“Yeah, man, what the hell took so long?” Brad asks. “I thought you would’ve beaten me here.”
Jamie lopes into the kitchen, glances around for a drink.
“We just polished off the bourbon, sorry about that.” Margot says. “But... I’ve got vodka in the freezer. Martinis, everyone?”
Jamie nods and looks down at his hands, which seem to be shaking. He’s jumpy and has barely made eye contact with me, but seems to settle once Margot pours him an icy shot of vodka.
“An appetizer,” she says.
He slams back the vodka, then holds his shot glass out for another pour.
“Somebody’s thirsty.” She grins approvingly.
He downs his second shot. “Wooo! Aaah, much better.” His neck flushes red with the alcohol and he turns to me, taking me in with those glittering green eyes.
Brad walks over to him, playfully punches him in the shoulder. “Seriously, where you been, dude?”
Jamie scoffs, his breath hissing out of his mouth. “What is this? An interrogation?” He looks at me with a bemused smile, rolls his eyes at Brad.
Margot strains the shaker of martinis into glasses and drops a pair of olives in each one.
“Enough chatter, boys, let’s drink,” she says, lifting the glass to her lips. “And let’s move to somewhere more comfortable.”
We each grab the stems of our glasses and step into the great room. Margot kicks off her cowgirl boots and pushes the coffee table up against the wall. She struts over to the windows, throws them all open. A rush of warm air blankets the room, and I plant myself on the sofa beneath the picture window overlooking the water. A breeze tickles the back of my neck, and the honeyed globe of light from the table lamp encircles us, making it feel like we’re nestled in a cocoon. I’m walking that razor-thin line between tipsy and drunk, so I take small nips of the giant martini, which is briny with the taste of olives.
Margot slinks from the sofa down to the floor, spreads her legs out in a V.
“I’ve got an idea!” she says, her voice pitched with naughtiness. “Brad, go and grab the bourbon, would ya—”
“But it’s empty—”
“Shush it, I know,” she says, slowly shaking her head. She sounds on the far side of the tipsy spectrum as well. “Just grab it, bring it here, will ya?” Her tone is snappy, her earlier anger at Brad resurfacing.
He stands and rakes a hand through his lush hair, which promptly falls back over his eyes as he skips up the few steps to the kitchen.
Jamie sits on the sofa opposite from me, his eyes glued to mine, the corners of his mouth turned up in a flirty grin.
Heat rises to my face and I smile back. “How’ve you been?” I dumbly ask.
Still grinning, he bites his bottom lip, nods his head. “Very well,” he says, his voice silken and deep, his eyes still locked onto mine. I fight the urge to go over to him, sit on his lap, and kiss his neck, which is still blotchy with scarlet streaks.
Brad returns with the bottle, tosses it to Margot.
“Okay!” Margot says, placing it on its side in front of her. “Everyone, on the floor. We’re playing spin the bottle.”
My pulse races and I move directly across from Margot as the boys take the other spots, forming a circle.
“What—is this going to lead to an orgy or something?” Jamie asks, his eyes smoldering as he looks between Margot and me.
“I’d be down with that,” Brad says, leaning back into the foot of the sectional, clasping his hands behind his head.
Margot gives him a playful kick with her sock-footed toe. “Hush. And just for that, you go first.”
Brad leans forward and gives the bottle a sharp twist. It spins and wobbles before stopping right in front of Jamie.
“No way,” Brad says. “I’m not kissing him.”
“Oh yes you are,” Margot says.
