Page 11 of The Riley Effect

“I thought it would be fun to have some friendly competition before we start our seasons. The first team to win three out of the five games wins.”

We update the crinkled list after each event. Neither team has had a clear advantage, with the winners alternating after each game.

I can’t say I’m disappointed that we have to play the last game or that we’ll have to take our clothes off. Did I need to make this event strip pong? No, I didn’t. Did I ensure it would be Ivy and Indy playing against Marcus and myself? Absolutely.

By the time we set up the table with the specialty cups in a pyramid of ten, Lola has arrived. She’s standing with Ivy and Indy on the opposite side of the table. I know Lola because she has come out with Indy a bunch of times since she and Marcus started dating.

I toss the ping-pong balls to the other side of the table. The orange balls take a few bounces before they get to the girls. I’mnot nervous about them having the first shot. I’m weirdly good at beer pong, and the added motivation of wanting to keep my clothes on– or seeing Ivy out of hers– should sharpen my game.

Indy takes the inaugural shot. It bounces on our side of the table, and Marcus slaps the ball away before it can land in a cup. It’s a little aggressive, but he knows that Indy won’t let him live it down if she wins tonight and trust me she can be ruthless.

When it’s Ivy’s turn, she steps to the center of the table and bounces the ball on the edge before she catches it again. Her concentration is undeniable. Her tongue peeks out between her lips as she carefully decides which cup to aim for. She exudes confidence. But she overestimates her strength, and the ball flies through the air, never hitting the table. It only stops when it hits me in the chest.

“You don’t have to try so hard to get me naked.” I say with a wink.

Marcus hits his first shot, and once Indy is done with the lukewarm beer, she flips the cup over and holds it towards Marcus so he can read aloud,

“Don’t remove any clothing,” he says enthusiastically, “Thank god, I don’t think I realized everyone was going to potentially see my girl in her bra and panties.” He says loud enough for only me to hear.

I can’t help but laugh. We’ve all had a good amount to drink at this point in the night, and truths are rolling off everyone’s lips.

When I take my shot, I can hear the swish of cheap beer when I sink the ball perfectly into the center of the cup at the point of the pyramid. Ivy flips it over after she finishes the beer. She has to remove one item of lower-body clothing. My dick twitches at just the thought of seeing her ass without the barrier of her pants. When she bends down, it’s obvious she and I aren’t sharing the same ideas for this cup.

She bends down slowly, sensually and with her Js lost before the game of Twister, she just has her socks to remove. Yeah, remember when I thought it was cool she wore sneakers to the party, not so much anymore.

“Hell no, you’re not getting away with that, Angel,” I protest. This girl might be a rule follower, but I have a feeling there is more to Ivy than this good girl persona she’s been hiding behind all these years.

“It said one item of lower body clothing the last I checked. You can’t get much lower than your feet,” she barks.

“Fine, but we made both cups to get the balls back so we can shoot again.” I remind her of the rules.

Marcus and I are superstitious like most athletes, so he shoots first, but this time it rims out. I sink mine, but Ivy doesn’t tell us what the cup’s bottom says. Instead, her brown eyes darken as she wiggles out of her pants. She doesn’t even flinch. Her cheeks don’t blush. I, on the other hand, can feel my cheeks heat, and my pants tighten.

My blood boils as my teammates rotate their positions in the room so they can get a look at Ivy’s ass. What the fuck is going on. I just wanted a date with Ivy to get to know her so maybe our time at the shelter isn’t so awkward. But now that she is plantless in my living room with most of my teammates gawking over her. I’m starting to regret spicing up this game of beer pong.

As the game progresses, Marcus’ wardrobe can only be described as no shirt, no shoes, no problem. While I’m currently standing in my boxers and button-up shirt.

Ivy takes her next shot, but it rims out. I thank whichever party god controls this game because Marcus and I are one cup away from winning.

Since we haven’t hit a cup in a few rounds, Marcus nudges me to switch up the order we have been going in. I hold the ball to his lips, and he kisses it. I align my elbow with the end of thetable before I let the ball go. I hold my follow through as the ball soars into the final cup.

“Nothing but net,” I say in a relaxed tone. Like I wasn’t worried I would lose this game and never hear the end of it from my teammates.

The house breaks into celebration so rambunctious you would have thought we won the Stanley Cup.

“How was my follow through?” I ask Ivy as I walk toward the opposite end of the table.

“It could use some work.” She’s pissed off that they’ve lost. And it’s pretty damn sexy how competitive she is.

Once I reach the opposite end of the table and when everyone is fully clothed, I hug Indy and purposefully brush Ivy’s shoulder with mine.

I successfully distract her from the conversation Aaron is trying to have with her. I think I heard him ask her something about exchanging numbers. Little does he know I am one step ahead of him.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” I say, reminding Ivy of the bet she swore she wouldn’t lose.

8

Ivy

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