Chapter 12 Molly
Molly
Devi is already ushering people towards her room, including Elijah, who looks at me over his shoulder like I might save him from this. Dylan pours himself another shot and slams it back quickly before wincing and shaking his head like a dog.
‘Someone has to supervise,’ he says, squaring his shoulders before following.
I could draw the line, refrain, stay out here with the coupled guests who don’t want to kiss strangers. But as much as I cringe at the thought, I can also admit that I have an unrelenting curiosity about what Elijah looks like when he kisses someone.
Means nothing, I’m sure.
With a long exhale, I follow behind Dylan, and we are the last of the partygoers to enter Devi’s bedroom. Everyone sits in a circle on her Ikea rug, a nervous, excited energy thrumming through the circle. Luke scoots over when he sees me, tapping the floor next to him to give me a spot.
‘Is this for real?’ I ask Devi once I’ve sat down. ‘Are we eleventh graders?’
‘It’s for real! And it’s my birthday so you have to humour me.’
‘She’s lying, her birthday is in April. If anything, it’s my birthday next,’ I tell Luke, and he laughs, a little too hard. I think he’s found himself a bit drunk as well.
The seven other people who have shuffled into Devi’s room are Luke, Dylan, Elijah, Devi, her two roommates, and the man Reggie has a crush on.
I presume the rest of the party guests are enjoying the potluck in the living room like actual adults.
Meanwhile, we’re packed in this room like preteens with our knees knocking against each other.
Devi claps twice, gathering everyone’s attention like the supreme tsar of spin the bottle.
‘The rules are simple. You must kiss who it lands on for two seconds minimum. If you break apart too soon, you have to kiss again. Everyone goes once,’ Devi says solemnly, like this is a serious endeavour instead of a game for horny teenagers to have an excuse to practise kissing. What the hell 2000s movie is this?
Elijah is directly across from me, Dylan and Lisa on either side of him. I avert my eyes before our gazes can clash again.
The last time I played this game, I was freshly fifteen, wore exclusively skinny jeans and One Direction were still together.
I was in my friend’s basement back home in Utah and was desperate for the empty Mountain Dew bottle to land on Landon Wilkins, whom I had an unbearable crush on.
It didn’t, instead landing on my friend Jane.
We’d already practised kissing on each other in the hopes that the party would be our real time to shine with our crushes but were both disappointed.
Kind of iconic of us, though, if I think about it.
Devi taking the first spin of the bottle brings me back to her draughty bedroom, the creaky wood floor, the carpet pressing patterns into my bare legs.
My eyes make their way to where they always seem to, and I find Elijah watching the spinning bottle, a tension in his shoulders.
He’s ditched the cowboy hat, or Devi stole it; either way, it’s on her head and not his.
He’s run his hands through his hair, making it as perfectly out of sorts as it usually is.
The bottle lands on Lisa, and she and Devi squeal before grabbing each other’s faces and kissing with no shortage of fanfare, pulling apart after their two seconds with a loud smooch and everything.
Everyone cheers, though I only clap lightly, coming to terms with all the germs we are electing to share with one another tonight.
Are we all going to get mono from this?
Lisa spins next, landing on Dylan, who takes it all in stride.
Devi yells, ‘Yes, chef!’ in between cheering for the pair, and then it’s onto the neighbour whose name I keep forgetting.
He lands on Reggie, which is maybe reason enough to have done the game in the first place.
Reggie flushes down her neck, and when they kiss, it’s longer and deeper–tongue is involved–eliciting whoops and hollers from the rest of the group.
It’s Elijah’s turn next, and I have a twist in my gut hoping for a single second that it will land on me.
I dutifully remind myself that I don’t want it to land on me because by no means do I want to kiss my horribly incompetent, tall, handsome, and did I mention technologically illiterate coworker.
Even still, I watch his lithe fingers spin the glass, rotating around and around, my body tense until it lands on Luke at my side.
‘Oh—’ Dylan starts to say something, but cuts off when Luke only claps and leans across the circle to offer his face to Elijah, who looks just delighted by the game, and doesn’t bat an eye about kissing Luke.
He even reaches one of those large hands up to steady the side of Luke’s face before pressing his lips to Luke’s in a kiss that lasts for at least four seconds.
And what the hell?
What—
Am I?
Did seeing Elijah kiss Luke make me feel… jealous?
Horny? Both?
I don’t feel drunk. I feel entirely alert, in fact. But is there another explanation for the fluttering in my stomach at the sight of Elijah with his head tilted, long neck stretched, eyes closed while kissing my ex-fiancé’s little brother?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I glance at Dylan, who looks unhappy about the development, his lips pulled down into a thoughtful sort of frown.
It occurs to me that I actually know nothing about the relationship between Elijah and Dylan.
For all I know, they could be secret boyfriends.
But by the looks of it, his displeased stare is on Luke, not Elijah.
At any moment Luke or Elijah might glance over and see Dylan’s reaction giving away too much, so I slide the bottle to him, the glass tapping his shins.
He snaps back to normal and blinks down at it, offering me a closed-lip smile before taking his turn.
He has to kiss the neighbour, and that kiss is much less steamy than the one the man shared with Reggie. Good sign for Reggie.
And then it’s my turn. I blink at the wine bottle while Devi shouts, ‘Pick me! Pick me! Molly never lets me kiss her!’
I can think of three occasions where she got drunk and pressed sloppy kisses on my cheeks after a trivia night or on the rare instances she’s pulled the birthday card to get me to go to the club with her.
Feeling about as nervous as I was when I played this fifteen years ago, I reach out and give the wine bottle a hearty spin, the bottle sliding a bit as it rotates, slowing until it lands pointing, indeed, at Devi.
Elijah’s eyes meet mine across the circle, mine skirting away instantly while Devi squeals and bounces on her knees.
I’m distracted during the kiss, a short passionless thing that Devi punctuates with three more smooches on my cheeks, making me and everyone laugh.
It’s just a game, after all, just a kiss.
But as I sit back down and the bottle passes on to Luke for his turn, I avoid one set of eyes while I reckon with a truth I was not expecting:
I wanted it to land on someone else. I wanted to kiss Elijah fucking Thorne.