Page 5 of Just Friends

“Seriously?” I snap, crossing my arms. “You have no boundaries.”

He grins, showing off his bright white teeth. “My mom said that can be a great trait in life.”

“For who? Serial killers?”

“For guys asking girls to do their homework.”

He walks around me to the mini fridge, opens it, and peeks up at me. “What’s your drink of choice, Lina? Water? Pepsi? Tequila?”

I roll my eyes, pushing my black-rimmed glasses up my nose. “You don’t have tequila in there.” This calling-his-bluff game is fun.

“I beg to differ.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “It’s in a Gatorade bottle, tucked into the very back so no one sees it.”

Yeah, right.

Today, I’m feeling gutsy.

“Give me a tequila shot then.”

He squints in my direction. “You’re fucking with me.”

I shake my head. “I’ll need it to get through an afternoon of hanging out with you.”

He grins, pushing his arm into the fridge, and pulls out a bottle.

Maybe calling his bluff wasn’t the smartest idea.

We’re not at school where he can be expelled for doing something like this.

We’re in hisbedroom.

I gulp when I see the bottle, focusing on the amber-tinted liquid inside that’s most definitely not Gatorade.

Way to call his bluff, Carolina.

Now, he’s calling yours.

Time to gear up and taste tequila for the first time.

The room is quiet as he stands. His eyes are fastened on me while he slowly unscrews the orange cap and holds the bottle out to me.

I’ll be damned if I let him win this … game? Whatever it is.

Nausea cartwheels in my stomach, and I haven’t even taken a drink. Lord knows how it’ll feel after I do. I inhale a deep, determined breath.

I got this.

I’ve never drunk tequila, but I’ve had wine.

It can’t be that different, right?

Deciding it’s done doing gymnastics, my stomach tightens, as if it’s preparing itself, when I snatch the bottle from him. I grip it and drag it to my lips. Right before I do anything drastic, my back stiffens, and I frown at the same time.

“How many people have taken a drink from this bottle?” I question. “I’m not about to contract some STD.”

He chuckles, signaling to the bottle. “The only person who’s drunk from that bottle is me.” He pauses, snaps his fingers, and points at me. “And you, in a minute.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You better not be lying.”

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