Finally Rachael swings open the car door and steps out, so I follow suit and wave good-bye to her mom before leaping up the driveway after her. Thank God I’m not wearing heels; it’s so much easier to do everything without them.
“My mom is so embarrassing,” Rachael apologizes, and she genuinely does look mortified. Honestly, I didn’t think Dawn was that bad. My mom would be the same. “I get the same thing every time I go out. It’s like she’s trying to make me feel guilty.”
I laugh when she shudders, so she glares at me and then sticks out her tongue. Nudging her to the side, I jog up to the porch, my hands trembling slightly with nerves. I can hear music pumping from inside, voices laughing.
I throw Rachael a wary glance as she comes bounding over to me. “Do I knock?”
“Do you knock?” she echoes in disbelief. “Oh my God, Eden, no. Just go in already.” Without waiting for me to ask any more seemingly obvious and apparently stupid questions, she reaches past me and throws open the door, a dazzling smile on her face as she floats over the threshold.
I follow her into the house, and immediately we’re in the living room, the kitchen through an archway ahead of us. The music drills into my ears as I click the door shut behind us, my eyes scanning the place as I try to figure out who’s all here already. Apparently, everyone. Rachael is right: we’re the last ones to arrive, and our friends all pause around the island in the kitchen to stare at us. They look like they’re in the middle of taking shots.
“It’s about time!” Jake yells as Dean shuffles around them all to get to us.
Meghan’s standing with two cups of alcohol, one in each hand, alternating between them. She somehow manages to grin at us in between swigs. Jake’s standing next to two guys I’ve never spoken to and I wonder why they’re here.
Dean wanders over to us, a beer in his hand and a smile on his face. “C’mon, guys, you need to catch up!”
“You don’t have to worry about us catching up,” Rachael says, smirking as she elbows me in the ribs. “We can drink fast.”
I almost want to say something. If Rachael has only learned one thing about me this entire summer, it should be that I’m a terrible drinker. Alcohol tastes like sewage, and drinking it fast is almost impossible for me, quite literally the equivalent of self-torture. Half the time the taste is so bitter and so strong that I can hardly even get it down my throat without gagging. But I keep quiet and say, “Yeah, we can drink super fast.”
Dean arches a brow at me, as though he knows I’m bullshitting. “We’re about to play shot roulette.” He points to the kitchen, where everyone seems to have dived into deep conversation with one another, and we follow him through to where a roulette wheel is set up. Each glass looks gross, each one containing a different concoction from the glass next to it, and I can’t figure out the numerous types of booze they’ve been using to fill them.
“Eden, I don’t think you’ve met the guys yet, have you?” Dean asks as he pops the cap off a bottle of Twisted Tea and hands it to me, and I’m thankful that he hasn’t handed me anything stronger. He nods in the direction of the two strangers standing next to Jake.
They both glance over from their conversation, their words tapering off as they both offer me an acknowledging smile. One is extremely tall, taller than Tyler, and the other is more on the short side. The tall one has a hard look to his face, like he’s pissed off at everyone and could dropkick all of us in one go, and the shorter one is wearing a cap on top of his mound of brown hair.
“That’s Jackson,” Dean says as he points his beer to the guy with the cap, then nods to the other. “And TJ.”
“’Sup?” TJ says, but then he turns back to Jake and continues the conversation that we interrupted.
“They’re on the team,” Dean continues to explain. “Jackson’s a wide receiver and TJ’s a cornerback. Did you know I play football? I’m a linebacker. Middle linebacker, that is. Do you like football?”
I think it’s the most I’ve ever heard Dean babble, nothing but a bunch of slurred sentences somehow strung together. “Dean,” I say slowly. It’s not quite the reply he’s looking for. “How long have you been drinking?”
With a sheepish eye roll, he holds up three fingers.
“Three hours?” I ask, and he nods. “You guys sure do take this whole beach party thing seriously.” With a small smile, I pat him on the shoulder and move around the island to fetch myself a straw, slipping it into my drink and taking a long sip. The music is still loud and the voices are even louder, despite there only being nine of us.