“God, you’re such a prick,” Costa says, not able to hide the amused tone in his voice. “How do you put up with this guy, Stella?”
“Simple.” Now, it’s my turn to grab the bottle. “Best sex of my life.”
Costa winks at me. “So far.”
“Hey, hey, watch it there.” Sam claps his hands on the table. “You and I just made up and all.”
“I’m just kidding. Seriously, you two look very happy together. And, Stella, you’re much better than those skanks he went after when he was surging.”
I can’t keep from laughing, but Sam groans.
“Costa! Seriously?”
“Kidding, kidding. You were an altar boy, no matter how great the surge.” Costa looks at me and not so subtly shakes his head.
“Can we change the subject, please?” Sam begs.
“Fine. But, dear God, do you remember that horrid girl with the crow tattoo across her neck? Some tourist from Michigan. You’re much hotter, Stella.”
I try not to snort. “Thank you, Costa. I’m flattered.”
“Let’s toast to starting over.” Costa pours three more shots, and we each take one. “To old friends and new. I think we’re going to make a damn good trio.”
Sam nods and raises his shot glass. “Here’s to that.”
While I’m sucking on a lime, Costa hops up and turns on Sam’s stereo. “And since we have disco lights, I think we must dance, yes?”
He holds his hand out to me, and I’m drunk enough to agree. When “Stayin’ Alive” starts playing, I crack up. Costa’s charm really is hard to resist. I let him spin me around, and I giggle when he pulls out a few good moves from the ’70s. I catch sight of Sam watching us dance, and he looks so happy. After what he went through with Costa—and with Toby—it’s good to see these old friends finding peace with each other. We spend hours listening to music, thankfully ditching the disco hits early on, and talking.
By one in the morning, we’re all impressively drunk and sprawled out in the living room. Sam made another light-orb fire in the fireplace, this one turquoise and gold. I stopped drinking a while ago, but tequila has a way of sticking around, keeping me warm and awake. The boys are reminiscing about death tripping, and it’s a good thing I’m not sober, or the stories about the various ways they used to die might be too much. But maybe I’ve had enough time to incorporate Sam’s reality into mine because I’m not entirely freaked anymore. Maybe I’m still a bit concerned but curious to know more.
I’m on the floor, and I lean back on my arms and look between Sam and Costa, now both on the couch. “So, you went skydiving and just didn’t pull your chutes? Didn’t you feel bad for that skydiving company? I mean, that poor instructor! And the pilot!”
They both start laughing, and Sam lightly smacks Costa’s arm.
“That was totally your idea, and it was awesome.” Sam apologetically looks at me. “I know, I know. It was wrong. But our packs and chutes disappeared with our bodies, so…it was like it never happened, right? Okay, fine. It was mean.”
“But also awesome!” Costa screams. “Come on, Stella, say it was awesome.”
“I’ll admit…it might be just a teeny bit amusing. In a totally sick, awful way.”
Costa hangs upside down off the couch. “You do have yourself a bit of a bad boy, Stella. Get used to it.”
“Ah, my bad-boy days are over,” Sam says. He gives Costa’s feet a good hard push, sending him toppling to the floor.
“Sammy, for real? You’re gonna…what?” He scrambles to a teetering stand by the fireplace and waves at the colored display Sam conjured up. “Make pretty lights forever?”
“Death tripping doesn’t lead to anything we need, Costa. You know that.” Sam gets up and stands near me.
My hand automatically lifts to stroke his leg. He wiggles his fingers at the lights, making them flare up and singe Costa’s pants.
“Hey! Not funny!”
Sam shrugs. “A little bit.”
“Ah, really? You could do with a much better power.” Costa’s tone moves from playful to more serious. “You deserve better than this. Don’t you agree, Stella?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
