Page 40 of Tell Me It’s Right

“Hence being desperate enough to room with her.” Raquel points her eyeliner at Carson before dropping it into her makeup bag.

Carson just smiles and bats her eyelashes.

“Are you guys coming or what?” shouts a voice from downstairs.

“All your chatting is gonna make me miss the game!” Raquel jumps up, grabs a red Solo cup from the windowsill, then takes off toward the stairs at a run.

I glance sideways at Carson. “Game…?”

“Oh yeah!” She hooks her arm through mine and practically skips after Raquel. “I didn’t mention that?”

“Mention what?—”

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, the living room looks entirely different than it did when I walked in. All of the furniture is pushed to the outskirts of the room, leaving a circleof eight folding chairs propped in the middle with their backs to each other.

Is this fucking musical chairs?

“You bet your ass it is!” calls Raquel, and I blush when I realize I said that aloud. “Here’s how the game works.” She claps her hands and waits as people drift closer from other areas of the house. “There will be two teams of four. The trick is, you want to stay in the game, but you also have to work together. If you eliminate a teammate, you finish your drink. If you’re a member of the losing team, you finish your drink. Any questions?”

“And no excessive violence!” calls Carson beside me. “If you draw blood—or break any of our things—you’re streaking on the beach! We’ll have three judges watching everything very closely, so behave yourselves!”

“Boys versus girls?” offers Miles from the kitchen doorway.

A girl in denim shorts, a bikini top, and a cowboy hat snorts beside him. “What a boy thing to suggest.”

“I don’t care what team I’m on as long as I’m playing!” Carson announces and plops herself in one of the chairs for emphasis.

“I’m in,” says Asher, taking the seat beside her, followed by Miles, Bikini Girl, Luna, and a few others I don’t know.

Once there’s four girls and four guys standing around the chairs, Raquel removes one and points to the beefy guy sitting by a Bluetooth speaker in the corner. “DJ?”

“You’ve got it.”

A rap song bursts through the speakers, and the players scramble to position themselves so they’re not standing beside teammates as the game begins.

“Gracie!” calls Carson. “You’re a judge. Keep an eye on those two for sure.” She points at Asher and Miles.

Fine by me. Better than being in the thick of it. I drift a step closer with my arms crossed over my chest.

The music cuts off abruptly, and chairs screech across the floor as everyone dives for a seat. Miles and Asher grab ones easily, but the other two guys are bodychecked by Carson and Luna.

I wince, and the room lets out a collectiveOoooas they hit the floor. The tall guy with glasses pushes to his feet first, and he grimaces as he takes his seat.

“He eliminated a teammate!” calls Raquel.

“Drink! Drink! Drink!”

“Fuck you guys,” he mumbles, then takes the red Solo cup someone hands him and gets to chugging. The beer spills down the sides of his mouth and over his chin, but after a few moments, he lowers the cup, gasps for air, and shakes his head like a dog coming out from the rain.

“We let you guys have that one,” says Asher. “Chivalry and all.”

“You’re just making it even more embarrassing for yourselves,” quips Luna.

Asher beams like he’s just thrilled she’s acknowledging his existence.

The next several rounds pass in a blur of squeals, thuds, and chants as people chug their drinks. Then it’s down to Miles and Carson, and a hush falls over the room as the final song starts to play—the Macarena.

“Who the fuck picked this?” calls Raquel.

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