“I hate when people call me that.”
“I know,” Blake said with a sly smile, one that reminded Ethan of Greg’s stupid grin in class.
Preston lined up the cups, and Blake filled them with beer. Ethan gave them a thumbs-up. He would be their male cheerleader, at the ready with witty commentary.
Unfortunately, no witty commentary came to mind. Ethan didn’t move the entire game. In fact, if a passerby had wanted to know how the game was going, Ethan could’ve given them a complete history of every play. In the beginning, Preston looked over at Ethan with facial reactions—a raised eyebrow, a smile before he was about to throw, a “these guys are crazy” shrug.
But soon, Preston and Blake were losing badly, and Preston’s glances became sporadic rather than automatic. The more they lost, the more they drank. And the more they drank, the more they touched. And the more they touched, the more Ethan drank. Blake leaned his head into Preston. At first, Preston resisted, but maybe the alcohol caught up with him because he wrapped an arm around his teammate.
That could’ve been Ethan, taking advantage of his drunkenness.
Ethan marveled at Blake. He seemed to say or do whatever he thought. Ethan chalked it up to a cry for attention, but he was envious. Blake was the same person inside and out. There wasn’t a mind full of rich inner thoughts he was holding back. As vapid as it made Blake seem, it also made him free.
And it also worked. Once the opposite team sunk the last cup, Preston and Blake shared the last cup of beer. Their bodies remained close, their eyes focused on each other. Ethan could see it coming, gearing up for a solid minute of forced tension, until finally, Preston pulled Blake in for the kiss.
CHAPTER eight
Now was a good time for Ethan to wander off. He ventured back to the kitchen, refilled his cup of jungle juice, and headed into the couch area. He wouldn’t dare sit by himself. That was social suicide. He stood against the wall by the makeshift dance floor as kids grinded to the music. Ethan had a vision of him dancing with them; he could feel the music pulsing through him. His toe tapped. His hips swayed side to side.
He stayed up against the wall.You can’t dance by yourself, he thought. He could chug sixteen cups of jungle juice, but that’s one thing he would never do.
“You should get out there.” A kid in a backward cap with black hair spiking out sidled up next to him. He wore baggier jeans and a shirt, bucking the tighter-is-better trend.
“I’m fine.”
“You having fun?” he yelled into Ethan’s ear.
“Yeah.”
Preston and Blake shimmied onto the floor, greeted by the others. Their bodies smooshed together like a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. Not a molecule of air could get between them. They kissed and swayed much slower than the dance beat. They didn’t seem to care.
Was this the Preston that Ethan knew? Ethan got the sense that he hadn’t been asked here on a date once Preston sunk his first ping pong ball. But still, Preston was his clean-cut crush. He was studying comparative literature. Now he was grinding on a makeshift dance floor. Had Preston always been like this? Was he the kind of guy to get drunk and dry hump at a party? It took someone like Blake—not Ethan—to bring it out of him.
“You got it bad.”
It was the kid next to him. Ethan was caught off-guard. “Excuse me?”
“Preston.”
“What about him?”
“You like him.” The kid sucked in a breath and shook his head. “You got it bad. Word of advice, it’s impolite to watch other people suck face.”
Ethan looked away, focusing his attention on the kid next to him. He couldn’t be all bad since he was talking to Ethan. That was more than anyone else here. The alcohol kicked back in and surged throughout him.
“I really liked him!” The music hid his yell. “I don’t get it. We came here together. He said I looked good in this outfit.”
“Dude, can I give you some blunt advice?” He had soft features and a genuine look in his eyes from what Ethan’s fuzzy vision could tell.
“Sure. What’s your advice?” He didn’t care at this point. The night had turned into a disaster. He needed to talk to someone.
“You’re boring.”
“What?” Ethan didn’t know how to react.Who says that?
“No offense, dude.”
“I think I’m going to take offense to that one. I’m not boring.” Ethan took another hearty sip of his drink. The kid was drinking beer, and it just made Ethan think of beer pong.
