New Romantics

Chapter 11

Sunlight glinted from the navy frames of my opponent. The tall, redheaded DTE brother was one of eight on the other side of the long, white folding table, his eyes gleaming with arrogant confidence. From across the table, with seven teammates to my right, I shuffled in place, anticipating crackling my nerves as I waited for the game to start. Bright red solo cups lined each side of the table, frothy cream bubbles of wheaty, amber beer floating along the white rim. We were using full cups of beer for this round of Flip Cup. Not a quarter cup. Not even a half cup.

Full. Cups.

As I said before: nobody tailgated a football game quite like the OU Archers.

I just wanted to make it to kick-off. The redhead threw me his best glare and I smirked. I wasn't intimidated by the beer, and I sure as hell wasn't intimidated by a frat boy.

But dammit. My top was too cute to spill beer all over it.

I guess you'll just have to drink every single drop, the sobered, serious part of my mind concluded. My drunken mind shuddered. I didn't like beer enough to chug it down that fast.

The previous game of beer pong—the one in which myself and a girl named Heather won against Leo and a guy named Jake—made the tabletop sticky and slick; perfectly adding a degree of difficulty of flipping an upside down cup right side up with just a finger.

Heather and I won by close margin.

This is going to be a piece of cake.

Leo was courteous enough to look impressed, but I could see him seething beneath the surface of his smug, coolness.

"You know what the rules are!" Jake yelled from his spot in the center of the line. "But if you don't, it's simple: drink, flip, and do it quickly. Best two out of three. First team to finish wins the relay. Any questions?"

Hunching over in a power stance, I glanced at my team. A delightful girl named Clara would start against Leo. And down the line—both my opponents and teammates appearing worthy and tactful in a game like this—were the redhead—Trevor—and I. The last two in the line. The ones to determine the winner if it came down to the wire.

I wanted to wipe that stupid look right off his perfectly freckled face.

Running his hands through his damp hair, Jake opened his mouth to countdown to the start of the game. Leo's voice cut through the countdown.

"Wait!" he said and the drunken teams swiveled around in unison to stare at him. Stepping out of line, he jogged to the end of the table to Trevor. "Switch with me."

"What?" Trevor asked.

"Switch with me," he repeated as his eyes collided with mine. "Aria and I have a rematch."

My toes curled in my sneakers. Shifting my weight onto one hip, I said slyly, "Ready to lose again, Aldridge?"

"I'm not losing again." His cool, lazy promise sparked intrigue in Trevor, who graciously bowed and gestured for Leo to take his spot, and then walked to the head of the table. The others looked to us, too, the stakes raising in our rematch to a newly anticipated grand finale.

Team Aria vs. Team Leo.

I thrived on this sort of pressure, on this sort of competition. Always to shoot the ball, but rarely pass it. It drove my high school coach crazy.

Without thinking, I said, "Prepare to die, pretty boy."

Leo's eyes darkened in a way that told me, deep down, that he'd devour me if I let him. Through the haze of the vodka, I wouldn't hesitate.