But who am I to judge anyone or pretend to understand their situation? If there’s one thing that’s true about religion everywhere, it’s that people keep secrets. At gatherings, they present the side they want everyone to see, and everyone agrees to pretend that those masks are their authentic selves.
I hate the hypocrisy so much.
If I had money, I’d be out of here. If I had literally anything or anyone else besides my dad and a small amount of savings hidden away in an online account he doesn’t know about…
“You okay?” Edgar seats himself on the log beside me and offers me a juicy bratwurst in a bun.
It looks and smells amazing, so I take it. “Thanks. I’m fine. Just thinking.”
Thinking about running away.
But it’s just not feasible. Not alone. Not with this other side of me ready to crawl up my throat at any time. Dad may not provide me with much support, but at least it’s something. I wouldn’t survive by myself.
After we eat, Edgar gives a short devotional that I think he intends to be super down-to-earth, practical, and inspiring but comes across as kind of fake and insipid. Maybe it’s my mood, though, because everyone else nods and hums their agreement. Everyone, that is, except Heathcliff and Isabella, who are sitting on the sand with their backs to a log. I pretend not to notice Heathcliff’s handdisappear beneath the blanket they’re sharing. Isabella has her knees arched up so I can’t see what Heathcliff is doing under there, but I do notice her face growing redder. Or maybe it’s just the glow of the fire.
Edgar is finally winding down his little sermon. “How about we take some prayer requests—”
“We need music,” I blurt out.
He looks at me, startled. “Okay, I guess we could sing some songs…”
“No, like,realmusic.”
“I’ve got portable speakers and a party playlist,” Thomas offers.
I could kiss that boy. “Yes.Yes,do it.”
The mood of the group changes instantly. Maybe they weren’t as into Edgar’s pious “singles’ night” as they pretended to be. Maybe they were just waiting for somebody to give them a reason to party.
“I don’t suppose anybody brought grown-up drinks,” says Narinna Madden with a tentative laugh. She’s been cozying up to Melanie Dodds ever since we gathered around the bonfire, and I’m starting to wonder if there was something going on under their blanket as well.
Heathcliff rises, letting the blanket slide off his legs. “I didn’t know what kind of party this would be,” he says, “but I did bring a couple coolers along, just in case, if someone wants to help me get them out of the trunk.”
Edgar looks rather crestfallen at the rapid unraveling of his sedate singles’ night.
“Come on, Ed,” urges Lazar. “We’re all over twenty-one.”
“Jesus drank,” pipes up Melanie.
Edgar’s shoulders droop. He’s yielding already, soft, weak thing that he is. Not that I want him to resist, but I kind of despise him for how quickly he folds.
“Okay,” he says. “Just…everyone drink responsibly, okay? Be sure to put empties in the baskets. We don’t want litter on the beach. And let’s keep personal boundaries in mind.”
“Sure, man.” Heathcliff winks at Isabella, who blushes and clutches the blanket closer. He strides off with a few of the others and they return with coolers full of beer. Thomas’s speakers are soon flooding the firelit beach with Camila Cabello and Khalid, while the tabs of beer cans creak and hiss, and everyone starts to chatter.
Heathcliff saunters over and opens a beer for me, holding my gaze. Despite the cold, heat creeps along my skin.
“I’m winning that bet,” he says, low.
“The fuck you are,” I reply under my breath. With my free hand, I unzip my hoodie, showing the low neckline of the sundress beneath. I tug it down a bit farther, smirking as Heathcliff’s gaze darts to my cleavage.
“What were you saying about that bet?” I ask sweetly. Then I saunter back to Edgar, bathe him in my signature smile, and hold out the beer. “Want some?”
“I don’t usually drink,” he replies. “But maybe just a little.”
“Okay.” I take a swallow, holding the foamy beer in my mouth, and I lean down, pursing my lips. Edgar’s blue eyes widen, and he yields, tipping his face up and opening his mouth. I kiss him, parting my lips just enough to let the beer trickle over his tongue. I’m fully conscious that in this position, my ass is pointed straight at Heathcliff and the short dress I’m wearing won’t cover any of it. Plus, my “modest one-piece” swimsuit has ridden up, so Heathcliff is getting an eyeful of my ass cheeks.
Smiling at Edgar, I plop myself on the log beside him. He blinks, his lips wet. “You’re something else, Cathy. I don’t remember you being like this before.”
