Page 7 of Final Girls and F*ck Boys

As we closed in on the group, Atley called out to me from behind a Ghostface mask. “Hey, little saint! Wanna play a game with us?” His voice was gregarious, playful and teasing; hehad to be rolling. Atley—the real Atley—was playful but soft, in whispered taunts, not these loud gestures.

Moving toward him, I spotted Camber standing just outside the circle, blunt tip burning red as he held it to his lips and took a drag. Smoke plumed from his nose as he exhaled. He had on Hannibal Lecter’s facial restraint mask, his cigarette poking through the wires. Honestly, I was surprised he was even dressed up. Camber would observe Chamberlain and Atley making fools of themselves playing juvenile party games, but he would never deign to play himself.

I was stepping over a tangle of legs to fit myself into the circle of players when Chamberlain responded to Atley’s question: “No, she doesn’t. Little sister doesn’t play games.”

Eyes narrowing, I looked toward Chamberlain. His position hadn’t shifted at all—he looked just as relaxed as before, all devil-may-care attitude, but his right hand was tense where it was fisted on his lap.

You see, growing up, big brother and I would play our own twisted version of Truth or Dare. We were children, left alone for days at a time, with just a housekeeper and a cook as company, and we made up games to occupy ourselves. What started out as innocent dares tosteal the cookiesturned into…something more.

Something darker.

Something far more intimate a game than should be played between siblings.

When we were inevitably caught by our father, the worst of his wrath came down on Chamberlain for behaving in such a vile manner.

We never played together again after that.

But now?

Tonight?

“I’m game. Let’s play.”

6

Atley crowed, “Hell yeah, little saint! You wanna play with the big boys tonight, don’t you?”

I felt it as the sultry smirk grew on my face, and I let it take over, narrowing my eyes as the lids got heavier, my gaze heating. It was the same look I wore when I was performing as MorgueDoll. That persona was untouchable, powerful. I leaned into her when I needed a confidence boost, and with Chamberlain watching from the sidelines, I needed all that ego.

As I walked into the circle of legs, I made a quick decision and plopped down into Atley’s open lap instead of sitting beside him. He grunted as my weight hit him, but his hands immediately clasped my waist as I’d known they would. The big bear of a man was a protector and cuddler by nature. I’d seen him handle three girls at a time with ease, so my short frame and added weight was nothing to him.

Cocooned in his arms, I tamped down a shiver as Atley’s mask skated down my neck, and he groaned under his breath as he scented me through the plastic. “You smell delectable. All sugar and spice and nothing nice.”

I felt him reach up between us, and then the next thing I knew, his bare lips were pressed against my skin. He must have pulled his mask to the top of his head.

I was sitting with my legs up, feet planted on the floor, almost like I was sitting in a chair, and his hands reached under my thighs, squeezing the plumpness there, dimpling my skin. “You look even better, little saint. I know you’re not wearing a bra, but are you wearin’ panties under these?” Atley whispered into my ear. His day-old stubble scratched against my cheek as the mint on his breath wafted over my nose, sweet and refreshing.

I was slightly surprised there was no alcohol on his breath, but only marginally. Atley’s choice of mind-numbing freedom would always be pills.

Leaning back further into his muscled chest, I ignored the laughing voices of the partygoers around us as I whispered back, “Slide your hand up my thigh and find out.” My tongue snaked out and lapped at the lobe of his ear.

Atley sucked in a harsh breath before a shaky chuckle blew from his mouth. “You are sin itself, Priestly King. How in the world did that adopted brother of yours stay away from you all these years?”

There was some weird pact between the three of them—they always slept with the same girl. Occasionally, there were some diversions, when Atley or Camber would branch out and find a new chick to bang, but eventually, the other two would follow along, and the new girl would be the center of their attention for days or weeks or however long it took them to get bored.

Chamberlain typically didn’t deign to pick up women—he let Atley do it for him, as Atley had the biggest wandering eye. The girl on his lap tonight had been their fling back in high school, so I’d seen her sneaking around the house early in the mornings before they’d left for college a few years ago.

I narrowed my eyes in contemplation.

What would Atley do if he knew Chamberlain had already had me? We never technically said we would keep it a secret.

Would it open the possibility of finally crossing that seemingly unpassable barrier between myself, Atley, and Camber?

Biting my lip to hide my smirk, I peeked at Chamberlain, only to find he was staring back at me, hard. All his attention was focused on his friend’s hands stroking my thighs.

I made up my mind.

Turning my head so my lips brushed Atley’s ear, I told our secret: “What makes you think he hasn’t touched me?”

---