Chapter 93 (1/2)

“You’ve played this before! I know you have!” Steph accuses me with a hand on her hip.

“No, I’m just skilled.” I laugh.

“?‘Skilled’?”

“Don’t be jealous of my killer peer dong skills,” I say, and everyone within a five-foot radius bursts into laughter.

“Oh Lord! Please do not say ‘skills’ again!” Steph says, and I hold my stomach while I try to stop laughing. This game was a better idea than I thought. The large amount of alcohol I’ve consumed helps, and I feel carefree. Young and carefree.

“If you make this, we’ll win,” I say to encourage Zed. The more cups he drinks, the more comfortable he seems to be around me.

“Oh, I’ll make it,” he boasts with a smile. The small ball cuts through the air and lands directly into Steph and Tristan’s last remaining cup.

I squeal and jump up and down like an idiot, but I could care less. Zed claps his hands once, and without thinking, I wrap my arms around his neck in excitement. He stumbles back a little, but his arms reach my waist before we both pull away. It’s a harmless hug—we’ve just won, and I’m excited. Harmless. Steph’s eyes are wide when I glance over at her, making me look around the room for Hardin.

He’s nowhere to be found, but so what if he was? He’s the one who left me alone at this party. I can’t even call or text him, because he has my phone in his pocket.

“I want a rematch!” Steph yells.

I look at Zed with wide eyes. “Want to play again?”

He looks around the room before answering. “Yeah . . . yeah . . . let’s do another.” He smiles.

Zed and I win for the second time, which causes Steph and Tristan both to playfully accuse us of cheating.

“You okay?” Zed asks as the four of us leave the table.

Two games of beer pong are enough for me; I’m sort of intoxicated. Okay, more than sort of, but I feel amazing. Tristan disappears with Steph into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I’m good. Really good. I’m having a great time,” I tell him, and he laughs. The way his tongue rests behind his teeth when he smiles is so charming.

“That’s good! If you excuse me, though, I’m going to go get some air,” he says.

Air. I would love to breathe in air that isn’t thick with cigarette smoke or the smell of sweat. It’s hot in this house, too hot. “Can I come?” I ask.

“Um . . . I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he replies, looking away from me.

“Oh . . . okay.” My cheeks flame in embarrassment.

I turn to walk away, but he gently grabs my arm. “You can come. I just don’t want to start any trouble between you and Hardin.”

“Hardin isn’t here and I can be friends with whoever I want,” I slur. My voice sounds funny, and I can’t help but giggle at how weird it sounds.