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WARNING: LIGHTMATURE SCENES AHEAD
THEY took a cab back to Dick's building. Both were obviously too intoxicated to get behind the wheel, and he assured Iris that he'd find a way to pick up his Porsche in the morning. Dick and Iris sat on the two opposite ends of the back seat, afraid that the alcohol running through their veins would let them get too close again, but their cab driver had somewhat of a different idea. Throughout the whole twenty-dollar ride, he blasted Marvin Gaye's Let's Get It On at full volume, as if everyone in that tiny car was deaf in both ears. Dick and Iris shared a look of unease.
After plopping a thin, twenty-dollar bill into the driver's hand, Iris made sure to look at the front of his car as she slid out. No turquoise beads heading from his mirror. No weird symbols. She was clearly drunk and worrying herself over nothing, but Iris couldn't shake the weird feeling she got when she noticed the driver staring at her as she walked away. It was stupid. She was being stupid.
They both hardly had any balance while riding the elevator up to Dick's apartment. Iris clutched the side railing, and it felt like every cell in her body was rising as the elevator flew up to the eighth floor. Dick held onto her shoulders when the elevator came to a sudden halt. However, Dick still needed a little help himself, and Iris wound her arms tightly around his own shoulders as they stumbled down the corridor to his apartment.
Why did she assume that this would be a good idea in the first place? Going out with your coworker ... dancing with him ... almost locking lips ... It was a recipe for disaster and she was dumb enough to fall for it!
But still ... it felt nice to let loose. She needed to allow herself that once in a while.
"I'm starving," she announced, staggering into his apartment first. Iris sprinted forward and into the kitchen, whipping his cabinets open for something to eat. "Don't you eat anything with a high amount of salt?"
Dick slammed his front door shut and leaned against it, trying to catch his breath. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he muttered, "I try not to. It's not good for my diet."
"Okay, Mr. Weight Watchers," she snickered, digging through the contents of the last cabinet. "I just want something with –" She paused. Finally, way in the back, she found a bag of potato chips.
"Oh. My. God," she breathed, plucking the large, family size bag out and closing the cabinet. Dick looked up and noticed she was holding it out as if she was imitating that scene from the Lion King. "It's the messiah, Dick."
He raised a brow. "I'm pretty sure that's just a bag of chips."
