Page 37 of Playing For Keeps

They’d drawn their characters from a random generator and entered them into the Google doc. It was “supposed” to be random, but somehow, Chris managed to get Dionysus… which was a little too on brand. Farren was assigned Nike, goddess of victory. Chris helped her procure the items she needed for her outfit: the carefully draped cream gown, the gold-leafed headpiece, and a pair of golden wings he’d scored from a place he used to work for—a local theater company going out of business. Those would have to wait in the backseat of the car, or they’d never make it there safely.

Sebastian drew Ares, god of war. It seemed a little out of character for him; when she’d asked him what he wished he’d gotten, he joked that he’d wanted Morpheus so he could be the man of her dreams, again. Farren tried her best not to eye roll at the joke and the call back to the weekend before, a giddiness sweeping through her at the sweet sentiment.

She planned on a long coat over the outfit, not keen to ruin the reveal at the party and wanting to be sure she had something to keep her warm over there if it should prove too brisk for drinks to soothe. Her toes would have to suffer regardless; the gladiator sandals they’d found in the clearance section of Target were leftover from summer and no match for the evening chill.

He arrived a little early, while she was still fastening her shoes in the front hallway, and for the third time since she’d handed it over, she was glad she’d given him a key, hearing the lock click midway through a buckle. It would have been a bitch to try and buzz him in while struggling with these fastenings.

“Wait a second!” she yelled, pressing her butt against the door to stop him from coming in. He laughed at her ridiculousness, but she was able to bundle up just in time, preserving the full effect for the party.

Sebastian opted for a bomber jacket to cover his costume, the war helmet obscuring most of his face, a golden breastplate stretched across his torso over the tunic making him look like a freaking snack. Farren couldn’t stop the giggle that slipped past her lips at the sight of his lower half, a skirt made of leather and golden armor swishing around his muscled thighs.

“You’re wearing a skirt.” Another laugh burst through her.

“It’s a Pteruges.” Sebastian defended, folding his arms. “It’s traditional.”

Farren could hear the pout in his voice even if she couldn’t quite see it through his Corinthian helmet, and it took everything in her not to snort in amusement.

She gathered her purse, wrapping her long coat around her even tighter, grabbing the massive wings covered in a black plastic bag. It was unwieldy, and soon, Sebastian took the wings, both of them shuffling downstairs looking frankly ridiculous.

Wings and helmet safely in the backseat, he entered the location into his GPS. As the faint glow of the city crossed over the planes of his face, Farren realized he’d shaved and gotten a haircut for tonight. A Saturday away from work well spent, apparently. He looked devastating.

The murky full moon partially hid behind diaphanous clouds, and the further they got from the city, the spookier it felt. The black off of the highway combined with moonbeams and wrapped them in shadow, and Farren considered all the things she wanted to do with him in the dark.

“You excited for tonight?” His words pulled her out of her inappropriate thoughts.

“Yeah, you?” she asked, her breath hitching a little when his hand found the slit in her dress, warm palm spread over her thigh.

“A little anxious, I haven’t been to a party—a real one, since my college days.”

She gave a nervous laugh, throat unbelievably dry, when his fingers danced over her skin. “It’ll probably be the same, just as much booze but maybe a little more nerdiness? It’ll be great, and at worst, you can just stick to my side all night.” It was supposed to be reassuring.

His hand tightened on her leg, and something shot up her core. “I’m counting on that.”

The drive wasn’t too long, though getting in and out of the city was a hassle at almost any part of the day, especially the beltway. Still, they made it to the outskirts of Poolesville with little fuss, and just a little too much heat. Farren wasn’t sure she’d need the alcohol to warm her up when Sebastian’s hand on her thigh was enough to set her ablaze.

They made their way over the uneven ground, dry grass crunching under their feet, and the full moon, ominously yellow, hung low in the sky but rising slowly. From afar, they heard the pulsing beat of music, barely contained by the old farmhouse surrounded by acres of dark woodland. The house seemed to sag a little, the porch dipping in spots, one or two shutters dangling slightly off-kilter.

The porch creaked as they stepped onto it. The windows steamed at the edges from the heat being generated inside. It smelled like dust from the drying corn husks around the property, and surrounding her was the cologne she’d noticed on him the first night they met. Sebastian pulled his helmet over his face again and handed Farren her wings. Once she was ready, he knocked, and Cute Chris opened the door.

A crown on his head made of flowers and grapes, a glass of wine fittingly in his hand, he welcomed them both with a bright smile and a hug. Braxton joined Chris soon after, shyly greeting them, gesturing to a random room on the ground level where all the coats lived for the night. Chris coaxed Sebastian out of his coat, urging him to get a drink for himself and Farren. Chris stole her away around the corner. Her friend giggled as they escaped to the room, wings in tow, Chris draining the last of his drink. The double bed was barely visible under the variety of coats piled on the bed like a giant lump.

“Farren… Farren,” he tutted. “Please tell me you sampled that fine specimen!” It was practically a stage whisper, though the music covered most of it.

“Not yet.” She sighed. “But soon.”

“Tonight! You both look fucking banging, don’t waste this chance to jump his bones.”

Chris helped her out of her coat, tossing it onto the mound. He fastened the wings to her shoulders and gave her a once-over before he winked in approval. Neither of them noticed Corinne entering the room with her and Luis’s coats until she cleared her throat. Her dark hair was covered with a blonde wig, braided with strands of wheat. She must have thought they were trying to figure out who she was because she gave a little nervous chuckle and said “Demeter.” Corinne gestured to the hair and the earthy tones of her dress.

“Nike,” Farren pointed to her own wings and olive branch crown. Her stomach felt like it was in knots at seeing Corinne for the first time since their fight and subsequent radio silence.

“Dionysus!” Chris exclaimed, and all three of them giggled at his excitement. “Okay, so I’ll tell you guys this, and you can pass it along to your men. Drinks are out in the dining room along with some finger foods. The signature drink for tonight is Ambrosia, of course! And we have a phone set up in the bathroom with my TikTok on it.”

Farren and Corinne shared a look, both unsure why it was relevant.

“We’re going to be playing a game of who we think is going to turn out the drunkest tonight. So, when you go into the bathroom, you’re encouraged to film a little snippet of who you expect will win that particular competition, and we’ll stitch them all together!”

She wanted to turn to Corinne, share another look or an eye roll. But something inside still smarted at their last interaction and the way her friend dug into the aspects of her life she was insecure about.

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