Page 26 of Rush of Jealousy

“At least I am guaranteed a little action tonight. My poor cocktapus hasn’t seen many pink clam shells these days. Probably forgets what they even look like.”

I spit out my mouthful of nasty beer onto the grass below, barely missing my shoes. I try to compose myself, but Claire’s laughing just makes it impossible. How Bryce can say these things with a straight face is the most intriguing part of it all.

“Selfie time,” Claire announces, taking Bryce’s spinner and turning it manually to green. We hover our hands over his junk as he squats down to fit in the frame. The pic is captured.

“You both are a bunch of teases,” he fake whines. “Now, let’s go find a fourth person so I can beat you girls at some pong.”

Claire and I make our way over to an empty table and set up the cups and drinks. I drop my luggage accessory on a nearby chair. Bryce goes off in search of a partner and comes back with some dude dressed up as a skeleton. He’s covered from head to toe with a spandex bodysuit; the only parts of him that are exposed are his eyes and his hands. His black and white Converse shoes even complement the color scheme.

“Guys against girls?” Skeleton Man asks.

I don’t recognize his voice—which is not surprising. I can count on one hand how many campus parties I have attended in the four years here. My repertoire of men I know has only increased exponentially over the past two months. Since Bryce doesn’t introduce him to us, I assume he doesn’t know him personally either.

“Yup,” I answer, taking my side of the table.

“Isn’t that how it always is in this world?” Claire asks rhetorically, taking her stance opposite me on the other end.

Bryce wiggles his eyebrows. “Ready to lose to the stronger, more capable gender?” He knows it is a hot button topic for me.

“You are such a troll.” I smack him on the arm. “And I’m even playing with my injured hand.”

“Excuses,” he says with a smirk.

I bounce the first ball, and it lands right into one of the cups. Claire and I jump up in unison and hoot. I quickly settle down and fix my skimpy outfit into place. Skeleton Man takes the ball out of the dirty cup, removes it from the table, and then takes a huge sip of his personal drink. We go back and forth until there is just one cup on each side left.

“What does the winning team get?” Bryce asks, now that it’s even again.

“If we win,” Claire starts, “we get to watch you guys dance to a Taylor Swift song. On stage.” She points over to where a group of frat brothers are assembling a wooden platform stage.

Skeleton Man scowls, looking over to the setup area. “Shit, you guys are mean.”

“And if we win,” Bryce interjects, “we get a slow dance.”

“Deal,” we all agree.

Claire bounces the ball and misses. Bryce bounces and misses. I’m up. I bounce the ball and it goes right into the cup, only to hop out again.

I throw my hands up to the sky. “Are you kidding me?”

The guys laugh their asses off, doubling over like goons. Because according to their rules, it doesn’t count. I glare at their obvious glee and air high fives.

“You haven’t won yet,” Claire reminds them.

“But we will,” Skeleton Man says, sending the ball right into the cup that is a foot away from my body.

I stare at it swirling around the base until it comes to a stop. “Shit,” I mutter. I finish off my drink and feel the warm buzz that accompanies it.

It’s almost as if the entire house knows what we bet, because a slow song magically comes across the sound system. It is some stalker anthem from a decade when I wasn’t even born yet.

Claire and Bryce pair off because she is shorter than he is and fits better. Skeleton Man walks me to the dance area and places his hands on my hips as I reach up to drape my arms around his neck. My short mini dress pulls upward, and I just give up on trying to prevent the flashing of my backside. This is why I decided to wear the boy short panties that Graham had included in the set he gave me. They are surprisingly very comfortable, the most modest, and my new favorite style.

The whole dance is done in semisilence as neither of us have much to say, other than ask each other our majors and what year we are in school. I don’t learn much, other than he is a graduate student and is studying business.

After the song ends, I decide that I need to get serious about my data collection, so I excuse myself and go back into the house. I catch Zander’s roommates on the couch with a couple of girls on their laps and cross the room to chat with them. One is dressed like a lumberjack and the other is a taco. The two girls are dressed in bras, tutus, and heavy makeup. I cannot figure out if they are trying to dress differently than they typically would dress; their costumes are not recognizable.

“Nice outfit, Angie,” the more extroverted one says.

“Thanks, you too.” I glance around the room. “Is Z here?”

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