THE OXFORD BET *VirginityGames*

Chapter 15 Screwing or Screwing up?

"Recruitment for the society is scheduled for next Friday. So let's make sure we bring in the best of the best and this weeks forfeit I'm sure you all remember what it is," Daniel warned ominously.

"Enough about the ranking and recruits, speech! Speech!" Richard said, completely wasted amidst drowning his sorrows about Victoria.

Brandon banged his class on the table, spilling his whiskey everywhere. "Yes! Speech! Speech!"

Adam dove onto the table, kicking cutlery out of his way. The boys laughed at him.

Daniel sat down and took his glass in his hand assuming the same position as the others.

"We are fucking amazing. We deserve to be here and my brothers would be proud of what we've done. I don't care what people might say, unearned privilege, arrogance, a sense of entitlement, who cares. We are here. We will live by the sword, and we will die by the sword as some old geezer once said. We will not be forgotten. Soon we will be chasing recruits to take our place, to carry on our legacy. We have been wanted, lusted after, and above all, we've been loved. Not many people can say that. We will gather the brightest and the boldest to join our secret society and the best will join us to eat till we are all sick at the table of life. We won't grieve this once we are gone but remember how fucking great we had it. We call ourselves part of the B.E.T society. Let's make this year one to be proud of." There were a few seconds of breath-holding silence before Adam burst out laughing, the first time that night he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself since the Bet started again. One by one, the other club members joined in - self-conscious hidden giggles, impolite guffaws, smirks on the rim of a champagne glass - no one wanted to be the last person to show that he hadn't actually been swept up by Adam's monologue.

"Well," Brandon said, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye, fighting back another round of lawless laughter, "he's certainly pissed."

Daniel fought his way up from his chair and wove around the bits of shattered glass in accidental drunken grace to fetch Adam down from where he stood, chest heaving, nose whistling, eyes skittering around the room.

"Come now, Adam. Isn't it past your bedtime?" Arms outstretched, Daniel looked rather like a father rescuing his son from the monkey bars.

Adam came down placidly off his soapbox, legs as wobbly as a baby horse's. All the fiery energy purged from his body; his pulse was beating wildly in his cheek. Daniel pulled Adam's arm over his shoulder, dragging him to the door. "Richard, call the cars, will you. And somebody get his coat," he called back to the club.

The party, at that point, was unofficially over. Daniel wasn't sure if the president Brandon had to give another speech to wrap things up, bookend things, but Brandon just gave Richard a nod and went about the busy work of fixing his hair in the reflection of the sylvan paintings encrusted on the walls of the private room. There was a puddle on the tablecloth, some badly paired white that Daniel had put his elbow in.

"Remind me to get the strippers next time," Brandon said while dialling. "If I have to put up with a rant every society club dinner instead of a bunch of naked women, I swear to god.... It's like meeting the in-laws: no politics, religion or sports."

"It's not like Charles wasn't exactly the same way. Whenever you got enough Sauvignon blanc in him he would give sermons to put the Archbishop of Canterbury to shame. Expect he was rather on the opposite side of the spectrum," said Richard. He was rubbing a splash of cream out of his fringe which had dried and had come down in greyish flakes.