Everyone drank except one guy. I hesitated, but Taylor looked at me, his eyes, black and shiny. Quickly, I took a sip too. My second lie of the night.
“Never have I ever…done anal.”
This time, none of the guys drank. None…except Taylor. My jaw almost dropped.
Taylor looked at me again, a hint of smugness in his expression, and I couldn’t help myself. I’d had a lifetime of being showed up by him. I wouldn’t tonight.
I took a drink too.
The other boys yelled. “You? You, Archie?”
“Yep,” I said with a shrug. “It’s kinda overrated, to be honest.”
I met Taylor’s eyes, and to my satisfaction, he looked surprised. He quickly blinked it away, and hardened his expression. “Never have I ever,” his said in his deep voice, “fucked a mouth.”
“Does that mean received a blow job?” One of the guys asked, beer can already raised.
“No,” Taylor said. “Fucking a mouth is different to any old blow job. It means grabbing their hair —”
His eyes were latched on mine, and I couldn’t look away.
“— and fucking that wet mouth untilyou come down their throat,” Taylor finished.
Fuck. I hadn’t expected him to have such a dirty mouth. Then again, he’d been top of the class in English.
The other boys didn’t drink. I took a swig before Taylor’s lips even touched his beer can.
“Damn,” Matty said after we both finished drinking and slammed our beer cans back onto the coffee table. “I expected every first year to be a weird nerd, but you guys are something else.”
“Makes sense,” one dude said. “With looks like that, it’s no wonder they pull.”
I was barely listening. All my attention was on Taylor, who was looking at me intensely. His cheeks were even more flushed. I wondered whether his skin turned that pink when he was just about to come—
I blinked. Why was I thinking about that? I shoved the thoughts away and focused on the game.
We played several more rounds, and Taylor and I drank every time. I couldn’t even remember what the questions were. All I knew was I felt a powerful rush every time Taylor thought he’d beat me, but then I’d drink too.
It must have been midnight by the time we were too drunk to play anymore. I vaguely remembered stumbling to the bathroom and throwing up in the toilet before passing out on the bathroom tiles. I felt awful as I drifted into unconsciousness, but unmistakably triumphant too.
CHAPTER THREE
The Idea
I woke to someone nudging me with their foot, and mumbled a protest as I tried to return to sleep.
“Good. You’re not dead,” said a familiar voice, though he sounded raspier than usual.
I cracked my eyes open to see Taylor step over me and wash his hands in the sink. He was dressed in clean clothes, and his hair was damp. Did he have a shower already? With me sleeping on the bathroom floor? The idea that he had been naked just inches from where I lay filled my veins with adrenaline, waking me up.
“Glad to hear that you care about me,” I said, propping myself up so my face was no longer pressed against the cold tiles. Ugh. I was going to have to take a nice long shower to wash away my hangover.
“Please,” Taylor said. “I just don’t want to deal with the inconvenience of a dead body.” He dried his hands andlooked down at me. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
He pulled one of my towels off the rack, and threw it onto my head. “Take a shower.”
“Don’t boss me around,” I replied, but when he left the bathroom, I did get into the shower. The hot water against my skin felt like heaven, and I rested my head against a wall. My head pounded and my stomach roiled. How much had I drank last night? It’s not like I blacked out, because I could still remember everything that happened —
