“Probably putting Parker’s mouth to good use,” Dane adds. “Anything to shut her up for a few minutes.”
Meanwhile, barely listening to my brothers’ speak, my eyes are glued to Southside. She, on the other hand, is doing everything in her power to avoid looking this way.
“Nah, not this time,” I answer. “Found something … a little more interesting to keep me busy.”
“She got a name?”
Dane laughs at Sterling’s question before asking one of his own. “Better yet, do you remember her name?”
All I give them is a vague smile.
The music quiets and Marcus climbs up on a table, already drunk off his ass, but that’s not unusual when he parties. He’s got a crooked crown resting on his fro and he pushes his kingly robe behind him in dramatic fashion.
“Here ye, here ye,” he says into his scepter, using it like a microphone. Everyone laughs. “It is a time-honored tradition that all guests drink from the Chalice of Doom every Halloween. Should someone fail to complete the tradition, the curse of our most notable Cypress Pointe founding father—Sir Vladimir Bledsoe—will be upon thee,” he adds. “And nobody wants that because, as history tells us, the old man’s insides leaked out through his arse, on a dreadful night from thenceforth known as the darkest, shittiest night in Cypress Pointe.”
Cheers erupt as he spouts this made up BS, and all I can do is laugh. Details of his story change a little every year. But what’s most important is that, aside from Bledsoe’s name, nothing else is true.
“Bar wench, hand forth my chalice,” he barks out, and Parker reluctantly approaches the center with said chalice in hand.
He accepts it and leans in when Parker pulls him close, whispering something so quickly I don’t know if anyone else catches it. She walks away and Marcus smiles, staring at the skimpy piece of fabric Parker is trying to pass off as a costume.
“Shall we begin?” Marcus announces, prompting Sterling to shove Dane and I closer. You know, to avoid the whole ‘mouth herpes’ situation.
We make our way to the front quickly. Helps a little that people know not to try us and back off when they see we’re coming through.
“This year, I’d like to bring a little order to our tradition,” Marcus announces. “We have a few new faces here, and being the thoughtful host that I am, what do you say we invite them to partake first?”
My steps halt and I scan the crowd again. There Southside is, trying to blend into the crowd in that short, stark-white dress and long black wig. She’s the hottest thing out here, which means no one’s going to mistake her for one of our regulars.
“No, really. It’s okay,” she insists when Marcus goes into the crowd to get her himself.
Rodriguez, half drunk and tripping over her own feet, is egging the whole thing on. Southside politely declines several more times before the chanting starts.
Now, she’s not protesting so much, and as she looks around, I see her getting ready to cave.
Peer pressure’s a bitch any day of the week, but it’s inescapable when you’ve got a couple hundred kids all calling you out at once.
Everyone goes silent when Marcus raises his hand to let Southside speak. She looks like a deer caught in headlights. Turning to Rodriguez, she gets zero support.
“…Fine, I guess,” she concedes.
More cheering and howling. Then, bottoms up.
Her face scrunches up and she shakes her head wildly, trying to get the taste out of her mouth. Sorry to say it, but it’ll be sometime tomorrow when she’s finally free from it.
“Sip and pass,” Marcus instructs, handing the cup over to Dane next.
He reacts pretty much the same as Southside before I take a swig and give it to Sterling.
The stuff’s always awful, but this year … something tastes even more off than usual. I watch as others go in on it, but no one else seems to notice, so I figure it must just be me.
A second later, the music kicks up again and the chalice is already making its second round. Marcus is keeping an eye out for when it’ll need another refill, which won’t be long.
Joss bobs over, perfectly sober tonight. From what Dane told us, she got in pretty big trouble after Homecoming. My brother, the hero, was fully prepared to take the heat—despite having nothing to do with how much she drank that night—but Joss wouldn’t hear of it. Possibly because we all know how much her dad hates him already.
Which isn’t an overstatement at all. Judge Francois would skin my brother alive if given the chance. In his eyes, Dane’s nothing but a self-absorbed pretty boy with nothing going for him, and I’m guessing he sees how he stares at his daughter. Still, the judge is only half right.
Dane would definitely kiss his own ass if he could, but the kid’s going places.
“I feel like dancing,” Joss announces.
Recalling the stunt Dane pulled at Homecoming, it’s the perfect opportunity to get him back. So, I take Joss’s hand before he has the chance.
“Know what? Me, too,” I announce, cock-blocking Dane about as thoroughly as Parker did to me a little while ago.
Joss doesn’t think twice about getting out there with me, and I hope Dane feels the burn. The same burn I felt in the center of my chest when he thought it was a good idea to grind all over Southside’s ass. Granted, I’d never touch Joss like that, but he could still sit this one out, wishing it was him instead of me.
Not so funny now is it, dickhead?
Joss is vibing out, getting into the song and I’m only halfway there, because I’m on the hunt again. Like always. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the one girl I should never want as badly as I do.
I spot her and it seems she’s already feeling the effects of Marcus’s Monster Mix. She lowers into a seat and I
