Virgin #2
How could Eli ever enjoy a party built on a picnic-table-worth of booze?
After his father’s death, even a drop of the thing would probably remind him of it.
Of his abuser, his mom’s abuser. And all the messy shit that must mean by itself, then jumbled all up with losing the man who gave him life, however horrible he may have been .
The realization sits heavy on my chest, hardening the air as if slush into my lungs. Why is this party even happening? I should’ve nipped this shit in the bud the moment Kellan said, “I’ve dreamed it—it shall be brilliant.” What was I even thinking?
I look around. All these people… I’m sure most of them don’t even know.
It’s not their fault. Fuck, it’s not Kellan’s fault—of course it’s not. Just me being protective over something that happened twenty years ago.
But still… I have to do something.
Without a word, I get up from the log bench and walk to the picnic table. I set down my barely touched drink and grab a clean Martini glass, scanning the bottles and mixers and actual proper ingredients, like ginger ale, some fruit syrups and juices. Kudos to the thunder twins for remembering.
So I perform the only drink I actually know how to make: apple juice, lemon juice, a drop of Granny Smith apple syrup for that sweet radioactive aura, then a Maraschino cherry because I’m fancy as shit.
No vodka. Then, drink in hand, I cross the courtyard, my heartbeats fighting the bass line booming from the speakers.
A few steps from the tiki bar, Eli looks up from his papers.
My heart skips. I see his doing the same—the soft stretch around his eyes, the way his chest gently fills in but not out.
No words, I just slide the glass by the stem across the bar counter toward him. His brow furrows slightly as he takes out both his earplugs, eyes hopping between me and the drink.
I smile. Then quietly, before he refuses, I tell him, “It’s virgin.”
Our eyes lock for a long moment over the scattered reports. I watch as his mind clicks, as his lips gape, almost nothing. As his eyes drop to the glass like a feather—softly, tenderly—in a way that feels too delicate against the hammering in my heart.
Before I can lose my nerve, I reach across the counter. My hand trembles but doesn’t sway, covering his, giving it a gentle but decided squeeze—just one. Then I let go and walk back to the fire pit.
Yes, this feels good. I feel better. Knowing that he knows I’m here too, within reach if he needs me.
I sigh, sliding back onto the log bench, my smile deepening as I roll my eyes at my so-called friends. They’ve progressed to glaring intensely at each other, bickering over yet another inane topic, I’m sure.
“Green is nature. Health,” Lena growls, waving her glass for emphasis. “Is earth. Life. Sexy plant energy!”
“Blue is mystery,” Kellan counters, voice a low rumble from a hyped-up kid, holding his drink up and ogling its deep blue color through the firelight. “It’s magic potential and mana and—”
“It’s toilet bowl cleaner,” I interject.
Lena’s mean eyes snap to me. “Cassian! No mocking blue vomit and leave green lifeblood over there.” Her finger is even more accusing, locked on the drink she gave me, abandoned on the picnic table.
My hand swats the air. “I’ve evolved beyond it.”
“Into what? Sobriety?” Kellan clutches his chest. “At my farewell party? The disrespect.”
I snort, and they move on, Lena listing all green things that are good for you, Kellan all the blue anythings that comes to mind, no pattern, no purpose. The kind of warm bullshit that lulls you in once you get used to it. I let it.
My eyes slit, hanging on the fire. I’m probably a bit tipsy already, which is fine—I’ve always been a lightweight. Across the fire, I catch Rey watching me, sitting up and no longer pretending to be asleep. There’s a small smile on her face, knowing. But knowing what?
Oh shit. She saw me, didn’t she? Making that drink, giving it to Eli. She knows.
Scratch that probably; this is me very much full-on tipsy, because it doesn’t even bother me that she knows. It’s Rey. I trust her.
Still, I flip her off. Just on principle.
She snorts. Does the same.
A good ten minutes later, I’m about ready to haul my ass back to my room, but I know that won’t fly well with my goblins. I could use the excuse I’m gonna puke because of Lena’s drink—believable—but then they’d want to watch, so it’s a no-go. What else can I make up?
The soft crunch snaps me out of it. Boots on gravel next to me.
It’s Eli, standing there, empty glass in hand. There’s a tiny, super cute smile playing on his lips that makes my stomach do a slow-mo flip. God, I can’t take shy Eli. Is he trying to make me kiss him? In front of all these people?
Then he asks, “Could you make me another one?”
The question sends a jolt of warmth and squeals and rainbow polka dots up and down my body. I nod and smile, slow like honey dripping with sunlight. “Yeah. C’mon.”
I get up and lead the way. My heart drums a killer metal track over the jelly pop tunes as we cross the courtyard, hyper-aware of Eli walking behind me.
It’s the first time we’ve been so close, so openly.
..something, whatever nothing this still is, surrounded by so many people.
When we reach the picnic table, I lean against it with my thighs, pretending to survey the bottles while I steady my breaths.
But then Eli is right over my shoulder, and I lose it when he whispers.
“You look incredible.”
My skin prickles at how rugged he sounds, an ice-cube sinking down my spine. I know people are probably watching—probably not; it’s a party—so my stomach twitches and flaps and folds, telling me to abort and rush away, but I can’t. I won’t.
Slowly, I let my eyes drift to him, just for a peek that turns into a long, heavy gaze as he melts my anxiety away.
He isn’t looking at the crowd—what crowd?
He’s watching me, that soft, steady smile still on his face, his eyes full of a quiet warmth laced with something raging hot underneath that reminds me we’re not doing anything wrong.
I prepare the drink with a shaker this time because why not—one for me too.
My hands drag, not in hesitation but a mix of care and foreplay and wanting him beside me for longer.
Before I know it, Eli’s presence is no longer a live wire, no longer a shield protecting us from the world, but a warm blanket reminding me we belong there too, in this night under the stars.
When I’m done, I hold his drink high between us, dropping the cherry into the glass with my eyes locked on his.
I bite my lip when he swallows dry. His fingers tremble as he reaches for it, sliding over mine with exactly that intent before actually touching the glass and lifting it from my hold.
I take my drink too, and we walk back toward the fire together, not touching in the literal sense, but feeling like the air between our bodies belongs to us, his and mine, mixed together.
We sit down on the log bench, side by side. Eli offers his glass for a clink. I tap mine against his.
The sound feels like a coin dropping. Significant somehow.