Page 49 of The First Kind of Love
I’m not sure how Bristol hasn’t combusted on the spot. Then again, the two were practically made for each other. They’re like that one really hot couple that just makes sense being together because nobody else could live up to their hotness, you know?
Fulton pulls me aside and does one of those sideline huddles, thankfully looking about as nervous as I feel. Cortisol streamlines through my body, the dread in my gut growing like an impassable chasm.
“Do you want to play? We don’t have to. We don’t even have to stay. Just say the words.”
Come on, Shiloh. Let loose. Have fun. You only live once, right? What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like any of Fulton’s friends are going to give you mouth herpes.
“Do, um, do your friends usually have orgies?” I whisper under my breath, apparently not quiet enough to go unheard.
Gage feigns offense. “Hey! Nobody’s taking their clothes off, ergo, not an orgy.”
He then swings around a confrontational pointer finger, but since he’s plastered, it veers too far to the right, so he doesn’t end up addressing anyone. “And if any of you assholes slip tongue into my future wife’s mouth, Iwillstaple your balls to your taint.”
Silence befalls the entire room, except for the offhanded comment of a very valid “Jesus Christ.”
“Is that even physically possible?” Casen inquires, cringing in disgust.
No tongue: got it. I highly doubt this is an appropriate conversation for a baby. Speaking of…
“Where are Kit and Faye?”
“They’re parents now. They go to bed at eight thirty anddon’t fondle each other’s privates anymore,” Cali answers, using Gage’s lap as a makeshift table for her plate of cheese puffs, potato chips, and a small anthill of brownies.
Gage snorts. “Not true. Faye wasdefinitelyfondling Kit’s snake in the pool the other day.”
The redhead rolls her bright blue eyes, playfully pushing him on the shoulder in a disapproving, don’t-be-so-vulgar way. “Oh my God. You’re disgusting.”
Fulton and I end up taking a seat next to each other, staring at the opening of the bottle like we’re staring down the barrel of a shotgun. This night is definitely going to end in handcuffs—whether they’re government-issued or fuzzy, I have no idea.
So far, Gage and Aeris are in the running for the drunkest, while everyone else seems to be at varying levels of tipsiness. I, however, will only remain lightly buzzed in case the police come breaking down the door and I have to launch Fulton through the bathroom window to escape.
“We’re here!” Hayes announces, dragging along his fiancée—who’s in a hardcore make out session with a…burrito…right now? He plops her down on the ground, then jogs around the circle to sit across from her.
The surrounding lights dim, and the one overhead flares to life, creating a spotlight on the Budweiser bottle in the middle. How did they just do that? Are they on a timer? This all feels like a fever dream.
“If you don’t want to go through with a dare, or you lose one of the games, you have to drink,” Gage says before kicking things off with a twist of his wrist, the glass bottle spinning around itself like a dreidel before slowing to a lazy rotation.
The games are as follows: Flip or Strip, Two Truths and a Lie, Spill Your Guts, Kiss Someone of the Opposite Sex, Kiss Someone of the Same Sex, Drunk Charades, and Foul Play. It eventually stops on Kiss Someone of the Opposite Sex. Hedecides to choose Cali as his recipient—to nobody’s surprise—and a cocksure grin quirks the corners of his mouth up.
He beckons her with a crook of his finger. “That’s right. Come to Daddy.”
Cali, who’s directly next to Gage, leans in while her boyfriend puckers his lips like an ignorant fool, and at the last moment, when they’re bound to make contact, she gently turns his jaw to the side. A collective “ooh” percolates throughout the group as she sits back on one palm and lifts the rim of her drink to her mouth.
When Cali finishes her swig, she runs her tongue sensually over her lips. “Beginner’s luck.”
Gage groans, letting his head fall back. He takes a few seconds to salvage his dignity before he relents with an adjustment of his hips, and something dark lurks in the mossy-green of his eyes. “Nothing lucky about it, babe. You know I love a challenge.”
Lila takes her turn, putting into play the pie that reads: Two Truths and a Lie. I can only hope I get something as non-traumatizing as that.
“If we guess the lie incorrectly, we all have to drink,” Gage explains.
Hayes—the gracious host he is—gets up to pour me and Fulton two glasses of whatever mystery liquor they have fermenting in the cabinet, returning with a sizable amount of alcohol.
Lila contemplates what she’s going to say, toying with the plaited braid draped over her shoulder. Anticipation hangs heavy in the air as an inexplicable swell of unease dribbles down my spine like an IV drip.
Finally, Lila adheres the strictest poker face in existence, counting off her statements on each manicured finger. “One: I broke my ankle climbing over a fence after the police chased me down for urinating in public. Two: I’ve spoken to the dead.And three: a girl I invited to sleep over one time used my electric toothbrush to flick her bean.”
Everyone’s speechless. They all sound like they should be lies. And why are they all disturbingly specific?
