Unfortunately, Nick takes that as an attack, because by the way Orok yells and flails his leg to the side, I’m guessing Nick bit him again.
Orok hauls me to multiple parties. By the time two of his teammates text him about a fourth that we stumble over to—or, well,hestumbles; I’m maintaining a delicate buzz due to my grant ceremony in the morning—he decides to enter the house by bellowing, “Feel the sting, Feel the sting!”
Orok’s normal state has him collecting friends and acquaintances like a golden retriever. Add on him being a lethal defensive tank on the university’s rawball team, and everyone picks up the chant until the first level of what might be a frat house is caught up in the swell of school spirit, high-fiving Orok and calling out greetings as we wind our way inside.
Two of Orok’s teammates are in a dining room off the main hall. As grad students, none of them should still be playing, what with college rawball participation capped at four years; but every player during the past year and a half got special permission to extend their time thanks to a particularly gnarly accident that caused the entire field to get sucked into a portal dimension. Luckily, all the players and fans who happened to be in the stadium were recovered, but it took a while to get back the various bits of the field itself.
You’d think complications like that would make rawball ban interdimensional spells, butnoooo,where’s the fun in a safe sport?
Ivo’s a tank like Orok, though short and stocky, dwarven, with a buzzed head and a dark beard. Crescentia’s a rogue on the team, human, with neon-pink hair and a quirky art-student vibe, currently sporting her purple-and-gold jersey.
Orok hooks his arm around my waist and bends down to prop his chin on my shoulder, ever the touchy-feely drunk.
I nod at Crescentia’s jersey. Orok rocks with the motion. “That helping you pull tonight?”
Crescentia leers and puffs out her chest. “I dunno. Is it?”
Ivo elbows her. “His boyfriend’sright there.”
Orok rockets away from me at the same moment I glower back at him.
“You havegotto stop cuddling me in public,” I say.
Ivo shrugs. “Crescentia was out of line to—”
“We’re nottogether,” I cut him off. “Crescentia, feel free to hit on me.”
Orok groans. “Please don’t hook up with one of my teammates.”
Crescentia sizes me up and sips her beer. “Actually, pass. You’re always giving off high-maintenance vibes.”
My squeak of offense is swallowed in music blaring from the kitchen. “Fuck you very much, I am nothigh maintenance.”
“Eh.” Orok rocks his hand back and forth.
I punch him in the stomach. He doesn’t flinch.
Ivo points between Orok and me. “Back up. You two are constantly hanging off each other, and you mean to tell me you’renotfucking? Are youserious?” He looks at Orok. “Do you have any idea how many of my friends have asked for your number, and I always brush them off with asorry, he’s basically married?”
“Two masculine people can’t be physically affectionate without being in a relationship,” I say, “but if two feminine people were, they’d be cuddly friends, right? Neanderthals.”
I allow myself one more drink and snatch a red cup from the dining room table. The contents smell like cheap vodka and grenadine, but I down it, wincing at the slight cough-syrup flavor.
Orok plants his palm on the side of my head and shoves until I’m standing between Crescentia and Ivo, no longer next to him. “This is the last time our codependency cockblocks me. You are whatever’s the opposite of a wingman.”
“A thigh-woman,” I say without missing a beat.
Orok glares at me, or tries to, but he’s half laughing and can’t stand up straight without bobbling. “Keep away from me for the rest of the night. I’m not going home alone.”
“You’re right, you’re not. We live together.”
He notes my empty cup and gasps like a hole opened up in the floor. “Bad. I’ll fix this.”
He snatches it and he’s off, the crowd easily parting for his substantial size, and I’m honestly not sure where he’s wandering to, given that the table where I got the drink is right here, spread with dozens of various alcoholic options. And more than a few potion bottles with labels likePROPER FUCKED-UP—NO HANGOVER, GUARANTEED!andLIQUEFIED MAGIC SHROOMS: PINEAPPLE PIZZA FLAVOR.
My nose curls.
Gods, I hope whatever I drank was cheap vodka.
