Page 2 of Vibes

I’ve done my best to drink nothing at this party, and as Lachlan tugs me through the room like I weigh nothing I try and fail to dig my heels into the carpet. People part as he shoves through the crowd without him needing to say a word, and their curious eyes land on me as we move.

Of course most of the partygoers all but throw themselves out of the way. Some of the women here trying to pick him up touch his arms as we move, but no one who’s looking on actually offers to help me out.

Biting my lip, I refuse to call out for help. Of all the people who’ve touched me tonight, Lachlan’s is the least problematic of the bunch. He’s just becoming really annoying, really fast.

My steps are a little uneven behind him, and I glare at the back of his broad shoulders until we reach the kitchen island. Like everywhere else, there’s a swarm of bodies in here too, but at least there’s less dancing and gyrating hips in this room. Half the people here are in the middle of making out, and no one looks up at us as we enter.

On the island is a massive punch bowl, and I cringe as he tugs me closer to it. I saw people joking about this before Dylan cornered me. “Have you had a glass yet, Iris?”

“I’m not drinking that,” I say automatically, watching Lachlan’s grin go from friendly to feral as I eye the big bowl like it might hurt me. I push his hand back when he holds out a pre-poured cup for me, pressing one hand to the island. “No.”

He shrugs, putting the plastic cup down in front of me instead. “What a shame, Iris. We made it ourselves.”

Glancing into the cup, I already know what I’m going to find. I’ve heard everything from jokes, to gags, to applause tonight regarding the damn punch. There are little dissolvable sex toys floating along the top, and my interest dies when I see all the little dick-shaped floaties.

"It's just candy. Don’t look so scared, wallflower,” Lachlan tells me, and I shoot him another glare. “No harm done. I’ve been told they taste good.”

I shudder, thinking about Dylan. Maybe this is what he poured on me. “I—I need to go.”

“Well, not yet,” Lachlan says knowingly, tilting his head. “We’re just getting to the fun part.”

Fun part?

Panic claws at my chest, when Lachlan casually reaches over and tugs me closer to him again. It’s not romantic, or even all that pushy, but he is strong and it takes more effort than I like to escape the web of his arms. He doesn’t look put out when I hold up a hand, just curious again as I take a few steps back.

I don’t want to drink; I just want to get out of here. Lachlan’s mostly harmless, if not a little pushy right now, and even as familiar faces drift through the crowd, I can’t quite focus on any of them around the growing panic. Even as I slowly find Londyn in all the chaos, she doesn’t look ready to peel off from the party and book it out of here. I’m going to ruin everyone’s night if I speak up and complain right now.

That’s when Flynn appears, distracting me from whatever Lachlan is in the middle of saying. Cora storms in after him from the backyard through the sliding glass door. Her glare doesn’t match the amusement on his face as they both survey the room before facing off against each other. Her cheeks are red, and I can see the way anger rolls off of her in the stiff set of her shoulders and the way she stands. Her bright cyan hair is easy enough to pick out even in the weird lighting, and it’s coming out of the braid in spots where the hairstyle can’t hold back the shorter hairs. “This is the last time you make a joke out of me, Donahue.”

Flynn snorts, dragging a hand through his shaggy black hair. It's in need of a major trim if you ask me, but I guess the captain can look however the fuck he wants. His last name, Donahue, is written in big, bold letters on the back of the jersey he's wearing. “It's not that serious, Cora. Learn to take a joke, babe.”

“A joke?” She mocks, her blue hair flying around her as she jerks her head. I finally notice that her black dress is clinging to her a little too tightly, and the fabric might be wet. In fact, there’s a red tint to her face when she leans into the light, and maybe it’s from more than just a blush. “A joke? You thought this was a joke?”

I look between them and try to figure out what the joke in question is. Cora didn’t tell us much before Londyn convinced me to come and help out tonight. I’m not doing my best as a friend, but maybe I can intervene before she does something really stupid. Cora is definitely the most impulsive of the three of us.

Whatever’s coming, I doubt it’s good. I find myself shifting back from the island, the energy rolling off the two of them reaching toxic levels. I can feel the hate burning between them from here.

Cora turns from Flynn, grabbing the punch bowl, and a primal shriek leaves her lips as she clutches the bowl in one hand before throwing the contents at everyone around the island with a dramatic spin. A chorus of groans and curses erupts as the sticky liquid covers all five men standing there. Now I’m really glad I didn’t accept that cup of gross that Lachlan offered me. She’s successfully coated all five teammates for the Denver Lords, and a little bit of satisfaction blooms inside of me seeing that. It’s about time someone humiliated one of the jocks.

I can see cell phones lighting up the room and this will be all over socials before morning. That’s really going to piss off the team. I don’t need Cora’s personal vendetta against Flynn coming back to bite me in the ass. I have a lot going on right now.

Across the island, Londyn snorts as the guys start cursing. Her brown eyes find mine, and she winks like we were in on this plan. “At least her revenge is funny.”

There’s a small buzzing noise I can hear through the strained quiet following Cora’s launch. Lachlan spins and points a finger at her, and he’s holding a miniature sex toy. It takes a moment for my brain to figure out what I’m staring at.

It looks like there were an assortment of mini sex toys at the bottom of the punch bowl.

“You hit me in the eye with a vibrator,” Lachlan snaps, and I can’t stop the snort that escapes. He whips around to glare at me when he should keep all that anger focused on Cora and Flynn. The punch is soaking his shirt, sticking to his face, and he’s rubbing the eye I assume got hit. “It’s not fucking funny. I have to play on Monday!”

“I think your eye will be just fine by then,” I say dryly. “It’s just a little guy.”

Three other players around the table are also complaining, but I forget to care about them when Flynn holds up a hand, his eyes locked on Cora. He's the closest to her, and given how many items were in that bowl I'm positive he got hit with at least one micro-sex toy, never mind all the stupid floating edible ones. “Calm yourselves. I'll handle the little witch.”

“You’re going to handle me?” Cora mocks, and the room goes deathly silent again. Every drunk person in attendance is paying attention, and if someone isn’t videotaping this mess yet again, I’d be surprised. This party will be viral by morning. “Please, you can barely handle yourselves. Let's see what happens when the fools become the toys, and how long it really takes you to make a girl come.”

Cora holds out her hand, pointing her finger at each of the five jocks in turn. “Turn the joke back on you, we’ll make fools of five players too. Lest you learn that pleasure is shared, behold a future bleak and bare. From seven count down to one, and learn the value of pleasure before the final dawn.”

Laughter rises at her little rhyme all around the room, but Cora manages to not look put off at all by the sound. She reaches out while still glaring at Flynn, grabbing a random cup off the countertop, and tilts her head back.