“What do you mean?”
“What happened with us in the courtyard. Last night was weird.”
“You didn’t like it?” I sound defensive, and my guard is back up. Maybe this is good. I need some self-protection around her.
“I liked it. Too much.”
I run a hand through my hair.
“Did you?”
I roll my eyes. “Do you seriously have to ask?”
“Yes,” she says emphatically. She juts out her chin. “Yes. I do have to ask.”
Then I hear the sound of the key in the lock. The door groans open loudly, and Kristen spills in, all keys and big purse and her black hair in a crazy mess.
“Oh,” Kristen says, surprised to see us on the couch. Two statues caught in unexpected lust. The roommate and the guy who was seconds away from claiming her sexy, pouty, lipstick-free mouth. “What are you guys up to?”
“Just hanging,” Harley says, smoothing out an unseen wrinkle in her shirt.
“You took one of my beers,” she says to me, zeroing in on me from behind those cat’s eye glasses.
“Yeah. That okay?”
“I can’t let you drink alone. Harley’s diet soda doesn’t count.”
Then Kristen grabs a Coors, and plops down between us on the couch. I’ve never been so ready to toss someone from the room, nor been so grateful to have a barrier in my life. “The movie sucked. I need to get the taste of it out of my mouth.”
“What was it?”
“Some Romanian film about a guy who leaves a goldfish on the roof of his car as he writes haikus while driving cross country.”
“Sounds wretched”
“It was. Let’s get drunk. Or caffeinated in your case,” she says, tipping her forehead to Harley.
“I’m in,” I say because I could use a few more beers right about now, that’s for sure.
Then my phone buzzes. I tap the screen to see Jordan’s name. “Shift’s over. Beer time?”
“Jordan wants to get a beer,” I say to Kristen and Harley.
Kristen holds her arms out wide, as if to say The answer is here.
Harley catches my gaze and raises an eyebrow, her reminder that she wanted to set them up. “Invite him over.”
“If you insist.”
Chapter Ten
Harley
“Never have I ever worn ladies shoes.”
Kristen nearly spits out her beer with laughter. She points at Jordan, who’s cross-legged on the blue carpet in our living room. “So not fair. We have to drink,” she says with an indignant whine.
“Obviously we’ve worn ladies shoes,” I add.
Trey smiles along with Jordan. “Drink up, ladies.”
Kristen shoots a wide-eyed stare at Trey, then Jordan. She parks her hands on her hips. “Well. The more interesting question is whether you guys have?”
Trey laughs and shakes his head.
Jordan holds up a hand, like a stop sign. “Once. I did it once and I did it for a chick.”
Kristen cracks up.
“Drink!” Trey shouts at Jordan, like he’s smack-talking him. Then he raises both arms over his head, victorious. “I am the only one whose feet are pure.”
I laugh as Matt Nathanson blares from my iPod. Kristen and I picked the music for the game and we love Matt Nathanson. He is sex in musical form.
Kristen is running at full buzz, and both Jordan and Trey are chasing their own intoxication. We’re down to one beer left from the two six-packs in the fridge.
“I’ve never had a threesome,” Kristen blurts out. She scans the rest of us quickly, first me, and I shake my head, then Jordan does the same. She stares at Trey, asking the question silently. He has a guilty look in his eyes. He shrugs and takes a drink.
My face burns. Jealousy slithers through me. It crawls and wraps around my internal organs as Jordan high-fives his friend. “Dude. Why have you never told me that before?”
Trey shrugs and laughs. “I guess I wasn’t drunk enough before,” he says, moving on easily. Making me wonder if that’s how he was with his women. Switching on and off. Seamlessly jumping from one to another. Or to three. “Never have I ever given a blow job,” Trey offers next, looking awfully proud of himself. Then he taps his chest. “I, obviously, have not.”
Jordan bangs his beer down emphatically on the coffee table. “Never have. Never will.”
Kristen rolls her eyes. “Plenty,” she says in a deliberately seductive voice. “And I’ve been told my blow jobs are quite spectacular.”
Jordan blinks, intrigued and then some. He grabs the neck of his bottle. “I have to drink just because that was a crazy hot thing to say.”
Kristen turns to me and eyes my Diet Coke. “C’mon. Drink up, bitch.”
I shake my head. “I don’t meet the qualifications.”
“For real? You have never given a blow job?”
Another shake. I run my index finger once across my lips as if I’m zipping them up. “These lips are pure, baby,” I say playfully.
“How does that happen?”
“Just happens.”
“No. Seriously,” she presses, and now I don’t feel so playful anymore.
“Just never have,” I say evasively. I could lie. I mean, who doesn’t lie in this game? But then, I’m kind of proud of not having blown a guy. Not like it’s some huge accomplishment. But I’m only admitting the truth for me. Because I’m glad I didn’t put any of my client’s dicks in my mouth. I drew some lines, and so I don’t take a drink.