Page 12 of Dirty Roulette
When Charlie loses the next round, she drops her bra on the floor like nothing. I don’t feel as bad, but the closer I get to the end, the worse the sensation becomes in my chest. I’ve left indents of my nails on my palms and I’m about to sever my skin wide open.
“You’re hot!” Brody whips out his phone, and the flash incinerates my retinas.
“Too bad you’re not going to touch them.” Charlie sticks a tongue out at him. I curl my legs up to my chest to cover up.
Seven shots deep and my fingers tingle, my head swims in a lake of intoxication. It’s bad enough I’m craving another hit of pot. If I have a bit more to smoke, I’ll see sounds and hear colors. But I’m not blacking out like I want.
The hundredth hand is dealt and Charlie flat-out folds, with no value to her cards. She didn’t try, and I think she wanted to spin thebottle one last time to get this over with. Her cheeks are flushed, and I know she’s swimming just as bad as I am.
Her eyes don’t leave Noah’s as she takes a shot and twirls the satanic bottle. It spins and the look on Brody’s face turns sour when it slows down and misses him by an inch. It points directly at Noah.
“Well damn...” Charlie dips her head to one side. “I guess I got lucky.”
Noah pushes his hair back, his cheeks flushing red, as he nervously chuckles. “I think it’s the other way around.”
Charlie crawls over the carpet to Noah, and she runs a hand across his thigh to the obvious bulge. She kisses him on the cheek, moves to his lips, and says, “Let’s get out of here.” They are both consumed with idiotic laughter. Noah clearly has no idea what to do with himself and neither do I.
Brody’s nostrils flare, his fists curling. “Bitch,” I watch his lips mouth the word as they leave. Out of all the players I’ve seen walk out, they are the most excited.
“Well, we always save the best for last, don’t we, Emo Girl?” Brody grins and it dawns on me. I’m the last girl with thirsty dudes waiting to see if they can claim me for their prize.
Chapter six
Ryder
If hell exists, it’s the little voice telling my sister how great of an idea it was to attend this mad house. By the time Jared and I reach the front door it’s nearly two in the morning and this place hasn’t let up. We walk in and some dude sways over, holding his baggy sweatpants. They threaten to fall to his ankles as I debate wiping off the mean mug plastered on his face. This meathead is Slim Shady’s donated sperm that needs his momma to purchase him a damn belt.
“Pay the toll, asswipe.” He looks me dead in the eye and Jared shoves the case of beer into his chest.
We push our way through the thick crowd. A shirtless guy stumbles past me wearing bulky glasses and a lampshade as a hat. Someone starts a chant at the beer pong table, and it deafens the booming music. People stumble around, girls dance, twerking and grinding on sweaty bodies. There’s spit swapping and loners leaning against the walls with red cups and beers in hand.
It’s way past the chill buzz vibes – a typical weekend for students. I lean into Jared and say, “I’m going to check upstairs.”
“I’ll be outside.” He points his head to a thick crowd in the backyard.
I race up the stairs and down the long hallway. A door flings open with one of the linemen from the team zipping up his jeans. Two seconds pass and Brittni emerges, combing a hand through her hair and wiping the edge of her lips.
“Cute...” I say.
“Hey, you.” Brittni sashays over and brushes a hand on my forearm. She does that thing with her green eyes locking onto mine, making my heart melt under a lighter she ignited.
“Don’t ‘hey’ me.” I shrug her off.
“It’s Roulette, and you weren’t here to win me.”
“So, you slept with him?” I ask.
“We aren’t together. So, there are no rules to follow.”
Brittni put a leash around my neck and tossed me into a glass house, my every insecurity on display. There’s still a gaping wound and her betrayal leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. She’s a vampire, mentally draining me, and yet I still feel something for her.
“We should go somewhere else. You know, just the two of us.” She plays with my jersey and tugs me closer to her.
“Why? So the last guy’s sperm can lube you up?” I ask. Her nose wrinkles.
“No, because I miss us.” She brushes her blonde hair to the side. “I mean... I was thinking about you the entire time...”
What a load of crock. I woke up for the past three years, nine months, and twenty-four days to her voice as my alarm clock. I kept over ten thousand texts, saved every chat in Snap, and adored her good morning messages. She took a red-hot iron and held it against myheart when we split. I started talking to the ceiling at night instead of midnight phone calls with her. I’ve spent my entire summer ignoring her existence.
