“Step up your game, Alejandro,” I say in Spanish. “Or it’s going to be a really long night for you.”
“Damn,” Manny says, looking at Alex. “She’s bi-lingual, too—”
“Aw, man,” Butch says. “Raine hasn’t been bi-lingual since she was about eight years old. How many languages do you speak now? About five, right?”
“Five fluently,” I say, looking at Alex. “A couple more conversationally. I believe I just got a ball into a cup and I would like Alex to drink it.”
Before Alex can pick it up, Butch throws another ball into it.
“Death cup, right?” he says. “I think we just won.”
Alex takes a step back—his mouth wide open.
“Better close that mouth,” I say, pointing at Alex, “before I pop a ball in there, too.”
“Oh, damn. Can I borrow that phrase later tonight?” Butch says.
I slap him across the chest without taking my eyes off Alex. He’s still staring at me—wide-eyed with a little grin coming to his face.
I let out a whistle. “Man, I hope you play baseball better than you play beer pong because you suck at this game.”
“Who’s up next?” Butch says, pointing to the spectators. “And I think it’s time we started putting a little money on these games.”
* *