Opus

23. Hitter-ish

"Quite a boring set if you ask me." Nobody's asking, but I'm tipsy enough to continue without waiting for encouragement from the siblings

"Six players left. I played as if the fires of hell were at my heels." I truly did. The right balance of fearless and wary.

"The ever-elusive perfect set then?" Once in a while, Gavin says something profound. This is his moment. "Want to celebrate? I want to go down on you. Can I jump in the tub with you?" And in the next breath, he ruins it.

"No. Stay away."

The sibs are sitting on my mattress listening in none too patiently as I take a bath. I'm splurging myself. Red wine. An overspilling mountain of bubbles. A single candle. So what if it's one in the afternoon on a sunny day? My bathroom doesn't have windows, and I've locked the windowless door to my windowless bedroom. They hang on my every sound but can't lay eyes on my naked self. I've enough regrets about Jasper.

Sounds of scuffles and bickering filter in.

"Stop picking on each other!" I swear those two are like children. They feel the end coming; they've started to fight over every measly crumb of affection. They should do each other and get it over with. They've been inching toward it since before my arrival. Kendrick even offered them a threesome once, or so he told me, to urge them on. They chickened out. Well, kiddos, it won't happen on my watch.

"I heard some players say it was a boring set, but I liked it. My favorite set so far. By far." I chuckle at my jeu de mots. Yup, I'm that drunk. I've been in the tub for some time now.

"Nobody cheated. Nobody died. One player got eliminated. Perfection." We played the game as it was meant to be. Or did we do it wrong this time?

I might have lost it a teeny-weeny bit for a nanosecond with Jasper the other night, but in the playground, I was in full control. Yes siree. Could I live down there permanently? No sibs. No wee. No kingdom. No one. Well, except during sets, obviously. Paradise is a myth.

Rule 10: The underground playground is only open during sets, and strictly reserved to registered players and designated referees, henceforth referred to as observers referees.

The duo pounces on me as soon as I open the door. The alcohol numbed me. I hadn't heard any henpecking or other human noises in the last fifteen minutes, so I assumed they had left. Those two are becoming more and more devious. Luckily the end is near.

"Let's go to Jack's," I offer. Better a crowd of dozens then a tete-a-tete with those two.

"Cool. I'll go change." "Fantastic, I'll dress you."

This time, it's Bree that runs for the door and Gavin that stays behind to make me over. Could have been the other way around, mind you. Oddly, they never quibble about who does what when we're primping. Do they decide in advance or just wing it? Maybe whoever's wearing the trendiest outfit gets me.

Bree has donned a pair of black pants and a red tee while the most ridiculous lime-green baggies overalls decorate Gavin's body. Hence, he wins.

"Huh, Gav? Maybe you want to put on a shirt or something while I grab some underwear."

The man's bare chest under his outfit for crying out loud! It wouldn't surprise me that he chose the garb merely because the strap buttons, an ornate cluster of purple beads on the left, and orange on the right, are centered point-blank over his nipples.

"I'll add a scarf or something."

"OK then." What do I know about style anyway? "But be forewarned. I won't wear a matching outfit." Whatever the designated sib picks, I have veto−which means I barely ever put on their chosen outfit, a red contraption this time. Picture a strapless tube two sizes too small that falls an inch below my butt. Bree offers royal-blue fishnet stockings to cover my messy thighs.

"Are you guys color-blind?"

Rhetorical question. The siblings are fashionistas true and true. They're just lagging a few decades behind.

I go full retro with a pair of black leather pants, black army boots, stretchy black top under a bomber jacket. A red ball cap and oversized mirror aviator sunglasses complete my look.

"The red dress was so much more you, Silk my sweet. Red's so your color."

I smile at Gav and point at my hat. "Red, see? Let's go."

Bree is less polite when we come out of the bedroom. "Damn, Caelina. Did you rob a museum?" That from the woman wearing Gav's matching coveralls monstrosity. Her buttons are just as subtly positioned, although, in her defense, she did put on a demure red strapless bra underneath.

"Jack's our to-go place to get hammered. My outfit's fine."

"Guys won't look at you."

"Perfect. I don't want guys to look at me."

"But−"

Those two give me something I haven't had for ages. The throbbing yearning for home. I start walking, out the bar, down the street, around the corner. They catch up with me two blocks down.

"We'll find you a man, don't worry. Someone better than that Jasper dude you brought home. A referee of all things." Gavin has a stripped black and red scarf wrapped around his head like a bandana. Very badass.

"We always look for men. Maybe she'd like a woman for a change. Women are better at certain things. She did decline oral sex earlier." Bree's changed. Her bra is now black. And lacy.

"What's that got−" "You're a man so−"

I need a drink. And a lobotomy.