“It’s almost ten p.m. And you’re the tannest one out here. Hell, Norris bakes in the sun at his landscaping job, and you work at an ice rink, but he’s fucking pasty compared to you.”
Pete tears off his gray tee and tosses it on the couch. I hold back a laugh because there’s no real difference now that he’s taken his shirt off. He’s the hairiest guy I’ve ever seen.
“Jesus!” Ollie mutters, shielding his eyes. “Never mind. Put the t-shirt back on.”
Pete lets out his signature howl. “Nope. Once it’s off, it can’t go back on. Let’s go!”
We troop out of the house and cross Thurston Street. A couple minutes later, Kappa comes into view. They’ve got fairy lights and tiki torches everywhere, illuminating a giant bounce house they’ve managed to turn into a slip n’ slide.
A girl in a coconut bra and grass skirt is pouring beers from the keg and she hands us two.
I take a sip and survey the scene. They’ve got a deejay and a dance floor on one side of the lawn, a bunch of kiddie pools next to the bounce house, and what looks to be a beach volleyball court on the far end of the yard.
It’s bad that my first thought is how glad I am that I don’t have to clean any of this shit up, right?
Like, that’s not a normal thought for a nineteen-year-old guy.
But I’ll be twenty next year, so maybe that helps?
Half an hour later, I’m nursing my second beer when Mickey approaches and loops a few leis around my neck. “Aren’t you glad you came?”
“No. And where the fuck did these come from?”
“Keely—no, Kaylie. Kylie? Coconut girl.”
I nod absently, reaching for the leis to give them back to him. “Go get lei’d, Mickey. I’m heading back. Ollie’s playing strip volleyball, however the fuck that works, so he won’t even notice I’m gone.”
“Dude. You can’t leave yet. We just got here.” Mickey looks shocked that I’d even suggest ditching this fake island paradise for the comfort of my bed and the background noise of my TV, not to mention the food in the fridge.
“You said one hour. That means you can’t leave for…twenty-seven more minutes. Follow me.” He grabs the leis around my neck and drags me across the lawn to where Santos and Van are lounging on lawn chairs by a kiddie pool and sipping fruity drinks with umbrellas in them.
“Norris wants to go back to the house,” Mickey bitches, letting go of my leis and slumping down onto a beach towel like a kid tattling on his wayward sibling.
“I’m not his dad, so what do you want me to do about it?” Van asks as he pours something from a shaker into a little plastic cup. He tops it with a slice of pineapple beforehanding it over to Mickey, placating my buddy just enough that he stops glaring at me.
“You want one before you hit the road?” Pete asks. “The beer’s crap, so Ollie brought provisions. But he’s playing naked volleyball, so…”
“I thought it was strip volleyball?” Van asks, offering me a drink.
“Yeah, but Ollie sucks at volleyball.”
I laugh and take the cup. “This is pretty good. Can I go now?”
“No,” Mickey answers, just as Van and Santos say, “Yeah.”
“It’s Will’s first party,” Mickey explains. “You can’t leave yet.”
I look around to see a few girls in bikinis, a guy wearing a bike helmet and floaties, and us. “If that’s the logic we’re going with…where’s Will?”
Santos mixes a drink for some of our new guests. “He went inside to dance. Last I heard, he was making out with Chelsie from Sig Delt.”
“Cool. So…” I’m about to repeat my request to leave for the four hundredth time tonight, but the words never come. I’m suddenly distracted. There are well over two hundred people here, easy. But I don’t notice any of them. The music is blaring from giant speakers on the porch, but I couldn’t name the song that’s playing. My buddies are talking, but I’ve tuned out their conversation. All my attention is aimed at the woman standing about twenty feet away. She didn’t get the beach party memo, or maybe, like me, she just didn’t care. But I’m not complaining because the short black dress hugs every curve on her compact frame. Her long blonde hair curls over her shoulders, and her blue eyes meet my hazel ones.
I don’t look away; I can’t.
Her cheeks are flushed, and she turns to talk to her friend. When she glances back in my direction, I offer half a smile.
“Who is that?” I ask, needing an answer and not caring who offers it.
