a lot of scolding. Eyes are one thing, but some of these little fuckers couldn't keep their hands to themselves. In fact..." You made a loud scoffing sound.

"What?"

"Seemed like you let George fly under the radar on that one, Randall."

Randall sighed deeply. "Tim, I already told you. I pushed him off like a second after that."

"Randall. Dude. I looked long enough to see you NOT shove him off. You're a big gir... uh, boy, uh whatever. Just calling a spade, a spaaaade." Randall took another long drink from his glass. "What's the deal? I'm no judge."

Randall finished another glass and you whistled your approval. "Liquid courage," he muttered. "I don't know what you want me to say, Tim." His tone of voice was flustered. He paused. "It felt good alright. Jeez..." Silence filled the room for a moment. On some level that was what you had wanted to hear, but now that you had, you weren't entirely sure why.

Changing the subject, Randall asked, "Are you doing, okay? About Allison, I mean?"

You looked away. You had already discussed it some, but you could tell by the concerned look Randall was giving you, he wasn't going to let you dodge this. "As okay as I'm going to be for the moment. It's just... I was trying so hard..." Randall moved next to you, putting an arm around your shoulder.

"I know, buddy."

"What the hell is going to happen to my senior year?" you complained. "First, you died. Then just when things start to look better, like everything is going to be okay, Allison decides to ditch me. I know you said that plenty of girls are out there looking for action, but I just don't see it. If Allison's already out there hanging around some college bro, it's like she's forgotten me already. I knew we were done. I knew it would happen sometime. I just..."

Randall pressed a finger to your lips. "SSssshhhh... No more moping, Timbo. This weekend is all about you and me. With what I've got planned, you're gonna forget all about Allison." Standing up and stretching, he continued, "Why don't we call it an evening and hit the sack?"