I repeat to myself as I find every inch of willpower to stop myself from killing him for being a dick, playing this stupid game, and putting Mimi in the position she’s in now.
I get that it’s her choice. She could just back out, but there’s too much peer pressure and people like Wes and Nathan make it impossible to say no. She would be at the forefront of bullying if she backed out now.
“Is this the only way you can get anything out of a girl?” I ask Wes, taunting him. “Spin the bottle?”
“Fuck you, sperm.” He palms my chest, pushing me back. But it’s all just a front for him. If he really wanted to fight, he would have just swung. Instead, he pushed me in an attempt to look like the bigger man. I’m well versed in the action, at least in taking them.
A click of the door captures both of our attention as we separate from each other.
Shane steps out of the bathroom first. His hair is a little more disheveled than when he went in there, and a light sheen of sweat coats his forehead.
Fuck.
He steps back into the circle saying absolutely nothing. As he sits down, he glances around the group with a smug as hell look on his face that I’d like to pour gasoline on and light on fire.
Mimi steps out a second later, and her cheeks are flushed pink. She hangs her head in shame, staring at her feet as she walks back to the circle. Her eyes glance up to me and I tilt my head so my eyes can connect with hers, but she looks back down too quickly before sitting on the opposite side of the table from me.
“Shaneeeee, come on, spill the beans. Was it good? Did she swallow?” Nathan’s way too inappropriate questions make Mimi cringe, and I’m seeing fucking red.
“A gentleman never tells,” he replies, picking up the bottle and handing it to the person that was sitting next to Mimi. “Your turn.”
I need to get the fuck out of here. But I refuse to leave Mimi here.
I squat down and take a seat, still trying to find her eyes, but she’s just staring down at the center of the table.
Some guy I don’t know pulls from the green jar, then the red, and the bottle spins landing on the girl I know to be Daphne, who he guides outside to the picnic table. I was too focused on Mimi to hear what he pulled out of the red jar, but by the way he’s grinding on her, it was either some sort of dance or dry humping session.
Wes’ turn is up now. He places his hand over Mimi’s shoulder and says, “I hope you’re ready.”
I hope you’re ready for my fist in your face.
She rolls her eyes, pushing his hand off of her. He uses that same hand to pick out of the first canister.
On the couch.
Then he picks from the second.
He reads out loud, proudly. “Hand job.”
Everyone oohs and hollers.
A small shake of my head is my only display of annoyance.
Wes doesn’t waste any time as he spins the bottle with a calculation similar to how he did when he was practicing. He stares at Mimi with a bright smile, like he knows exactly where that bottle is stopping.
It begins to slow as it comes up on Mimi. Her eyes follow and I watch the entire scene play out in excruciatingly slow motion. Her jaw slacks and her brows pinch together, but her tense shoulders and held breath release as it slides an extra inch past her, pointing at Shane.
“What the hell?” Shane belts out.
Everyone falls silent. There is no getting out of this one. No making fun with it, doing a joke of a lap dance and being the class clown or just dry humping a leg.
Shane’s task is to make Wes come on the couch using only his hands.
In front of everyone.
Shane was an innocent bystander when it was Mimi’s turn, so a part of me feels a little bad. But then I remember that smug look when he came out of the bathroom and that guilt diminishes quickly.
Wes, though. Whose face is currently disgusted and drenched in irritation.
