“Pete, I’m going inside,” I stomp back up the porch steps. “You can come with, or you can stay out here in the cold.”
“Don’t be a tease.” He reaches for my arm.
Uh-uh. No way. Sassy may never describe me, but there is one word I’ve been called more than I like.
I whirl on him, face hard and impassive. “‘Compliance in or approval of what is done or proposed by another’. Know what that means, Pete?”
He steps back, eyes wide. “What?”
“Textbook definition of consent, you presumptuous moron. Memorize it.”
I march to the door, my hand on the doorknob when I hear his muttered response, “Bitch.”
Bingo. That’s the word.
I snap around again, “Learn how to brush your teeth. You taste like garlic.”
I slam the door behind me, not that anyone notices. It’s a party, and any noise drowns in music and drunken guests shouting over one another. Warmth floods back to me, my fingers and ears and thighs burning from the delicious heat inside.
Weaving around people to the kitchen, I spot Natalie perched on the counter, her dark teal hair a beacon amongst other party-goers. When we met last semester, it’d been purple, but she’d changed it to the extreme blue when it was announced the Lakewood Leopards made it to the college football championship playoffs. She sweeps her bangs to the side to watch as team captain and quarterback Morris helps our friend Grayson stack red plastic cups. When I approach, she digs her phone out of her pocket, the mass of bracelets on her wrist clinking together.
“Keys.” I hold out my hand.
“You have fifteen minutes.” She waves her phone, displaying the time. Noticing my arms crossed over my chest and my stern pout, her shoulders slump. “Another bad fish, huh?”
“More like a smelly one,” I say. She pats the counter beside her, and I hoist myself up, nodding at the guys. “What’s going on here?”
“This,” Grayson says, carefully perching the bottom of one cup on the brims of two others. “Is a feat of hard work, dedication, and physics.”
“And alcohol,” Morris adds. To me, he says, “Gray’s smashed.”
Behind his dark-rimmed glasses, Grayson’s eyes are glossy. There’s a slight tilt to his movements, an ease in his normally concentrated expression. Unlike Morris, whom I have never seen consume a drop of something that wasn’t water or a sports drink, Gray occasionally partakes in the average college student’s favorite pastime: drinking. But with an above-average intellect and the knowledge of how many beers it takes before one loses all inhibitions, he doesn’t get drunk. This might be the first time I’ve seen him in such an inebriated state.
“Watch, in a minute, he’ll knock it over,” Natalie whispers to me. “Then we can really mess with him.”
Her estimation’s off. It only takes Gray five seconds to lean too hard against the counter. The cup tower tumbles. He stares down at it, the next cup still in his hand. His eyebrows furrow behind his glasses.
“Gray, you killed it!” Natalie gasps with a delighted smile.
“But the physics…”
“Physics lied to you, man,” Morris claps his shoulder. Natalie snorts.
“Physics doesn’t lie. It’s science…”
Morris and Natalie glance at each other with matching grins, even as they try to hold in laughter when Gray picks up another cup and starts the tower all over again.
I smile, taking off my jacket now that I’ve regained feeling in my hands. At the beginning of this school year, all I’d had was Ashton. Our weekends consisted of frat party after frat party, where I hadn’t known anyone. Never would I have imagined by spring semester, I’d be attending house parties with members of the Lakewood football team. It wasn’t until I befriended Rylie, and by proxy, her football-playing boyfriend Levi Hart, that I’d been welcomed into this close-knit group.
With my phone, I take a quick snap of the drunken confusion on Grayson’s face, Natalie and Morris sneaking each other a high-five on the side. Then I close the camera, thumb pausing over another app icon. Natalie catches me.
“I don’t think so,” she says, snatching the phone out of my hand and turning it off.
“I was taking a pic—”
“Then you were going to check Ashton’s profile,” she shakes a finger at me, bracelets jingling.
I don’t deny it, because I know she won’t believe me, even though I only planned to look at my own social media pages. It’s five am in Italy, anyway. It’s not like he’s awake.
Natalie then shoves my phone down her shirt, in the opposite bra cup than the one she’d stuck my keys in. I wrinkle my nose. “For real?”
“Yep, you can have it back in thirteen minutes.” She tugs on my sweater collar. “Whoa, did Pete give you a hickey?”
Morris and Gray perk up, both their stares swiveling to me. My face flushes. I slap a hand to my throat, swiping a finger over the area. It’s sticky, and when I move my hand, my thumb’s covered in residual red matte.
“It’s lipstick,” I explain. “Look, give me my keys, and I can clean up at home.”
“Orrr,” Natalie singsongs. “You can clean up in the bathroom, and in thirteen minutes, you can come back and get your keys. Or, you know, enjoy the party. Maybe smudge more lipstick.”
I press my lips tight, trying to hide the evidence of Pete’s not-so-overwhelming kiss. With my narrowed gaze, I give her my best glare. For whatever reason, however, Natalie is immune to my resting witch face. So I grump, then grab my purse from behind her where she’s been guarding it. “Thirteen minutes, and then I want my keys.”
“Deal,” Natalie holds up her hands. When her arms move, my keys jingle under her shirt. She winces. “These things are trying to saw off my nipple anyway.”
Morris chokes taking a sip of water. He coughs, “Nat.”
“Everyone has nipples, Theo. Get over it.”
As I head to the bathroom, I hear Gray slur, “Did you know the average nipple height is
