Page 16 of The Fadeaway
We play quarters and Vanessa destroys us as Mario predicted. My eyes stay glued to Katrina who watches and copies the movements of everyone else. I can’t get a read on her. She’s not a party hopper because I’ve never seen her out, but she seems to be enjoying herself if not more timidly than everyone else.
“Okay, I’m out,” Mario says after he’s forced to take another shot.
Vanessa scrunches up her nose at him. “Good call. I don’t want you to have whiskey dick later.”
“TMI, V,” I say with a chuckle and watch as Mario hangs his head and mumbles something under his breath.
“How about Drunk Jenga? You still got that one?” I ask, not having any interest in playing anything, but suddenly feeling like I need to be Martha-fucking-Stewart playing hostess and ensuring everyone has a good time. Well, not everyone, just Katrina.
“Good call,” the jersey chaser next to me says with more enthusiasm than Jenga deserves.
“What’s Drunk Jenga?” Katrina asks hesitant and quiet, directed to me.
“You’ll like it,” I promise. And she will. Her having a good time has become my only goal for the night. Well, and getting her home with me.
We set up Jenga and Katrina laughs as she reads out some of the tiles. “Flash the table.”
One of my personal favorites.
“Make a rule for the table.” And “Dare two people to kiss.”
I read the look on her face that asks if we’re seriously going to play such a ridiculous game that could have been made up by middle school boys. Yep, sweetheart, college is just puberty on steroids. Playing games like Spin the Bottle, Truth or Dare, or I’ve Never is totally legit because there is alcohol involved. Tomorrow people will blame their actions tonight on being drunk when the truth is they were super horny and looking to get laid.
“I’ll go first,” the girl next to me says, side-eyeing me. Ah, hell. I hadn’t considered that I might have to partake in the festivities. I mean, I’m usually game, but with Kitty here – no fucking way I’m wasting time making out with some other girl.
“Actually, how about we let Kitty go first seeing as how it’s her first time.” I stand and move around the table. With one hand on the back of the chair, I lean down.
“I know how to play Jenga,” she says with a smirk.
“I just want to make sure you choose wisely.” I point to a tile in the middle of the tower.
She eyes me suspiciously but pulls at the one I picked anyway. I try and hide the smile pulling at my lips as she reads it to herself.
“What’s it say?” someone asks, but neither Kitty or I answer.
She finally looks up and around the table and I can almost hear her weighing out her options. I step back and wait. When I’ve almost given up hope, she sighs, turns to me, stands, and says, “This doesn’t count as a date.”
There’s laughter from the table as Vanessa reads the discarded tile aloud. “Seven Minutes in Heaven.”
When we’re upstairs in Mario’s room, she finally speaks. “I’m not sure if I should be insulted or impressed that you got me in a bedroom within an hour of my arriving at the party.”
“Impressed.” I walk all the way in, hoping she’ll follow, and place the bottle of Jack I’m still carrying onto the desk. She hovers in the doorway, and I step back to her and brush her hair away from the side of her neck. Leaning in, I press a kiss just below her ear before murmuring, “Definitely impressed.”
“I’m not having sex with you,” she whispers in a shaky voice. I pull back. Indecision wars in her eyes. She wants me, I’ve always known this, but something still holds her back. Even here with no one else and no barriers between us, she’s throwing up a stop sign with the way she looks almost guilty.
Somehow, I manage to step away. Her scent follows me, and I try and find some semblance of sanity as I pick up the bottle of Jack. “We don’t have to do anything except stay in here for seven minutes.”
I settle onto Mario’s bed with the alcohol and pat for her to follow.
She looks around the space which is clean and not at all what she pictured judging by the look on her face. I’ll have to thank Vanessa for that. I see touches of her all over the room, including the bed that has been made and sheets that smell like they’ve been washed recently.
“Come on. I’ve been asking you out for five months. Throw a guy a bone.”
Or, you know, let me stick mine in you.
“Okay, but door stays open and I’m not touching that bed.”
She moves into the room and stands, arms crossed, eyes guarded.
