I grab the plastic Solo cup in her hand and start chugging the contents before she can finish.
Maggie winces. “Ah, babe, I didn’t even mix that with soda water yet…”
Still, I ignore the forewarning and don’t surrender the cup until every last drop is gone.
“I take it that things didn’t go well?”
“Let’s just say it was about as successful as Napoleon’s invasion of Russia.”
“I’m not even going to pretend like I know what you’re talking about, but I’ll take a not-so-wild guess and assume your stepmom was being a bitch?”
“Blythe’s the least of my problems right now,” I cough, feeling my cheeks flush from the sudden rush of alcohol.
I don’t even need to say anything else. Maggie pauses, giving me a thorough once-over before slapping my arm.
“Holy fucking shit!” She gestures up and down at me. “Tousled hair, rumpled skirt, swollen lips; you totally had sex, didn’t you?”
It’s not really a question, and she practically tackles me with a hug as she squeals in delight.
“I’m so proud of you!”
“For what? Being an idiot?” I mutter.
“For having the lady-balls to officially kick off our Hot Girl Summer. Seriously, when was the last time you had a decent lay? I was starting to worry your vagina would calcify or something.” Maggie’s blood alcohol level clearly has her vocal box set on high, because she practically shouts that last part.
Thankfully, the few strange looks we get are from the people directly around us, the rest of the party too riled up by the commotion coming from the living room. Cheers and shouts drown out most of the conversation, forcing Maggie to damn near rip my arm out of its socket as she drags me through the house to find some place quieter. As we pass the living room, I see the house party has been turned into an ultimate gamer contest as vampires and hunters battle it out on the television screen. Admittedly, I’m not into video games, but even I was drawn in by the viral marketing when the cinematic-worthy trailer forCrimson Oathsdropped last month, enough that Maggie and I attended Delta Sigma Phi’s frat house when they hosted a party for the new release.
Since then, my friend here had gained a mild obsession over it, but even the promise of bloodshed and muscular animated men isn’t enough to deter Maggie from her mission. She refuses to release me from her death grip until we’ve reached the back patio. “Details, girl. Now. Who decalcified your kitty?”
Oh, dear god.
There’s a pool in the back of the property, so the only other people out on the deck with us are a handful of stoners passing around a bong. I’m still not nearly as drunk as I need to be to have this conversation, all too happy to follow Maggie’s lead as she goes over to the set of coolers and plucks out a few bottles of some sugary malt liquor.
“Firstly, I’m pretty sure that’snothow calcification works, and even if it is, nobody ‘decalcified’ anything, seeing as how nothing wentinmy…kitty.”
This only interests her further. “Aaaah, I see. So, Peek-a-boo? Or the Pretzel Dip, maybe?” She gasps. “Or Cheeky Monkey?”
“I have no idea what any of that is, and quite frankly, I’m a little too scared to ask,” I admit. “But if one of those is a more playful way of saying fully clothed Thigh Job, sure. And before you get too excited, we were interrupted.”
God, the very memory of feeling that scar, of realizing who Jase was, makes me want to hurl myself into the pool and not come back up for air.
“Seriously, there’s no shame in hooking up with a stranger—”
I shake my head, rubbing my hand over my face. “Trust me. That’s not the problem.”
If anything, that wasexactlywhat I wanted earlier. Instead, I inherited this complete and utter shitshow.
“Oh god. He was bad, wasn’t he?” Maggie cringes. “Howbad was it? Like on a scale from one to ten. Was it five, as in he was just selfish? Or was it ten, as in he didn’t even know what was supposed to go where?”
I roll my eyes but nevertheless shake my head. “The performance itself wasn’t bad. Not even remotely.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“It’s thewho.”
“Why? Was it some uptight Country Clubber?”
I remove the top from my bottle and down another happy helping of liquid courage. “Not exactly.”
