Playing Their Games

1

ELLIE

“Tell me you’re gonna be at the party tomorrow night?” Dornan says as I emerge from my crowded lecture room into the hallway that’s teaming with people. I get pushed along by the tide of my classmates, but somehow, Dornan holds his ground. I guess his size is an advantage, and his years playing football. The man is a unit, and when he grabs my arm to stop me from getting swept away, I feel the power in his grip and the shelter of his body at my back.

Dornan’s been my best friend since kindergarten, and ever since Maddy-Lou pushed me over in the schoolyard and he came to my aid, I’ve loved him like a brother.

“A back-to-high-school party? Seriously, dude? You couldn’t come up with a better idea?”

“What?” he says as I turn to face him. His face splits into a wide smile, and despite my disapproval of the theme for his birthday celebrations, I have to smile, too. “You didn’t love high school?”

“Not as much as you, obviously.”

“Best years of my life.”

We walk towards the campus coffee shop, emerging from the frenetic building into the warm sunshine outside. I inhale a lungful of fresh air, glance up at the blue sky, dusted with cotton puff clouds that fill me with happiness, and tug my bag more securely onto my shoulder.

“Aren’t these the best years of your life?” I ask. “No parents breathing down your neck all the time?”

Dornan shrugs. “My parents were mostly cool. I don’t know. I guess I just liked how everything was new. Now, I feel like I’ve done it all before.”

“Yeah, Dornan Walsh. You’re a pro at life these days.”

He punches my arm softly, nudging me off balance. “No need to be snarky because you’d rather be a hermit than socialize with your peers.”

“I don’t want to be a hermit,” I say. “I’m just not into parties where everyone is downing drinks like they’re going out of fashion and fooling around with the nearest warm body.”

“But that’s what college parties are all about. Seriously, Ellie, you need to act your age because there will come a time when you’re too old to act like an idiot and you’ll regret missing out.”

“You want me to act like an idiot?” I ask, quirking my eyebrow.

“I want you to let your pretty hair down and relax for a change. I know your mom is always breathing down your neck about your grades, but a few nights off to party won’t make any difference.”

“What would my mom think of you, Dornan, if she knew the truth? Her blue-eyed, blond-haired golden boy is encouraging her daughter into acts of disrepute.”

“Don’t tell her,” Dornan says seriously. “I couldn’t take it if your mom turned those disapproving eyes on me.”

I chuckle because he’s being serious. Mom is nice as pie if you’re on her good side, and that means molding yourself into the shape she wants you to be. My stepbrothers are experts at keeping mom happy. I swear, if she raves about their perfection over breakfast one more time, I’m going to toss my cereal at the wall. And Dornan’s no better. He sucks up to mom so much it’s nauseating. I forgive him for it, though, because he’s been a loyal friend to me for more years than I care to count. My stepbrothers don’t get the same break. They’ve only been around seven years, and I’m certain their simpering for approval is designed to make me look bad.

We enter the crowded coffee shop, and Dornan shoulders his way into the queue, ordering my favorite caramel Frappuccino with extra whipped cream and a black coffee for himself. I scramble for the first available free table, almost faceplanting in the process.

Dornan thwarts my attempts to change the subject at every turn, and by the time I need to head to my next lecture, he has somehow achieved the unachievable. He’s gotten me to agree to attend his stupid frat house for a back-to-high-school party. Well, it is his birthday. Even though the idea makes my skin crawl, I’d do anything for my friend.

Dornan ordered me to wear something black and slinky so we could take cool selfies. His words, not mine. I’m sure his teammates have no idea that he comes out with things like that. When he’s around them, he amps up the butch, but with me, he’s a big softie.

The only black, slinky dress I have is short on me because mom shrunk it in the dryer, but I don’t want to disappoint Dornan. As I approach the front door of the frat house, I wriggle my hips and tug at the hem, lengthening it for a second before it rebounds.

The music is pumping, and the sound of laughter and people yelling conversation spills into the cool night like a tidal wave of everything that makes me uncomfortable.

I’m not a big drinker, but I’m going to need something to take the edge off. As I step over the threshold, I search the hallway for someone I know. There are familiar faces, but no one I’m on a first-name basis with.

There are ten types of guys you’ll meet at a frat party. The stoners spend all their time slumped in the corner, getting high. The desperate guy will paw anything he can get his hands on and usually ends up too drunk to have any success with women. The player moves through the crowds zeroing in on potential targets, motivated by his horniness. The aloof guy exists just to let everyone know he’s too good for the party. The drunk makes alcohol his focus, disappearing after the first hour so he can sleep it off. The gamer will turn anything into a competition: who can drink the most, who can pull the best-looking girl, who has the best dance moves. Then there’s the DJ who’s obsessed with the tunes, the creepy guy who everyone does their best to avoid, the mature guy who thinks he can order everyone around, and the smug asshole with the girlfriend.

None of those types of guys do anything for me.

Tugging the hem of my dress again, I venture through the crowd, taking a left into the sprawling den, and bump face first into an insanely broad, hard chest. It must be one of Dornan’s teammates. I glance up, placing my palms on two dinner-plate-sized pecs as I ease back and find myself gazing into the mesmerizing emerald eyes of Colby Townsend, my stepbrother nemesis.

“Ellie,” he says curtly. “Didn’t your mom teach you to look where you’re going?”

“No,” I say. “She was too busy letting you lick her ass.”

Colby’s eyelids lower slowly, and he lets out an annoyed breath. “I don’t lick anyone’s ass,” he says darkly.

“Anyway,” I take a step to the left, trying to make my way around Colby’s massive frame. “As much as I’d love to hang around sharing happy family stories, I’ve got to find Dornan.”

I don’t wait for Colby’s snarky reply, but I feel his eyes on me as I make my way deeper into the crowd. His brothers must be here somewhere, too. They always move as a pack. I need to keep my eyes peeled to avoid them too.

People are dancing, and my feet end up covered with splashes of warm liquid, probably beer, from jostled red plastic cups.

I spot Celine slumped onto Eddie’s lap in the corner and Dornan perched on the tiny square wooden table, booming with laughter at something one of his jock buddies said. When he sees me, he’s on his feet in a flash, lifting me off my already sore feet and spinning me around without a care about who’s trampled in his excitement.

“Ellie-Belly,” he shouts, forgetting that he promised to forget my stupid nickname when we came to college.

“Ellie-Belly,” three of his friends yell, holding up their cups and downing the contents.

“Dornan!” I slap his shoulders. “You promised you wouldn’t.”

As I slide down his body, his smile drops, and his hand flies to his mouth. “I’m soooo dumb when I’m drunk,” he slurs. “I forget everything.”

“Not everything,” I say, tugging him around the back of his neck so he stoops low enough that I can plant a birthday kiss on his cheek. “You remembered my stupid nickname!”

“Hey, I made up that nickname,” he says. “And it’s affectionate, not stupid!”

“Affectionate and embarrassing as hell.”

“You need a drink,” Dornan says, looking around. “Here…come on.” Grabbing my arm, he pulls me over to a table in the corner, where enough alcohol to kill a small army rest precariously. “Vodka, beer, or wine?” he asks. “Or some of this…what the hell is this?”

Holding up a bottle containing liquid with a greenish tinge, he squints at the label. “Absinthe!”

“No fucking way,” I say. “That stuff is lethal…and probably illegal. And anyway, I need to keep my wits about me in this place.”

“Wits need to get left at the front door,” he says, pouring a large amount of vodka into a cup and topping it with warm lemonade. “This is a party, not a courtroom. And it’s my birthday, so you can’t say no.”

“Seriously, dude! How many times are you going to bribe me with the ‘it’s my birthday’ routine?”

“As many times as it takes,” he laughs, pushing his floppy hair from his face. “Now, drink that one, and I’m going to pour you another before you make your escape.”

“You know me too well,” I laugh. Despite the drink being a little warmer than I’d like, it tastes okay. Dornan, in his drunken state, still manages to mix exactly the right balance of bitter alcohol to sweet soda. “You’d better get the selfie out of the way now, too,” I say.

“Okay…okay.” He fumbles in the pocket of his black jeans, pulling out his phone with so much haste he almost drops it. “Actually, Chris, can you take a photo of me and Ellie?”

Chris, a hulking great linebacker with black curly hair and skin that’s the color of crème caramel, lumbers to his feet and holds out a hand as big as a shovel, grasping for Dornan’s phone. He holds it up as Dornan throws his heavy arm around my shoulder. For a second, I glance up at my friend, catching his broad smile and happy crinkled eyes, and my heart swells. Part of me wishes I could put aside all the years of friendship and fall in love with him romantically. He tried to kiss me once towards the end of high school, but it felt so weird for both of us that we laughed it off. Dornan’s so special to me, but in a way that I can only assume to be brotherly. He’s like the sibling I never had.

Instead, I was saddled with triplet douchebag stepbrothers who I’ve come to loathe rather than love.

As Chris hands Dornan’s phone back, I’m nudged by the crowd. Dornan reaches out and steadies me. “We should head upstairs. It’s not as cramped.”

“Sure,” I say, following as he shoulders his way through. In the hallway, I glance around, expecting to find Colby, Sebastian, or Micky, but my stepbrothers are nowhere to be found.

Dornan is right. It is less crowded upstairs. In one room, we disturb a couple who should have closed and locked the door. In another, Gabriella has her hands all over a guy I recognize from the student council. When I yell her name, she pulls back long enough to shoot me a thumbs up. “Come find me later,” she says before resuming the previous face-sucking. Gross.

In the room at the end of the hallway, we find a large group sitting around in a circle. “Dornan,” a blonde girl with wide-set eyes shouts. “We’re playing seven minutes in heaven. Get your ass over here.”

I grasp his elbow as he steps further into the room, but before I can tell him that reliving the worst high school party games isn’t my idea of a good night, he presses two fingers over my lips. “It’s my birthday,” he says again.

“That is absolutely the last time you can use that line,” I say.

He tugs me down onto the floor to join the circle.

Just as I take my place, the blonde girl spins the bottle in the middle of the floor, and by sheer bad luck, it lands on me.

“You’re up,” she says, jabbing her thumb toward the closet.

“No,” I say. “Really. I’m just here with him.”

“Are you scared?” she asks. All around me, the others make chicken noises.

“I’m not scared. I’m just…”

“Dare you,” Dornan says before I can finish my excuses. I cut him a murderous glance because he’s playing dirty now. Three ‘it’s my birthday’ chants were enough. Now he’s wheeling out the dare!

“Dornan,” I say, my voice low.

“Dare, dare, dare,” he sings.

Shaking my head, I rise and smooth the fabric of my dress, wishing it would grow an extra three feet. I cut Dornan another murderous stare because he knows I will never back down on a dare, just like he knows the movies that make me cry and the comedians who make me almost die with laughter. The truth is, he knows me too well.

“We’re timing,” the girl says in a sing-song voice.

“Enjoy,” Dornan says.

“Whoever is in there is getting the cold shoulder,” I say. “He’d better keep his hands to himself.” The people in the circle exchange looks and I catch a few smiles that are quickly hidden.

“Lame,” someone shouts as I put my hand on the handle.

“Wait,” the girl says, holding out a scarf. “You’re forgetting the blindfold.”

“It’s darker than Satan’s armpit in there,” Dornan snorts.

“The rules are the rules,” she says.

Dornan quickly fixes it around my head, and darkness swallows me whole. The door creaks open, and he nudges me forward. When it closes behind me, I wait in the darkness, knowing I’m about to make a big mistake but unable to do a thing about it.