American Sweethearts

49

I swirl beneath Lena's arm, spinning out in an extravagant dance move. We intertwine our fingers, staying connected to each other. I sway my hips back and forth.

"Promiscuous girl, wherever you are," we sing, "I'm all alone and it's you that I want."

I wriggle my eyebrows at Lena, swaying my hips back and forth.

"Promiscuous boy, you already know, that I'm all yours, what you waiting for?" we chant.

Tyler laughs at us, taking a long drag from the bong in his hand. He watches us dance through the living room, singing out of tune to the beat of the song. It's so loud, the whole room is vibrating, but it's okay because my head is spinning anyway.

"Again!" Lena calls once the song is finished.

"Fuck no," Tyler grumbles. "You've listened to it a million times already."

"But it's so much fun!"

"I'm getting kinda sleepy," I admit, opening my mouth in a big yawn.

"I'm playing is again!" she announces. She repeats the song, but for the first time, I don't join her. Instead, I collapse onto the couch, right besides Tyler.

"I'm so tired!" I complain, letting out a deep sigh. We must've been dancing for at least an hour, and my brain is dead.

"Come here, Princess."

Tyler throws his arm over my shoulder, pulling me closer to him. I rest my head against his chest, and let my folded legs rest over his. He's so warm, and he smells so nice.

"You're so soft," I gush.

"You're so high," he laughs.

"I know," I giggle.

"I never thought I'd see the day."

"It's not my fault! It was an accident!"

"I knew I'd be a bad influence on you."

"You are!" I scold. "You're such an ass!"

"Is that how you feel when you're kissing me?" he teases.

"No," I giggle. I can't stop giggling. Everything is hilarious. Even the bruise on his cheek that's shaped like Australia. I lean upward, giving it a kiss.

"What was that for?" he laughs.

"Australia."

"Australia?"

"It looks cute on you."

"You think my injuries are cute?"

"Only this one," I say. "It's right next to your love heart."

I poke the tattoo above his cheekbone. He blinks a few times, taken aback by me almost touching his eye.

"It's so pretty," I gush. "I want one."

"You do?"

"No," I laugh. "I'm not like you."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not tough. I'm sweet."

"And what am I? Sour?"

"Yep," I nod, a giant grin forming on my face. "I'm sweet, you're sour. That's why we make such a good match."

"You're wrong, baby," he smirks. "We're a bad match."

"No, we're not!"

"Yes, we are. A very, very bad match."