“Maybe we should’ve done it sooner.”
“You,” says Angel, pointing to me before taking a vodka shot. He drinks it like water. “Stop being adorable and start playing music.”
“On it.”
I load my Spotify. I’ve been listening to a compilation album of B-sides and rarities by one of my favorite bands, which isn’t really the best hype music. What I want is a song we can drink to that lets us forget everything. I end up picking a hyperpop song I know Angel loves. I hit play.
“Nice choice,” says Angel, who starts bopping along. “Seems like you have some good taste.”
“Hah.”
Ruben sits down beside me.
“You failed, by the way,” he says, keeping his voice low.
“At what?”
“You’re still being adorable.”
I pretend to dry heave, because I’m pretty sure I legally have to whenever someone says something that cheesy, even though it makes me feel all warm inside.
Still, it’s nice.
* * *
We’re all wasted.
Turns out, Fireball is strong.
Ruben and I are sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, our legs stretched out in front of us, our hands entangled. Angel is in the bathroom, throwing up. I’m so drunk I’m only barely conscious of the sound over the music and the ringing in my ears. Jon is beside Ruben, his eyes closed, the back of his head resting on the bed.
The room is constantly lurching, and the edges of my vision are fuzzy.
“Are you o … kay?” asks Ruben, then he laughs. “I’m so … drunk.”
I smile. Wherever Ruben gets drunk, he always tells people.
“I’m okay. Just drunk.”
“God, same. Like, so drunk.” He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it.
The song changes, becomes slower, a little sleazier. The lights of the room are off, and everything is blue and black, all swirly. Oh! I know this song. It’s really sexy. Songs can be sexy. Saturday songs can be cute, but I like songs that are hot sometimes. Songs that are about sex or whatever. Maybe I could write a song about sex. That might be awkward to hand in to Geoff, though. Like, here you go, here are my thoughts on how it feels to hook up with a guy, hope you like it.
Speaking of, Ruben is beside me.
“We should go back to my room,” I say, bopping him on the nose. “I want to sleep.”
We’ve never actually slept in the same bed before, and holy shit, I can’t believe drunk me just invited him to sleep with me.
“I don’t want to sleep, but your room sounds good.”
In the bathroom, Angel throws up again. Gross.
Ruben and I stumble to our feet, and Jon opens his eyes.
“You’re leaving?” he asks.
“Yeah, it’s late,” says Ruben.
Jon gets up, and we huddle together like a tripod, using each other for support.
“Okay,” says Jon, pouting, and then he presses his forehead to mine, and rubs the back of my neck.
“You two are so good together. Like, really, don’t mess this up, because it’s special. Now go, I’ll look after our resident mess.”
“I heard that!”
Ruben and I leave, going out into the hall.
And holy crap.
There are two unfamiliar security guards standing at the end of the hallway. They’re wearing light gray suits, with white ties. Their stoic expressions don’t change when they see us.
I feel like I’m in trouble, even though I haven’t done anything wrong. Drinking at eighteen is legal here. And surely these guards have been told about Ruben and me, and have signed an NDA.
Ruben and I go to my room, and we go inside. Ruben’s been coming over a lot lately, so I’ve been keeping it cleaner than I usually do.
We fall down onto the bed, our hands entangling.
“You’re really hot,” I say. “You know that, right?”
“Where’d that come from?”
“I dunno. I just feel lucky, I guess. And I get what Jon was saying. This is … you know.”
He gives me a kiss on the top of my forehead, and I close my eyes. “I’ve been thinking about a thing, today,” Ruben says. “It’s been bothering me.”
“What is it?”
“It involves something I never told you. And I kinda want to tell you, but I also don’t want you to think I’m an asshole.”
Even though I’m completely and utterly wasted, this opening is enough for me to try to snap back into focus. “Tell me.”
“You sure?”