Abby Ryan has her whole life planned out, up until graduation that is. As a journalism student at the University of Southern Washington, she has one goal in mind for her last semester of senior year: secure a scholarship for graduate school. But whe...
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"Do you want to play?"
A roar from the surrounding crowd makes me jump, and I realize that the current game just ended as the short guy with the man bun that I saw earlier on the dance floor downs his cup of beer. He holds up his middle finger at the players across the table while they chant along with the rest of the crowd for him to chug.
"I don't know how to play," I shout over the chanting. "I would be really, really bad."
When James steps up to the other side of the table and sets up fresh cups, Tristan claims the other side.
"That's perfect, actually. We'll finally have an even match for James." Tristan raises his voice just enough for the man in question to hear him over the pounding music. James doesn't look up from pouring the frothy liquid, he just shakes his head with a smirk.
"Abs! I'll play if you do," Jenny says, stepping up to the table. She's pulled her long blonde hair into a high ponytail since I saw her last, and her cheeks are bright pink when she steps into the light. She must be a few drinks deep to get that kind of glow.
"Come on, Ryan." He grins, nodding for me to join him. "Live a little."
He holds my gaze and the smile he seems to be fighting dents his dimple just enough to give him away.
I fold instantly.
"Alright, how does it work?" I step up beside him.
He sets up our cups, arranging them into a triangle as he explains the game. "The objective is simple: get this ball into any of their cups. If we make it, they drink. If they make it, we drink. Whoever loses all their cups first loses the game."
"That...is a lot simpler than I thought it would be," I admit.
"We're playing the Little League version since it's your first time. No rules or stipulations, just simple shots."
James seems to be explaining the same thing to Jenny, pointing to the cups on our side and leaning down to whisper in her ear. When he pulls back to make sure she understands, her eyes dip to his lips.
Tristan calls out something as he throws the ball. When it lands in the dead center of the triangle, I realize he was calling out the cup he was aiming for—and he made it.
He holds out his hand to me in a low five, and just as I slap it, James sinks his own shot.
"I'll take this one," he offers, drowning the cup quickly and handing me the ball.
I consider the cups, trying to pick one to aim for. I decide on the front one, narrow my eyes, and take my shot.
It doesn't have the same controlled arch that Tristan's did, but it still makes it to the cluster of cups. It bounces off the lip of one cup and falters for half a beat before falling into the cup beside it. It's not even close to the one I was aiming for, but I throw my hands up in shocked celebration anyway.
