My gaze pans the crowd, looking for a familiar face. A very particular familiar face. But instead of finding Dax, I spot Sunny, standing alone in the corner, bopping her shoulders off-time to the music, completely unaware that she’s being ogled by half of the Y chromosomes in the room.
She’s dressed as Wonder Woman. A DC version that skips the skimpy bodysuit, favoring more modest blue leggings. However, Sunny is all legs, and butt, and boobs. All of which look incredible in spandex and make me very aware that on top of my tights, I’m wearing a pair of cotton Hanes green underpants.
As she weaves through the crowd toward me, black curls bouncing behind her, I reassess that it’s not just the Y chromosomes who are guilty of openly ogling and count myself among the guilty.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” She wraps her arms around me, pulling me into her incredible boobs. “I was standing in the corner feeling awkward because Dougie and Brandon are busy, and I don’t know anyone else at this party.”
I dwell on the idea that someone who looks like Sunny could ever feel awkward before moving on to processing the second part of her statement. “So Dax isn’t here yet?”
She shrugs, then stands on her toes to see over the crowd in the living room. “I haven’t seen him, but I only got here about twenty minutes ago.”
For a moment, I panic, thinking maybe he made other plans tonight, until I turn and spot him, head above the crowd, working his way through the busy living room toward us. His green eyes catch mine, and as tempted as I am to hold his gaze, my eyes travel south of their own accord.
He’s wearing gray pantyhose.
They hug his legs like a second skin. Every muscle, every nook, every curve. And despite my heightened awareness that he’s watching me watching him, I home in on a particular curve and find that I am equally delighted and disappointed to see it covered by a pair of matching Hanes black underpants.
I tear my eyes back to his face just in time for him to raise his hand.
“Robin.”
I meet him for a high five that, to my delight and surprise, turns into a side hug.
His eyes have a glazed sheen, and his breath smells like the faintest hint of scotch, but here, in the little crook of his armpit, all I can think is this. This is exactly what I’ve been missing. For a whole second, he’s my Dax.
“Did the two of you plan this?” Sunny points at our coincidentally coordinated outfits as Dax releases me and repeats the high-five-side-hug with her.
“Not at all.” Dax doesn’t try to hide the up-and-down he gives my body. “Guess it’s just great minds.”
Sunny produces a phone from somewhere under her spandex and snaps a candid photo. She flips the screen, showing it to us. “Well, the two of you look fabulous.”
We do. Smiling. Eyes locked on each other. Zero shits given that we look utterly ridiculous. That picture could have been taken in my timeline.
“Your hands are empty, ladies. Let’s put some drinks in them.” Dax holds out his arms to shepherd us toward the kitchen area, but Sunny steps outside his span.
“Sorry, guys, I can’t. I’m on call tonight, but you go ahead.”
Dax offers me his elbow. “Shall we?”
I reach for him, my blood humming with the anticipation that I’m getting exactly what I want tonight, time with Dax, alone. However, my head can’t help feeling a little guilty, abandoning Sunny at this party.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come along for the ride?”
She shakes her head. “No thanks. I just spotted a friend from the hospital. I’ll catch up with the two of you later?”
I swear I see her wink as Dax drops his arm and instead places his hand on the small of my back. We navigate the sweaty bodies, finally making it to the kitchen at the back of the house. There’s a literal keg set up in the corner next to a rowdy game of flip cup happening on the kitchen table.
Dax fills a fancy rose-gold cup with beer, hands it to me, and then proceeds to fill a second.
“Not drinking Guinness tonight?” I ask between sips.
He holds his beer glass up to the light. “I was actually drinking scotch before you got here, and you can’t play flip cup with scotch. I mean, I guess you can, but then you wind up passing out behind Dougie’s couch and scaring the shit out of him when you reappear the next morning while he’s watching Sportsnet—not that I’m speaking from experience.”
“You want to play flip cup?”
Dax has never been a flip cup guy. In fact, we usually spend Dougie and Brandon’s parties together on the couch, making fun of Dougie’s friends who use flip cup as an excuse to get their dates wasted.
“I was going to suggest we play flip cup.” He holds his beer out for a cheers.
There’s a look to Dax that I can’t quite decipher. Not to mention that I have no idea where his head is at, wanting to play this game. But I cheers him back with an enthusiastic “Let’s do this,” deciding that my objective tonight is to show him that I’m easygoing, fun Gemma. And tonight, easygoing, fun Gemma plays flip cup.
When the next game starts, we take our places at the table. It’s five on five. The opposing team is made up of guys who used to play rugby with Dougie back in the day.
On our team is a set of twins, Miranda and Mariah, who are dating two of the rugby players and claim they’ve never played flip cup before in their lives. We also have Brandon’s younger brother Peter, Dax, then me in the anchor position.
My guess is we won’t be crushing the competition.
We sing the obligatory olé to kick off the game, then get a run of what I’ll deem beginner’s luck, as both twins drink, then flip their cups on the first try. We have a stellar lead on the rugby boys until Peter gets too excited and flips his cup so hard that it completes two full rotations, hits the table, bounces right off, and rolls underneath. By the time he recovers it and flips, our opponents are on their last player, with both Dax and me yet to go.
But our luck continues.
Our opponent, Jessie, whose name I glean from the aggressive chanting of his rugby bros, seems to have the yips. He can’t get his cup to flip. And although he’s lightning fast with his attempts, nothing sticks.
On our side of the table, however, Dax flips his on the very first shot, and all of a sudden, we’re all tied up.
It’s just me. The only person standing between loss and sweet victory, and although it’s situations like these that make me hate being the anchor, I manage to down my drink in a single gulp.
I place my cup on the table and focus on giving it just the slightest of flicks. It completes a textbook ninety-degree rotation and lands on the table with a thwack.
My hands shoot up into a V, and all of a sudden, my feet leave the floor as I’m scooped up into the biggest, tightest bear hug and spun around in circles.
The ceiling swirls above me. My flip-cup beer hits my bloodstream, combining with my euphoric high from our win.
Things are perfect.
Exactly as they’re supposed to be.
I’ve won in more ways than one.
But then Dax stops and lets me down slowly. My thoughts shift to how hard his body feels as it’s pressed to mine.