I raise an eyebrow at the obscene number of little round red and blue containers she’s placing on the table. “You had me at alcohol and junk food.”
She pulls out a cake with a clear plastic lid—an entire freaking chocolate cake—and sets it beside the Jello shots. “Yeah, well, I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so this is what happens when I grocery shop while hungry.” She gestures to the cake, then pulls out a tray of assorted sandwiches and three large bags of chips. “I didn’t know what you like, so I just grabbed a few things.”
“I’m not picky. This looks great, and I ate dinner a few hours ago. I’ll get some plates and silverware.”
“Perfect. Oh, and a couple glasses too. I brought prosecco.” She’s already rifling through the bag again. “I’ll just get a couple other things ready.”
By the time I return with plates and utensils and find flutes in the cabinet, Valeria’s covered almost every available surface of the coffee table with more food, random objects, and threebottles of bubbly, and she’s taping some sort of poster on the wall.
I laugh at the spread of snacks that could feed an entire football team and clear a small spot for the flutes and plates. “What are you doing, decorating?”
“Just assembling one of the games.” When she tosses a devious look over her shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Alexei’s head on the wall. “This one’s called ‘kiss the lips.’ You put on lipstick and blindfold yourself, then you try to kiss the picture. Whoever gets closest to the lips wins.” She finishes taping the giant photo of Alexei’s face to the wall. “Though kissing my own brother’s photo would be super awkward, so you’re gonna have to play this one solo.”
I snort. “Pretty sure I’ll need a little alcohol in me before we start these games.”
“Oh, that’s the whole point!” She glides back over to the couch and pulls a handful of objects from the bag. “For each game, the loser does a shot.”
“Do I even want to know what the hot dogs and oranges are for?”
Valeria wiggles her eyebrows and taps the package of hot dogs. “These are for ‘sink the weenie in the hole.’ You tie a hot dog to a string and the string around your waist. First person to sink the hot dog in a bottle wins. The oranges are for ‘swing your ding-a-ling,’ where you put an orange in pantyhose, tie it around your waist, and knock another orange as far as you can.”
She proceeds to explain more games as she pops a bottle of prosecco and pours two generous servings. There’s the “inflatable banana ring toss” that’s just like it sounds, “what’s in the sock,” where each player uses their feet to guess what naughty item is in a sock, and a few other prop-less games such as “two truths and a lie” and “would you rather: bachelorette party edition.”
By the time Valeria finishes her spiel, I’ve already got a nice little buzz going.
“All right, let’s do this.” I reach for the bottle and refill both of our flutes. “But first, I need more alcohol. And a slice of that cake wouldn’t hurt.”
“Now you’re talking my language.” Valeria fishes through the bag yet again and hands me a wide metal serving knife before fixing herself a plate with a turkey sandwich and chips. “I’ve got an easy icebreaker for you.” She bites into the sandwich, chews thoughtfully, and washes it down with a healthy swig of sparkling wine. “Would you rather have continual orgasms for twenty-four hours or unprotected sex with a hot stranger in a club?”
I almost spit out my mouthful of cake. “Um, okay, that’s a tough one. Would I get to choose how I had the…” I clear my throat and resist the urge to fan myself. Why is it suddenly so hot in here? “…had the, ah…orgasms?”
“Jello shot!” Valeria jumps from the couch, grabs a little plastic container, and shoves it into my hands. “If you have to ask a question to figure out your answer, you lose.”
“Fair enough.” I lift the lid off the container and pop the boozy cherry gelatin into my mouth. The shot burns all the way down my throat, cluing me in on just how generous Valeria was with the alcohol when mixing up her concoction. “But I think you need a shot, too, since you conveniently forgot to explain the rules.”
She doesn’t need any persuasion, winking as she plucks off the lid from a container with blue Jello.
The night only gets crazier.
Approximately three hours, too many games to count, and just as many Jello shots later, I can no longer walk in a straight line.
I sink into the couch as Valeria leans down and digs through her bag. Again.
Reaching for a sandwich, I take a bite, hoping and praying the food soaks up some of the alcohol. Tomorrow’s hangover’s gonna be a bitch. “Who are you, Santa’s little elf? I swear that bag is bottomless.”
She giggles, swaying a little as she pulls out not one, not two, but three dildos. A soft measuring tape comes out next.
“Last game, I swear.” She hiccups. “We each have to guess the length and girth of each dick while blindfolded. Then we’ll measure and see who got the closest.”
“Why blindfolded?”
“To make it harder.” She pauses, a tipsy laugh bursting from her. “See what I did there?”
I smile and shake my head, pulling the blindfold I’ve been wearing Rambo-style on my forehead down over my eyes. “Wait. How do we record our guesses if we’re blindfolded?”
“Hmm, didn’t think of that. I guess you can raise the blindfold to write down each guess.” The couch moves beside me, indicating that Valeria’s gotten up. “Lemme go find a pen and paper.”
After she leaves, I sit here feeling like an idiot, stroking the first dildo and thinking way too seriously about the length and thickness of the rubber phallus.
