Weekend Friend

05.

I DON'T PARTICULARLY enjoy beer-pong. For one, I don't like beer. I've also found that the game stimulates the worst part of someone's reptilian brain. Then there's just the simple act of having to pull a sticky ping-pong ball out of a half-full solo cup that leaves me feeling gross.

However, having a twin brother has instilled deep-rooted competitiveness inside me, so I've never turned down an opportunity to assist Sydney in humbling his teammates. We're a good team, too, winning the last three games we'd played together and earning ourselves a bit of a reputation for being kickass. I know we can't underestimate Levi, though. His smarmy charm and inherent athleticism make him a formidable opponent. He holds Sydney's gaze from across the table as they take their first shot to determine which team has the honour of going first.

Sydney curses under his breath as his shot misses the lip of the red solo cup by a fraction of an inch. Meanwhile, Levi's shot lands in the cup at the apex of the triangular arrangement. His mouth curls into a pleased smirk and the game commences with little fanfare.

It's evident after a few quick rounds of clean shots that we are, unfortunately, evenly matched. ​​Sydney has nobly offered to drink for both of us, claiming he needs to catch up because he didn't pre-game, and I'm not complaining. I despise hard seltzer almost as much as I do beer; it roils in my stomach and triggers my gag reflex. But even if I didn't despise it, I don't feel like I need to drink anything more than the wine I have on the railing beside me. The two homemade G&Ts I had earlier have also already softened the hard edges of my personality that tend to protrude in large-scale social situations like this one. However, my hand-eye coordination remains intact, and I effortlessly make my next shot. I celebrate with a little sassy dance, holding Levi's disgruntled gaze as I do.

"Damn, Jen," Sydney marvels. "How can you play with those bracelets on? I feel like they would hinder my wrist mobility."

I chuckle as I turn away from Levi and toss Sydney a cheeky grin. "They're literally just bracelets, Syd." I lift my wrist to show off the thin stack of silver bracelets I regularly wear, which still includes one Ryley gifted me for my last birthday. "And they've never hindered my wrist mobility before, believe me."

I regret my choice of words the second they left my mouth. They land with a suggestive underdone that this audience won't miss.  

Across the table, Levi drains the cup I'd hit in one long swallow. It almost hurts to watch the rippling movement of his throat. But then he sets down the now empty cup, wipes a hand across his lips to reveal a smirk, and says, "I'm sure there are a few people around here who are interested in hearing more about Jensen St. Clair's wrist mobility."

He speaks louder than necessary and in a cheeky tone, giving the impression that he's not just talking to me. Sydney rolls his eyes in response, but I take a sip of wine and glance around the deck. The crowd has grown since we started playing, and there's chatter coming from all directions. I convince myself I'm not searching for anyone in particular, but I can't help feeling relieved when I don't see the team's striker among the onlookers. At least I think it's relief that I feel. What else could it be? Definitely not disappointment.

As I refocus on the game, I realise that only two cups remain on either side of the table. In other words, we're tied.

Nameless Freshman steps up to the table, his face contorting in concentration as he readies himself for his shot. Levi speaks in a low voice beside him, offering some bromantic words of encouragement before giving his teammate space. A moment later, Nameless Freshman's shot strikes the rim of the front cup before flying off the table. 

"Fucking hell," he groans, hanging his head in dismay. Levi mouths an expletive, but sets a hand on his teammate's shoulder. As the captain of a successful DI athletics programme, treating his teammates with respect is not just necessary, it's mandated.