by Dylan Heart
My ass swivels against his groin. “Sure.”
He pulls back, his eyes wide in excitement. “Really?”
“No.” I break away from his grip and grab a Jell-O shot.
“Where’s Joey?” Summer leans against the laminate counter.
“He’ll be here in a little bit. He’s bringing his cousin,” Tyson says.
I turn to him, my finger coated in Jell-O. “I didn’t know he had a cousin.”
“That’s silly. Everybody has cousins.”
I swallow the disgusting chunk of Jell-O and raise my hand. “I don’t.”
“That’s unfortunate,” says Dillon. “I’d love to meet up with a cousin of yours.”
“If I had a cousin, he’d probably be a boy.”
“Hey, get me drunk enough...” He bites his lip and pumps his hips forward. His hands cradle an imaginary ass while moans purr out of his throat.
Remember what I said about the humping? It’s time to start hiding shit.
Summer and I walk into the living room, leaving the two boys in the kitchen. Summer grinds her heels into the carpet. “Where did all these people come from?” she asks, referring to the crowded living room.
Don’t ask me how we failed to detect the entrance of well over twenty people into the house. I see a lot of familiar faces in the crowd. Most of them are still in high school. Like spotting Waldo in a collage of cowboys, my eyes dart straight to Cassadee James. The mere presence of her stupid ass almost makes me want to leave or go back into the kitchen with the boys.
Cassadee James is your basic fake bitch. Two-faced and she has the laugh of a donkey crossbred with a goat. Mentally, she never progressed past knock-knock jokes and basic algebra. Physically, she’s been carrying around love potions shaped like tits since the sixth grade. And don’t think for a minute they weren’t battle tested, because those headlights have blinded more horny teenagers than it would take to fill a football field. And that has nothing to do with why I hate her. I fact, I don’t care who sleeps with who. Everyone should just fuck each other. There’d be less pain and suffering in the world if everyone got off as much as possible.
No, I’m not a slut shamer. My reasons for hating her are valid. She stole my diary and posted the entries on an anonymous blog back in middle school. Simply unforgivable.
She flashes me a smile, and I immediately need a drink. If she comes within five feet seven inches of me, I’m going to Caty with a ‘D’ her ass. That’s a Mean Girls reference, by the way. I twist toward Summer, but she’s gone. I spot her, the life of the party, in the middle of the room with her hands up, dancing to the latest jam. I’m seven shots deep, but I’m not drunk enough to join her and make an ass out of myself.
Now, seven might sound like a lot, but I was blessed with a man’s tolerance for alcohol. Sometimes that’s a great thing, but mostly, it’s a bank account burning disaster, since I don’t tend to get drunk as quick as the other girls and sometimes the men. Then I overcompensate and drink too much, too fast, just to catch up. The catch is, by the time I actually catch up, my system is at least five shots behind.
I stroll back into the kitchen to find Dillon and Tyson arm wrestling on the island. I lean against the doorframe and look on in amusement. No way is Tyson going to win this. He’s not a wimp, but Dillon spent the last year working on what he calls his beach bod. We had all planned to get into tip-top shape for our senior trip to Florida, but Dillon was the only one who followed through. It’s not like any of us are out of shape though. You could certainly do body shots off Tyson’s stiff abs.
If they were having a grunting match, Tyson would definitely be winning. Alas, this isn’t that kind of war and Dillon slams Tyson’s arm down hard against the counter, knocking a shot glass onto the wooden floor where it shatters.
“I’m not drinking that,” Tyson declares.
“Yeah, you are.” Dillon grabs a drink that appears to be a combination of tar and cream soda and pushes it into Tyson’s hand, both of them ignoring the fact that they’ve just broken a glass.
“Gross. What the fuck is that?” I interject, also ignoring the broken glass.
Tyson peers into the drink and grimaces.
“Something we invented. We’re gonna call it the toilet bowl. Want a taste?” Dillon extends a glass to me.
“Does it taste like a toilet?”
His eyes narrow in confusion. “Why would it taste like a toilet?”
Tyson slams the empty glass onto the counter and spits up all over Dillon’s shirt. I laugh. Dillon moans, “Oh, man...”
Tyson rushes to the sink, grabs a Natty Light, and pops it open.
“Didn’t you just throw up?” I ask.
“Need a chaser,” he says in between gulps.
He’s always had this thing where he gargles with beer to rinse vomit out of his mouth. He’ll probably forget the sink is being used as a cooler, and then spit the improvised mouthwash onto the ice. I decide to take my chances with Cassadee rather than watch that impending shitshow.
Prepared for the worst, I walk back into the living room and notice a crowd has gathered around the dining table. The vixen is propped against a window on the other side of the room, mingling with her latest victim—a young man with a chinstrap and a Tapout hat. If anybody deserves her herpes, it’s probably him.
I find and stand behind Summer as she loudly chants for Joey, who must be at the opposite end of the table playing pong. From the battle cries of the drunks, it must be a close game. If God had made me three inches taller, I’d probably be able to see the game in all its glory. I tap on Summer’s shoulder. “Why the hell is Cassadee here?”
She turns to me. “It’s my party and I can invite whoever I want.”
“Sorry. I thought you hated her,” I say sheepishly.
“I do hate her. I don’t know why the fuck she’s here,” she says and turns back to the table. “Go throw her through a window.”
That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night. I turn and glance at the journal-thieving temptress. I don’t have the strength to pick her up. Her tits alone have to weigh thirty pounds, but she’s positioned perfectly against that window for me to rush her. The visual of a scale pops into my head. On one side is an unconscious Cassadee and on the other, me behind prison bars. That side of the scale is practically glued to the ground. In an effort to stay out of prison, I begin to push through the dense crowd.
“Checkmate!” I hear Joey scream.
Now, I know they’re not playing chess because this isn’t a grade school party. I assume checkmate means that he’s won, so I squeeze between two stoners to be sure. I don’t have a good view, but I can make out Joey tearing his shirt off and bumping his chest against his partner. Yep, they’ve won.
Someone bumps into me, almost pushing me to the ground.
“Sorry,” I hear Summer say. “But do you see Joey’s cousin? Total babe.”
That piques my interest. I shove my way past the two stoners and freeze in place. Everybody’s calling him Joey’s cousin, but from where I’m standing, I simply call him Blue.
Of course, it’s fucking Blue.
Chapter Seven
Fight or flight is totally a real thing, but even with that basic high school health class knowledge, I can’t help but stand and stare at him. My brain goes through the motions of thought so fast that my body can’t keep up. Brain says turn around, but eyes say Just give me a damn minute.
Blue cracks open a beer and chugs it. In beer pong, the loser is the one who’s supposed to drink. But since beer pong is a drinking game, win or lose, the game has evolved into a way to pass the time while you drink.
Blue wipes beer off his mouth with the back of his hand. There’s a visible trail of spilled beer rolling down the front of his white tee. Then it happens, as it inevitably always does, his eyes meet mine. His lips, very slowly, form into a huge, brimming smile. He’s definitely a grower and not a shower—I’m referring to his smile, by the way. He always seems to be smili
ng. That’s one of the key components of my inexplicable lust for him, but boy, he really can charm the panties off a girl with that smile.
We’re shooting lasers at each other, unable to turn away. Will people notice? Would people notice two elephants locked in a loving embrace in the middle of flat field? Probably. The elephant in the fucking room’s about a millisecond away from being the talk of the party, and I’m not about to allow it.
With a tilt of my head, a little shake, and a few fingers through my hair, I tell him to follow me. But he’s obviously not fluent in my body language, because he just stands there, frozen. I wave my hand at him, hoping to get his attention and mouth the words, Come on. His brows perk up, and I’m positive he thinks we’re about to have a repeat performance. He’s wrong.
He makes his way through the crowd and over to me, but I turn and lead him out of the living room before he comes into contact with me. We make our way to the bathroom and he rushes inside. I slam the door shut and pivot to face him.
He grabs me by the waist and zooms in for a kiss, but I arch back. “No. We’re not having sex in the bathroom.”
“Oh?”
“I brought you in here to talk away from prying ears.”
He rolls his head and moans. “Are we just gonna talk? Can I at least go get a beer?”
My eyes squint. “Are you serious?”
“That depends on how long we’re gonna be in here,” he chuckles.
“Not long enough for you to sober up.”
“Good.”
I glare at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Joey’s cousin?”
“I didn’t know you knew him.” He shrugs roughly and bumps his shoulder into his chin. “Ow.”
“We’re the same age in the same small town. Of course I know him.”
“I guess I just didn’t think about it. I thought you were older.”
“How old do I look?”
“Twenty-five?”
My lips pull tight.
“I’m kidding.”
The night at the fair, he was sweet and genuine. Now he’s making jokes about my age. That’s obviously the quickest way to a girl’s heart. I punch him in the chest.
“Ow,” he whines, rubbing his chest. “I’m gonna need medical attention by the time we get out of here.”
“The point is that I know him. I know him very well, and not to scare you away, but his best friend is my ex-boyfriend,” I say. “And do I really look twenty-five?”
He shakes his head, smiles and runs his palm against my face. “No. You look beautiful.”
Every damn time he says that, I lose track of my inner monologue. “Stop...”
“No,” he says firmly and lowers his hands to my waist.
I don’t stop him this time but lean in instead. “Not to sound like a creep, but I’ve kind of missed you.”
“It’s okay. I like creeps and I’ve missed you, too.”
His eyes ask for permission before he leans in and kisses me. It’s everything I remembered, plus his intoxicating beer breath. His fingers dance on my hip as he draws me in closer. There’s a pulse in his jeans, and I pull back.
“When we leave this bathroom, don’t go around blabbing about how you just kissed the prettiest girl at the party, because then everyone will know it was me.” I’m joking, but I’m not sure it’s coming across that way; a moment of self-awareness I can get behind. “Except Cassadee. She’ll probably think it was her.”
“Who’s that?”
“Some bitch.”
“She that bad?” he asks with a smirk.
“You can predict her behavior like reading a how-to manual. She’s boring, concise, and her bad attitude is hidden underneath a pretty smile ”
“Wow. Looks like I’m barking up the wrong tree.”
I push my thigh into his groin, pushing him back against the pristine pedestal sink. “Shut up.”
“Okay.”
And it’s me kissing him this time. More passionately than I should if I ever had any intention of playing coy. I think it’s crystal clear there won’t be any playing hard-to-get in whatever this is between the two of us. I bring one hand to his chest, stopping him from diving into my mouth. “Don’t take this the wrong way—”
His breath is sharp and ragged. “I don’t think there’s room to take this the wrong way. Unless that knee of yours should jerk into my—”
“Not that.” I stand back. “I like you, and I’m glad you came tonight, but right now, we need to keep this private.”
He leans in and whispers, “Isn’t that why we’re in the bathroom?”
“I’m talking about everything. I don’t think my ex is over me, and I haven’t even told him I’m not going to college, which is the entire reason we broke up in the first place.”
He sucks on his lip and folds his arms as he leans against the sink. “He’s your ex, and I’m sure it’s for a reason, but do you really owe him that?”
“I just need to talk to him first.”
“I guess I understand.” He nods and stands up straight. “But I’m ready to drink.”
I grab him by his arm as he walks past me and opens the door. “Blue?”
He twists on his heel. “Yeah?”
And I kiss him again.
Cassadee’s all up in my face. I wish she were fighting me, but she’s doing far worse. She’s talking to me. Grunts and moans would probably pass for intelligent conversation with this imbecile. But I accidentally bumped into her in my race out of the bathroom and was forced to stick around after apologizing.
“Oh, my God. Sarah Palin is such a twat,” she says to me. I definitely agree with her there, but I don’t know where Cassadee’s sudden passion for years-old politics is coming from. Saturday Night Live reruns, perhaps? “She’s the reason I got into politics. Somebody has to stand up to her.”
Stand up to her? She’s as irrelevant as tartar sauce at Taco Bell. There’s bigger fish to fry, politico-girl.
“Totally agree.” I’m regretting not staying locked away with Blue. I could be getting fucked on a bathroom sink, but instead I’m being sprayed with the spit of a wilder beast.
“I never saw you as the brainy type.”
Excuse me? I wasn’t the valedictorian, but I’m pretty sure a three-point-four beats a one-point-zero. The former is about a B and the latter is about a D. I think those are pretty accurate digits in multiple facets of our lives, including our breasts, which is the only thing she’ll ever have on me.
“Excuse me for a moment,” I say and reach into my pocket for my phone that isn’t ringing. I put one finger up to her. “My mom’s calling. I’ll be right back.”
I walk away in a hurry with my phone pressed against my ear. Too occupied conversing with Casper the Friendly Ghost, I stumble into Joey and Blue. “Hi,” I say enthusiastically.
“Are you talking to us or your phone?” Joey asks.
“You. There’s nobody on the phone.” I lower my phone and push it into my pocket.
“Hi,” Blue says, reaching out a friendly hand to me. “Nice to meet you.”
He’s definitely overplaying the We haven’t met before card, but it impresses me that he took the initiative. His grip is tight as I shake his hand. “Hi, Blue.”
Shit. I’m not supposed to know him.
Joey zeroes in on me. “Do you know my cousin?”
My instincts scream three words: deny, deny, and deny.
“I’ve met him before,” says not-my-gut.
He laughs. “Are you the girl from the carnival?”
Huh? What? Who? The Girl? From the carnival? My eyes shift to Blue, rubbing the back of his head, looking not at me, but past me. I’ll deal with him later. “Not there.” I shake my head.
“Fender bender,” Blue blurts out.
“Huh?” I say. Blue’s eyes beam toward me. “Yeah... he hit me. I was sitting at a green light and up he came and bumped right into me.”
“The light was green.” Blue motions with a flat hand. �
�And I yelled Green means go.”
“That’s not how it—”
“So then I rammed her in the ass.” He shrugs. “But we’re cool now.”
“Yeah. We’re cool. He agreed to pay me five hundred dollars for damages if I didn’t get the police involved.”
“But I already paid her. So we’re cool.”
“Actually, I haven’t received a penny yet.”
“Well, it’s in the mail.”
Well, this cover up is certainly escalating to absurd levels of stupidity, but don’t think I’m not going to get my money’s worth. “Oh, I forgot to give you my address. That’s probably why I haven’t received it yet.”
It’s becoming a game to the both of us, and I have to admit, it’s kind of fun. Every time we say something, Joey’s head shifts toward whoever is lying at that moment. He can’t be stupid enough to believe either of us, but I guess we’ll find out.
“Of course you did. You probably don’t remember because you were drinking,” Blue says and bumps Joey with his elbow. He has a winning smile, and I could smack the shit out of him.
“You were drinking and driving?” Joey asks with his mouth agape. I’ve always been that friend who lectures others on the dangers of driving drunk.
“Before noon,” Blue adds while shaking his head in disapproval.
“Of course I wasn’t drinking and driving.” I’m now faced with a decision. I can continue along with this ridiculous charade and enroll myself in a string of lectures from concerned friends, or I could out myself as the whore of the county fair. “For fuck’s sake. I met him at the carnival!”
Joey’s head sinks, his mouth dropping in shock. He’s either surprised his cousin could get someone like me or flabbergasted that I would sleep with a carnie. I don’t know how much Blue told him, but I guess it was too fucking much.
“I told you she was pretty,” Blue says to Joey with the widest, most innocent grin.
Chapter Eight
I walk by Joey, who is passed out on the couch on my way to the kitchen. I’m not going to come out and say that I got him as drunk as possible so that he would forget that I was the girl in the grass outside the carnival. I will admit that, against my own better judgment, I encouraged him to bong a half bottle of Jack, however.
