Party (14 page)

Which is exactly what I’m going to do the next time I see Bethany. After she is done getting me off.

Bethany’s what they call a slag in England. Good word. It fits her. I’d had an eye on her for a few weeks, and I picked her right away as someone who’d put out. A few too many extra pounds, not a lot of girlfriends, you know. Looking for anyone to pay attention. Hey, it beats the hell out of what happened to Josh. I lost track of him as soon as we got here, but even at Matt’s house, he was all bent out of shape.

No thanks. No way I’m letting a chick do that to me. No way.

And I’m nice to them. The girls. I don’t treat them bad. I may not stick around, but I don’t ignore them after, either.

This is taking too long, and starting to hurt, mostly because I’m drunk. Also because Bethany isn’t exactly a supermodel.

So why bother?

Because why not. I still get what I want, so what the chick looks like is hardly relevant.

Don’t go getting all judgmental on me. If Josh acted more like me, he wouldn’t feel like he does right now. He’d feel—

Ohthankgodherewego
.

There. Finally. Cripes, I barely even felt it, I’m so hammered.

Ah, well.

“Wow,” I say to Bethany, to make her feel good.

“Yeah?” she asks. She smiles.

“Sure,” I say, and give her a quick kiss on the forehead. “That was awesome.”

She giggles. I feel bad then, so it’s time to go. But Bethany beats me to the punch.

“I needa beer or something, you want something?”

I shrug and nod. Why not. I give her what I think is a smile, but I can’t feel most of my muscles.

Bethany gets dressed and I just lay back and close my eyes. Maybe I’ll just pass out right here. I won’t be the only one passing out tonight, I’m sure.

“Be right back!” Bethany whispers.

“Cool,” I say, and relax. This is awesome. I could use a smoke, but they’re in my jeans and that would mean getting up. Too wiped out to bother. I’ll have Bethany grab them for me when she comes back.

I’m not sure how long I was lying there, because time does funky things in the postcoital, post-hammered seventeen-year-old mind.

The door, which Bethany didn’t close all the way, flies open, and wakes me right up.

“The hell!” I shout. I am buck naked, and light from the hall falls right across my junk.

The chick who careens into the bedroom is not Bethany. Too skinny. Her shirt is pulled up—she’s holding the edge of it over her head with one arm, right in the middle of taking it off. Her face is covered by the shirt. Narrow midriff, neon white skin, smallish tits in a shiny black bra …

The chick giggles drunkenly and smashes into a closet door.

“Oop, fuck,” she blurts, and then finally is able to pull the shirt over her head and toss it to the floor.

Oh, sweet holy shit.

Morrigan?

She slams the door shut and stumbles to the bed as I scramble for sheets, the comforter, a pillow, anything to cover up with.

“Now this’s more like it,” she slurs, and throws herself on the bed. She carries a bottle of beer, which sloshes some out of the opening. The other hand is reaching for me.

“Whoa!” I shout, and scoot to the other side of the bed. I manage to flip on a bedside lamp. “Morrigan, what the hell are you doing?” And
shit
do I want my clothes back on, like,
yesterday
.

“Lookin’ for Ryan,” Morrigan says, and even though I’ve put down a few tonight, her beer breath is
rancid
. Her free hand reaches under the pillow I’m holding against my crotch. “Foun’ you! Yay!”

I grab her arm. “You’re drunk.”

“Uh … yeah! Kiss me.”

I try to look into her eyes, which are swimming behind half-closed lids. “Do you know who I am?”

“Ry-own! Like, right on! C’mon, kiss me.”

She leans toward me.

This is, um—
bad
.

… Because she is still pretty damn cute.

So, okay, there’s that moment. I feel it every time. That moment you know you should stop what you’re doing, but your prick always wins. You can’t help it.

I’m still holding her arm down on the mattress, but she’s leaning toward me trying like hell to pucker her lips.

I think about it.

I do. I admit it. She’s cute, sue me. And even though I’m a little achy from the marathon with Bethany, I still feel that little jump down there, like when your body’s saying,
Oh yeah, here we go!
even if your mind is saying,
Dude, don’t do this
.

Josh’s ex-girlfriend.

I know I can’t do this, even though I want to. She gets closer, closer.

I take a deep breath, ready to get up and put my damn pants back on, when someone knocks on the door and it opens again, just a crack.

Oh, great. Try explaining this little scenario to Bethany. This’ll take some—

“Hey, man … you still in here with Bethany?”

Ah,
shit
.

“Josh,” I say.

“Bethany in there?” he says.

I stare at Morrigan, who’s still pawing at me.

“… Noooo,” I say, because that’s not a lie even if it’s not the entire truth.

“Cool.” He opens the door all the way and walks in. “Listen, I’m gonna take off—”

Then Josh freezes solid when he sees us. The moment is a photo, a 3-D picture absent of sound or motion.

“Jesus,” Josh says. Which is odd because even though Josh swears better than anyone I know, he never “takes the Lord’s name in vain” or whatever you call it. But looking at me on the bed here, I can’t say that I blame him.

His face goes blank, and it creeps me out. He moves, and he moves fast.

It’s not that I’m afraid of him; dude’s like two foot three. But
he’s
wearing all his clothes and ten-hole Docs. I’m wearing a
pillow
.

“Dude” is all I have time for.

Josh sprints over to me and lands one solid right in the sweet spot under my left eye, which sends me to the carpet, cock a-flyin’. I haven’t even shaken my head before he’s around the other side of the bed next to Morrigan.

“What’d he do to you?” I hear him say. My eyes are pretty much rolled back into my skull and apt to stay that way until after college.

Morrigan pauses, and I pull myself to my knees, hidden behind the bed and holding my face.
Damn
, that hurt. Kid’s got some guns there, who knew?

Morrigan looks over at me, like she can’t believe what Josh just did. Hell,
I
can’t. Well—okay, I can, but still.

Then she gets that trademark Morrigan smart-ass look on her face, turns to him, and says, “Everything you wouldn’t.”

Ah, shitballs, you
dumb—

“Dude!” I say again, holding up my other hand to ward off another attack.

But Josh just backs away, with that same non-expression on his face.

“’Kay,” he says. “So be it.”

He looks over at me. Glares. Works his jaw behind closed lips.

For some reason, I can’t say anything.

“You,” Josh says finally, then hesitates, snorts a bit, and laughs. “Fuckin’ prick.”

Then he turns out of the room and is gone. I can hear his feet crashing down the staircase, full speed.

“Shit,” I say, and scramble to find my clothes.

Morrigan falls back on the mattress and laughs. “Ah, c’mon!” she says. “Less juss do it, Ry! C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Shut! Up!”
I yell, and finally manage to pull my jeans on just as Bethany walks in.

Good god.

She takes a look at half-naked Morrigan on the bed, me zipping up, and tosses two cups of beer on my chest. Then she smacks me right where Josh decked me.

“Ass!” she screams, and barrels out the door, hysterical.

“Oh, come
on,”
I whine, and use the pillow to wipe beer off my chest.

“We’re alone, we can do it now,” Morrigan says, sliding across the bed toward me, then tumbling to the floor, ass over elbows, giggling stupidly.

I ignore her, yank my shirt over my head, and run out the door.

Morrigan screams, like she’s been shot or something.
“Why not!”
she shrieks behind me. “WHY WON’T ANYONE—”

Whatever. I roar down the steps at top speed and crash into someone. She screams, and something flies out of her hand and lands in the middle of the throng of kids dancing. Even over the music, I can hear the crunch of plastic beneath their feet.

It’s Ashley Dixon. She whirls toward the dancing group and covers her forehead. “Ohhhh, that
sucks!”

“Sorry,” I say, and run to the front door. I throw it open and head barefoot down the redbrick path to the street, looking for Josh’s Blazer.

Gone. I hear tires screeching down the block.

I squat down, lacing my fingers behind my neck like I’m going to be arrested.

This is, um—
real bad
.

“Hey!” Ashley calls. A second later she’s standing beside me. “What’s the go? You broke my phone!”

“Sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t mean to smash you like that.”

“Well … it’s okay. Sorta. What’re you doing?”

I stand back up. “Looking for Josh.”

Ashley blinks, then looks suspicious. “He took off,” she says. “Came running down the stairs and bolted out the door. He’s gone?”

“Yeah. ’Fraid so.”

“What happened?”

“You wouldn’t even believe me.”

“I might. What?”

“Frankly, Morrigan just tried to bed me.”

“Oh, god. Are you serious? Wait—and you
didn’t
?
”

“No, I didn’t!”

“You do have a bit of a reputation. …”

“Yes, maybe I do, but I didn’t touch her. Josh busted in and it probably looked … bad.”

Ashley shakes her head, and actually laughs a little. “Well, isn’t that perfect. I can’t believe this night. Where’s Morrigan?”

“Probably passed out in a bedroom upstairs.”

“Any idea where Josh might’ve gone?”

“None whatsoever. He was … I don’t think
shocked
is a strong enough word. Son of a
bitch.”

“You or Josh?”

“Oh, cute.”

“Sorry. Look, can I borrow your phone? Mine’s trashed. I was in the middle of giving directions to Morry’s parents.”

I turn back toward the house and we walk together to the front door. “Directions? Why?”

“Long story. They’re bent. She snuck out of her room to be here tonight.”

“So take her home.”

“Yeah, tried that. They were too pissed. They want to kill her themselves.”

We get back indoors and tromp up the stairs. I let Ashley go first so I can keep an eye on her ass. Sue me. “So they’re on their way?”

“Sort of. I told them we were at a house near Shoreline Park, but that’s when
you
cut us off.”

“Well, I’d think seriously about getting your little friend to sober up some. She’s
gone.”

We get to the second floor, and I put a hand out on the wall to steady myself. Ashley smirks at me. “You’re not so steady yourself, Romeo.”

“You’re a lot cuter when your mouth is closed.”

“Really? Well, I’ll just file that under Go Screw Yourself.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. Ashley grins, and we go back into the bedroom. Morrigan is, in fact, passed out cold on the mattress. She’s tangled in the red tank top she took off a few minutes ago. Her beer has spilled onto the mattress between her legs, creating an unflattering illusion.

Ashley moves toward her and peers at the stain. “Uh—is that beer?”

“I think so,” I say, and pick up the empty bottle. It was almost full when she came sloshing in here.

Ashley picks her up under the shoulders and moves her to a sitting position. Morrigan grunts, her head lolling on her neck.

“Hey,” Ashley says. “Morry. Wake up, sister. We got to get you home.”

Morrigan makes a sound like,
“Harrugh?”

I search the floor for my cell, which had fallen out when
Bethany and me were undressing each other. It’s under the bed. I pull it out and flip it open.

“Who’re you calling?” Ashley asks as Morrigan slowly comes back to life.

“Josh.”

“Oh. Good idea.”

But all I get is his voicemail. I shut my phone and hand it to Ashley. “No answer,” I say, and reach down for my socks.

“Aaaaash?” Morrigan wheezes.

“Yeah, girlfriend. I’m here.”

“I don’t feel very—”

Now, I’ve had my share of nights worshipping the porcelain deity after a night of boozing it up with the guys. But never have I seen puke that color, or projected with such force. It’s the stuff of torture porn. And the noises … man, I will remember this night until the day I die if for no other reason than I will never forget the sound of that poor chick puking her guts out onto some stranger’s bed at the biggest party thrown this year in Santa Barbara.

Serves her right.

“Well, shit,” Ashley says hopelessly.

Happily, I was too far away to get any splashback. “Not much of a drinker, is she?” I inquire nicely.

Morrigan interrupts with three rapid inhalations—and pukes again. Most of it ends up on the floor beside the bed. A line of beer-puke-drool literally connects her lip to the carpet.

Ashley rolls her eyes at me and tosses my phone back. She
manages to get Morrigan to her feet and into the adjoining bathroom, where she sits her down on the toilet lid and starts searching for towels.

I finish getting my shoes and socks back on. “Anything I can do?” I call to Ashley.
“Other
than help you clean that up?” The room’s starting to stink something fierce.

She’s wringing a towel out in the sink. “Actually, yeah,” she calls back. “Could you find Morry’s bag? It’s that black messenger bag thing. She left it on the back patio.”

“I’m on it,” I say, and head back downstairs.

The party is going strong. It takes me almost a minute to walk twenty steps through the crowd to get to the patio. Morrigan’s bag is sitting next to a lawn chair—amazing someone didn’t take it. I grab it and head back upstairs.

“Here,” I say, and drop the bag at the foot of the bed.

Ashley has Morrigan mostly conscious now, and looking green. “Thanks. Could you check to make sure her phone is in there?”