She rolls her eyes but then, after a long pause, she sighs. “Yeah, you’re right.” Reaching over, she pinches the guy’s arm without hesitation. “Hey, buddy!”
He turns back toward us with a scowl, mouthing “fuck” as he rubs his arm. The scowl lasts only a second before he sees Kacey’s glare. Or rather, her face and her body. And then that stupid grin is back. Huge surprise.
“You do that to her again and I’ll sneak into your room and rip your balls off while you sleep, capisce?” she warns with a pointed finger. Most times my sister’s threats involve the mutilation of testicles.
The Jell-O thief doesn’t respond at first. He simply stares at her and my sister levels him with her own stare, completely unfazed. But then his gaze flickers back and forth between the two of us. “You guys sisters? You look alike.” We get that a lot so I’m not surprised, though I don’t see it. We both have the same light blue eyes and pale skin. But my hair is jet black and I’m taller than Kacey.
“Pretty and smart. You’ve got a real winner on your hands, Livie!” Kacey shouts extra loud so both of us can hear.
He shrugs and the cocky grin is back. “I’ve never had two sisters. . . . ” he begins with a suggestive arched brow.
Oh. My. God.
“And you never will. Not these two sisters, anyway.”
He shrugs. “Not at the same time, maybe.”
“Don’t worry. When my baby sister gets laid for the first time, it won’t be with you.”
“Kacey!” I gasp, my eyes darting to his face, praying that the loud music drowned out her words. By the flash of surprise I detect there, I know that it didn’t.
I grab hold of her arm and tug her away. She’s already sputtering apologies. “Jeez, Livie. I’m sorry. I guess I’m drunk. Loose lips . . .”
“Do you know what you just did?”
“Painted a big virginal bull’s-eye on your back?” Kacey confirms with a scrunched-up face.
With a cautious glance over my shoulder, I find him back with a group of guys, chuckling as he sips on his beer. But those piercing eyes stay on me. When he catches me looking, he reaches over to take one of his friend’s Dixie cups. He holds it up, making a show of his tongue sliding over the top before quirking his brow and mouthing, “Your turn?”
My head whips back around and glare at my sister. I snap, “I should have just let you wear that damn T-shirt!” I may be inexperienced and na?ve in some manners, but I know full well that a guy like that discovering an eighteen-year-old virgin is his idea of finding that ever illusive pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
“I’m sorry . . .” She shrugs, glancing back at him. “Gotta admit he’s hot, though, Livie. He looks like a Mediterranean underwear model. There’d be no coyote-ugly situation in the morning there.”
I sigh. I don’t know why Kacey seems hell-bent on getting me to trade in my “V-card.” For years, she never cared. In fact, she seemed happy that I didn’t date in high school. But lately she’s been driven by this notion that I’m sexually repressed. I swear I’m beginning to loathe her choice to go into psychology.
“Just look at him!”
“No,” I refuse stubbornly.
“Fine,” she mutters, grabbing four shooters off a platter that a stocky guy in a kilt—a kilt, at a toga party?—carries past. “But if you were planning on giving it up anytime, I’ll bet that would be a memorable way to do it. I’m sure he’d quickly get you up to speed on all that you’ve missed these past few years.”
“Including gonorrhea and crabs?” I mumble, staring at the two blue shooter cups in my hand. I’m thankful for the dark as I feel my cheeks flush deeply. Bringing the one to my mouth as I had before, I let my tongue skate across the top of it, mentally reliving the seconds of that—I refuse to acknowledge that as my first kiss—that thing he did to me.
“Bottoms up!” Kacey sucks hers back in rapid succession.
I follow her lead with the first. With the second one at my mouth, I stupidly hazard a sideways glance, assuming he’s moved on to another unsuspecting victim. But he hasn’t. He’s there, surrounded by a few girls, one with her hand against the tattoo on his chest. But he’s still watching me. Still smiling. Except now it’s this strange, dark smile, as if he has a secret.
I guess he does. My secret.
A nervous thrill fires through me as my cup sits frozen at my lips.
“That’s Ashton Henley!” someone yells into my ear. With a start, I turn to find Reagan next to me, a beer in one hand and a shooter in the other. She’s so short that she needs to be on tiptoes to reach my ear.
“How do you know who he is?” I ask, embarrassed to be caught ogling.