Page 51 of The Worst Kind of Promise
The plunk of the ping-pong ball sounds from the other side, and I silently pat myself on the back for absolutely failing my portion of the game. As soon as Faye starts to chug, I sink the ball in, and Hayes quickly scoops it out so he can drink. Hayes is probably the fastest chugger on our team, which means he can easily tie us in the race. Faye’s half his size. She’ll never finish before him.
Shit. I should’ve stalled more. Dillied my dally.
Voices shout and holler, indistinguishable from one another, a mass of loud, brusque pressure that has my heart racing in my chest and rapid-fire pleas launching off my tongue.
To my surprise, though, Faye chugs her drink like a fucking champ, her throat rolling with each swallow, and she places the cup face-down victoriously.
That’s my girl.
Bristol quickly starts to attempt to flip it upright. I know our captain has some pretty good hand-eye coordination, so I doubt he’ll exceed five tries. Fulton, on the other hand, folds under pressure, so I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re set back a few cups compared to the other team.
As soon as Hayes finishes, Fulton is up to the stand, and we all gently encourage him to try his best. He’s got a good wrist flick, but he’s applying too much power to each flip, which makes the cup topple over. I’m not going to tell him that, though. I need us to lose.
I don’t even realize Bristol is done with his section of the game before Gage is bouncing the ball against the table. Fulton is hysterically flipping the cup at this point as he shakes with anticipation, and Hayes’ voice has risen in decibels now that he’s yelling at him to hurry up.
“They’re winning! Flip it, Fulton! So help me God, FLIP IT!”
“I’m trying! It’s a lot harder than it looks, okay? You know I don’t do well under pressure!”
My eyes aren’t focused on my team—they’re focused on Gage. Gage and his blessed drinking game experience. And just like that, the opposing team’s first round ends, and they rotate to start on the second drink in their pyramid.
Needless to say, I make sure my team falls behind a reasonable distance, so the winner is practically chosen halfway through our set. After which we all kind of just stop trying and accept defeat. My Faye craving—which I had to suppress for the past twenty minutes—has sprung back up inside me, unslaked and somehow more vicious than it was before.
“Show us what you got, losers,” Gage taunts.
In any other situation, I probably would’ve been butthurt about losing, but this isn’t a normal situation. Aeris and Hayes team together, along with Casen and Bristol, and that just leaves me, Faye, Gage, and Fulton. It’s no surprise that Gage and Fulton would choose each other—they’re best friends, after all.
So I stupidly think I’m in the clear before Fulton nonchalantly walks right on over to Faye.
What the fuck?
I’m far enough away that I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I’m close enough that I can definitely distinguish the coy laughter dripping from Faye’s soft, sugar-spun voice. She has her hand on his shoulder, a single, manicured finger circling the cap, and she’s staring intently at him with fluttering lashes.
No. This isn’t happening. Not in a trillion years. Not over my dead, cold, rotting body.
Abandoning any salvageable subtlety, I march over to them with jealousy knocking into my solar plexus, and my temper ascends to dangerous levels.
I huff an exaggerated burst of hot air out of my nostrils. “Ful, I need to talk to Faye.”
“He doesn’t,” she immediately retorts, refusing to look at me.
“Yes, I do.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
She’s not even acknowledging me.
“Uh…” Fulton whips his head back and forth between the two of us, eyes doubling in size, fear eroding his pallid features.
Faye, probably coming to the conclusion that I won’t give up, finally turns to face me, doing a sexy little shimmy to pull up her corset. The way her tits bulge over the neckline, a slip away from flashing me her nipples, makes my dick fatten in my pants, even if it is at the expense of my indignation.
“Fultonwas just about to show me his favorite sex position,” she announces.
My teeth tear apart the growl rising in my throat. “Like hell he was.”
“You were, weren’t you, Fulton?” The scratchiness in her voice, paired with the pout of her bottom lip, are two things in this world that man cannot resist. And with Faye being the deliverer, she has the power to burn Fulton in an all-consuming fire and reduce him to flakes of ash. Which, hearing it in my head, sounds great.
“I was?” he squeaks.
