You sit down with your book. It's been two days since Lydia moved out, and you kind of already miss her. A lot.
Mathew and Chris are arguing about what to order for dinner, but you drown them out, your thoughts swimming with the redhead. And the in she dances.
"Boys." She smiles, landing beside Mathew on the couch. "Who's up for a little bit of drinking?" She grins, holding up a new bottle of tequila.
"We're just about to order dinner, Lyds." Mathew tells her, not looking up from the takeout menu he's reading.
"But eating is cheating! And I thought we could get to know each other. A little 'I have never'? What'd you say?"
"That I know you already."
"Me too." Chris tells her.
"Well, I don't know Jess." She reasons. "Please, Math." She glances at the calender on the side table, Mathew and Chris following her gaze, and in doing so, Mathew springs into action.
"Oh, right. 'I have never'. Great. Chris get the shot glasses?" Chris retreats to the kitchen and Mathew stands, and takes your book from you. "Just, do this for her." He steps over the coffee table and sits on the stool, facing Lydia, who has moved to the middle of the couch, her legs crossed under her.
Chris returns, setting fout shot glasses on the table and sits in the chair opposite you, to Lydia's left.
"Okay." Lydia smiles, filling each glass with the golden liquid. "I'll go first, and then we'll go clockwise, so Chris, you are next." She smiles and then glances to you. "I've never had a book published."
You roll your eyes. "Cheap shot."
"Hey! Don't talk about José that way. He's a very dear friend." She laughs and you raise your shot glass, downing the shot. She smiles brightly and fills your glass again. "Okay, Chris. You're up."
"I have never been surfing."
You lift your glass, and down your second shot, while Lydia and Mathew also take a drink. "You surf?" You lift an eyebrow in her direction.
"Not well." She grimaces, filling up the three empty glasses.
"My turn." Mathew grins. "I have never gotten a tattoo."
Lydia rolls her eyes, and lifts her glass at the same time you do. When she set her glass down, she quirks her eyebrows, a silent 'You show me yours, I'll show you mine'. You sigh and raise your right arm, pushing back the sleeve of your t-shirt reveal a black outline of a star on your tricep.
You got it in California, the first time around. When you were eighteen, newly flunked out of high school. You'd met Ivy and Johnny on the boardwalk, when Ivy had stolen your book. After chasing her on a borrowed skateboard, they had befriended you. Sort of.
They brought you to a party that night on the beach. You drank a lot. Though all you remember is the red blaze of the bonfire and the pain in your head and arm the next day, when you discovered your new body-art.
You had found your book that Ivy had taken, shoved in the mailbox later that afternoon, and wedged inbetween the pages you found a note.
'Hope your hollow star is everything you wanted it to be. Ivy.'
You are brought out of you memory by Lydia's voice. "I like it. Sexy." She winks, and refills the two glasses.
"What about yours?"
"Not in a place I want to expose. Yet." She shrugs. "Maybe later."
"Okay." You nod, and then scratch your head, trying to think of your own confession. "I have never...travelled by plane."
