Page 23 of The Games We Play

“What’s roulette style?” I ask.

He places two Folgers coffee tins in the middle of the table. They both have a bunch of folded up pieces of paper in them.

“This canister,” he points at the green one, “has locations written on little pieces of paper. Things like, on the couch, in the circle, on the pool table, outdoor picnic table…” He looks over at the kitchen area then writes down another, saying aloud as he scribbles, “In the pantry.”

Daphne, another senior, takes a blank piece of paper, writing as she says out loud, “Against a tree,” placing it in the green container.

“This container,” he points at the red can, “holds pieces of paper with different actions written on them. Truth. Dare. French kiss. Over the pants handsy.” He lists out a few others as he passes around more pieces of paper to some of the other seniors that walk up.

“You guys can write down anything that comes to mind and place it in the jar.” He leans down, pressing his pencil to the paper, “BJ,” he says as a couple of people look at him wide-eyed. Some look curious and worried, others curious and interested.

“No. That can’t be in there,” I spit out.

“Sure it can be. Each person gets to write down whatever they want. Doesn’t mean they will get their own, but someone could. So, the spinner will pick out of the location jar first, seeing where it will take place. Then they will pick the action, then you spin the bottle picking your partner at random. Everybodyplays, no exceptions.” He taps the pencil to his chin. “I guess I should write down, “head” or “make me come” instead, since a girl can’t give a girl a BJ.” He shrugs since he already put BJ in the container. I glance down as I see him write,make me come, on another before throwing it in the canister.

“Girl-girl, guy-guy. No matter who it lands on, you have to play,” Nathan announces to the group.

My jaw slacks as I look over at Shane, and by the expression on his face, he’s also worried about how this is all going to go down.

Nathan slides his hand over my waist, pulling me closer to him. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Get your mouth ready, gorgeous,” as he shows me what he wrote down:lick my balls.

Disgusted, I attempt to pull away when the bell on the door pings through the room. I look up and Seamus is standing in the doorway. His eyes land straight on mine, then bounce between Nathan, me, Nathan's hand still resting on my hip, and back up to my eyes again.

He steps through the door and shuts it behind him, his body tense and rigid.

Wes clears his throat. “You’re not invited, semen.”

“I invited him,” I spit out, slapping Nathan's hand off me.

I walk toward him, meeting him halfway between the front door and where our circle is grouped together, holding out my arm, inviting him. “Come on, Seamus.”

He glances behind me at everyone gathered in a circle around the bottle and two containers, then slowly takes a step toward me.

“What are you getting me into, sunshine?” he asks under his breath so only I can hear him.

I should have let Wes kick him out and not rope him into this shitstorm waiting to happen, but I did actually invite him, and it would be totally messed up if I didn’t stand up for him.

Plus, I oddly feel comforted by his presence.

“Nothing you can’t handle, Rambo,” I whisper back as we line ourselves up with the others in the circle.

My eyes bounce around to everyone here. There’s only ten of us, and there are more guys than girls. A few others are playing darts, and Wes is yelling at them to come play, but they hold their hands up at him, shaking their head profusely.

Exactly what I should be doing.

Wes recaps the rules and I sneak a peek over at Seamus, since he wasn’t here when he said them before.

“Green jar picks the location. Red jar picks the action. Then you spin the bottle and whoever the narrow side points to is your partner. Everything is random and left to chance. We’ll go clockwise, starting with the oldest here, which is Nathan. And like I said, your race, gender, religion, or any of the other shit doesn’t matter. Whoever you land on, is who you get.”

Seamus’ eyebrows shoot up to his forehead as he turns slowly to look at me.

If looks could kill. I would be dead.

I bite my lip and throw a lopsided smile at him, my eyes squinting an apology that I can’t verbalize.

His chest rises and he huffs out an annoying breath, and now that I think about it, I feel terrible. I would hate it if he pulled me into this.

When no one is looking, I slide my hand over his exposed forearm, giving him a tender squeeze. He looks down at where my hand is touching him, giving me a close lipped smile as his hand cups mine, telling me it’s okay.

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