Page 10 of Blindsided
What the hell, sounds exciting! I take a drink.
“Never have I ever given road head.”
I have no clue what that one is. Road. Head. Hmmm. I imagine it’s something done on a road, but how does it involve your head?
Suddenly, Santino drapes his arm over the back of my chair, and I can smell the pungent scent of his cheap cologne all over me.
“Never have I ever had a threesome,” someone says from somewhere.
I pause on this one and give it a proper think. At this point, I feel like I’m drinking, not for things I have done, obviously, but for things I’d like to do. Feels a bit more honest if I think about it that way. And since I actually know what a threesome is, perhaps I’d fancy one!
I take a drink.
“Never have I ever done anal.”
Fuck me, I know what that one is. I drink.
“Never have I ever sixty-nined.”
More drinking, yay!
“Never have I ever done it with a boss.”
Drink.
“Never have I ever masturbated in public.”
Drink, drink, drink.
I’ve lost track of how many drinks I’ve had. I know someone at some point put a refill in my hand, so now I have a fresh cocktail gleaming up at me. Suddenly, a chunk of ice pelts me in the chest and falls down the deep cavernous region between my breasts. I try to grab it, but it’s too late. Gone forever now.
Santino leans towards my chest to inspect the damage as I look up to see that the ice thrower was Mac, who looks angry for some odd reason. What’s his problem? He points his finger at me and then at the door.Does he want to go? Now?
A voice from somewhere far away says, “Never have I ever done a dirty Sanchez.”
The room is a mixture of groaning and howling at this point. And I don’t know why, but I feel my fist thrust into the air as I take another drink. This act elicits more cheers and prompts Santino to move so close to me, I think he might be sitting on my lap.
Who knew that being so sexually experienced would make me so popular? Pity I didn’t have sex ages ago! And done anal and a dirty Sanchez…whatever that is.
I am just about to take another drink when the glass is suddenly whisked out of my hand and a large, firm grip wraps tightly around my wrist. I glance up to see an enormous Mac staring down at me with a scowl on his face. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Mac with a proper frown.
He yanks me up out of my chair, and barks, “We’re leaving.”
My jaw drops. “But I’m having fun.”
“Not up for discussion, Cook.”
At least he didn’t call me Cookie,I think to myself just as Santino stands up beside me and begins to open his mouth. Mac turns his hard eyes on him, and I swear his chest inflates like a pectoral-shaped water balloon as he towers over the poor bloke. Without a word, Santino sits down, and Mac’s hand grips my wrist and drags me behind him. I glance back at the party and see everyone watching us with complete fascination. I’m quite fascinated, too, to be honest. I’ve never seen Mac upset like this. What happened? What did I miss?
He’s silent as we make our way outside to his grey Lexus SUV where he shoves me into the passenger seat and stomps his way around to the driver’s side. When he folds his giant frame into the car and takes off down the road, a loud hiccup erupts from my mouth. I part my lips to speak, but another one goes off before I have a chance to stop it. But this time, a bit of acid bubbles up in the back of my throat.
I slap my hand over my mouth and brace myself on the doorframe. “Pull over! I’m going to be sick!”
Mac growls under his breath and turns down the first side street he can manage to find. He has barely stopped the car when I swing open the door and puke the contents of my stomach onto the curb.
Saints preserve me, why does it look like that?
“I’m vomiting blood!” I cry out to the gods up above.
