Epilogue
Three Months Later
Sebastian
Grace sat astride me, her head tilted back and her breasts bouncing with every roll of her hips.
Tiny specks of dust drifted lazily in the beam of morning light that stretched across her torso, twirling around in loops like they’d be forever suspended in air.
I loved taking her like this—in the early-morning haze when her eyes were still clouded with sleep.
The only sounds to be heard were our labored breaths and shifting sheets.
My fingers marked a path along the side of her stomach and up to her breast, thumb brushing over the point of her nipple.
Grace took her pleasure riding me, her palms splayed across my chest, nails etching marks into my flesh.
Magnificent. I met each roll of her hips with a languid, measured thrust, pushing deep inside of her.
Her breath hitched, a low whine spilling from her mouth.
And then Grace bore down on me harder, her pace beginning to quicken.
“Good girl”—a low hiss—“you’re almost there.”
At the sound of my voice, she gripped me like a vise, and I nearly busted right then and there.
That all too familiar tingle at the bottom of my spine warned me that I wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer, and based on the way Grace was moaning in ecstasy, she was just as close to falling over the edge.
“I need your eyes on me. I want you to look at me when you come apart.”
Her eyes shot open to meet mine, pupils blown wide and glazed over in unmistakable bliss.
Grace didn’t slow, not even as her heaving breaths turned to gasps.
She swirled her hips, rocking back and forth to find that perfect spot, cheeks flushed in exertion.
Every passing second was another test of will.
When it was finally all too much, my body at the precipice of pleasure, I reached down and pinched her clit.
We flew over the cliffside together. Black spots dotted my vision as Grace collapsed against my chest. Her lips found mine as we rode out the shockwaves of our orgasms, writhing against one another.
We lost track of time tangled up together in bed, neither one of us willing to be the first to leave. Grace traced patterns across my bare skin and kissed the scar along my knee. In answer, I whispered dirty promises against the shell of her ear.
As the early afternoon approached, the rest of the house began to stir.
Sounds of clinking dishes and slamming cabinets drifted up from the first floor.
Eventually, a hollered, “Get your asses up!” forced us out of bed and into the shower, where we continued to tease each other until there was no time left to waste.
Grace and I emerged from my bedroom at the same moment Kent’s door creaked open down the hall.
We froze, watching silently as Caroline poked her head out, her eyes going wide as saucers when she realized we were there.
Grace’s shoulders shook in silent laughter at the sight of her roommate’s face turning fire-engine red.
“I, uh—”
“Left your underwear in the shared bathroom last week,” I said teasingly, remembering the smug look on Kent’s face when he’d claimed them from a load of towels Bryce had washed.
Caroline covered her face with her hands and groaned. She and Kent had been fooling around for weeks. I wasn’t sure what made her think we didn’t know about it. Kent was terrible at keeping secrets, and both were majorly lacking in the stealth department.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Grace sang in a mocking tone, and Caroline chased her down the hall screaming something completely unintelligible.
The sun was high above our heads as the day’s activities commenced. It was blisteringly hot, and not a single cloud could be seen across the wide expanse of blue sky. A single line of sweat slid down my back as we gathered on the front lawn.
“On this beautiful day, we all say goodbye to an old friend—one who saw us through the many trials and tribulations of college. Each and every one of you has made memories here—”
“Most of which we can’t remember.” Caroline snickered, and Kent shot her a warning glare for interrupting his speech.
“Each and every one of you has made memories here, memories we will cherish for this lifetime and into the next.” He paused for dramatic effect.
I didn’t have to sneak a glance at Grace to know she was rolling her eyes.
“And so, to honor our great hockey house, which stands tall and proud after decades of—”
“Get on with it already!” Landon shouted as he threw his red Solo cup across the yard. It landed less than a foot away from Kent, and cheers broke out amongst the group.
In under a week, the house would stand empty, awaiting a new ensemble of hockey players who would move in and continue the tradition of debasement.
Today was our chance to give the house a proper sendoff via a day of lawn games and binge drinking.
But Kent’s farewell speech—one he gave standing atop an overturned bucket—was far too dramatic.
The small crowd of people gathered around were restless, hot, and eager to begin drinking.
“Fine, you guys are no fun,” Kent muttered, slapping away an empty beer can that was launched at his face.
“Today, we are hosting the first and last Beer Olympics, a tournament of drinking games to be played in teams of two. Five worthy pairs will advance to the semifinals, but only two will compete for the championship title. In the last test of bravery, the final pair of partners will compete in the Great Shoe Race. The pair who completes the basement obstacle course first, without losing a shoe, will be our champions. If at any point your shoe comes off, you must restart from the beginning. Crocs will be provided as footwear, but the adventure straps have been removed to increase difficulty.”
“What do we get if we win?” Lydia asked.
At this, Kent looked perplexed. His eyes darted to Caroline for support. She’d clearly taken the lead in planning today’s activities. Kent didn’t have the organizational skills necessary, and Caroline was too much of a perfectionist to let him wing it.
“You get bragging rights, of course,” she said, shifting around to face the half circle of competitors. “And the chance to dole out some seriously nasty punishment. The champions get to select one person to shoot the boot, aka, the legendary Adidas.”
A chorus of disgusted groans came from the crowd. “I’m not sure what that means,” Grace whispered, her lips warm against the side of my jaw.
“It means the winner gets to choose someone who has to chug a beer straight from the Adidas that’s been stuck to the floor in the basement since before we started living here.”
The corners of her lips curled down. “Is that safe?”
I sent her a playful wink. “I guess we’ll find out.”
As everyone huddled to speak with their partners, Caroline slipped into the house and reemerged with a massive white poster board containing a bracket.
The official team names were a mashup of each partner’s first name, and I laughed when I saw Greb written in bold red letters across the bottom of the board.
A plethora of games were dispersed about the yard, including tables for beer pong and flip cup, one cornhole set, ladder toss (or, as Kent refereed to it, testicle toss), and a large spray-painted circle for beer darts.
“What are you best at?” Grace stood with her feet planted shoulder width apart, hands on her hips and jaw set in a firm line as she surveyed the lawn.
She wasn’t just my teammate because she was my girlfriend; she was my teammate because we matched each other in our competitive natures and determination to win.
And hotness.
“Just about everything,” I said with confidence, quickly adding, “but I can be a little heavy-handed when it comes to flip cup.”
She smirked. “You know I’m happy to pick up your slack.”
The games kicked off shortly, but only after Kent’s theatrical countdown and insistence that everyone shotgun a beer. Grace studied me with mirth as I wiped away a few drops of the Pbr that had escaped in my attempt.
“What’s that look for?” I asked, pulling her into my arms. She just shook her head. “Come on, tell me.”
“I’m just excited to crush the competition with you.”
“As if,” came a voice from behind, and Sam stepped into view, Bryce trailing behind her. Bram. She barely came past his elbow, but there was determination in her eyes that made up for the lack of height.
“She’s small but mighty,” Grace said, eyeing her best friend carefully. “Do not underestimate her.”
“You better be just as much bite as you are bark,” Bryce muttered, pulling her toward the cornhole set for their first game against Pandon (Pearson and Landon).
Grace held out her knuckles in a fist bump and said, “Game on, baby.”
We took on Mishop (Bishop and Macy) in the first round, lining up across a folding table for beer pong. Things were neck and neck until the final three cups, when Grace and I both sank our shots. On balls back, Grace bounced one in for the win.
“Your team name is stupid,” Bishop taunted in the wake of defeat.
“At least it doesn’t sound like it should be a condiment,” Grace shot back.
The sun beat down relentlessly as Grace and I approached the cornhole set.
Kent was stretching in preparation for our matchup, and his overly zealous arm circles nearly took out Nina as she passed behind him.
The cursed combination of his and Caroline’s name (Kentoline) was subtle foreshadowing for their disastrous run as teammates, which resulted in more bickering than playing.
Grace and I made it to twenty-one before they even got nine points on the board.
Gameplay grew sloppier with each passing hour, the pile of empties growing larger and larger.
Funnily enough, there were a few individuals that only seemed to get better the drunker they got.
Bryce sank four bags in a row during his match against Mishop, carrying team Bram to victory with little help from Sam, whose motor function was rapidly declining.
The semifinal round was a game of sudden death beer darts with a twist—the highest-ranked team (Greb, of course) received two cans of beer instead of one, increasing their odds of continuing to the final.
Within the first thirty seconds, Bryce took a dart to the shin, which was an automatic disqualification for Lyna (Lydia and Nina).
“That’s bullshit!” Lydia shouted as her girlfriend dragged her away from the circle, tears of laughter streaming down her face.
To Bryce’s credit, he didn’t complain. He simply reached down, pulled out the dart, and poured some vodka over the wound without so much as a grimace.
“That was insanely hot,” Sam said, eyeing Bryce like he was a snack.
Grace and I were edged out of the final round by a collaborative effort.
Bryce and Landon, despite being on different teams, were determined to see us eliminated.
Even with our two-can advantage, we didn’t stand a chance.
Not when there were at least four players always targeting us.
Though we’d never admit it, Grace and I were happy to escape participating in the shoe race.
The only downside was the chance of being selected to shoot the boot.
The basement was large, but it was still a tight squeeze to fit everyone given the sprawling course built from old training equipment and random furniture.
Along with an agility ladder and a scattering of cones, there were two tables, a smelly-looking armchair, and a couch that had once housed a nest of squirrels.
In the end, Bram won due to a lack of clearly defined rules, because Kent had never clarified that each partner needed to complete the course on their own.
Pandon made quick work of the obstacle course one by one, while Bryce just tossed Sam over his shoulder and carried her to the finish line in half the time.
Despite an uproar from Landon, Caroline declared Bram as the official winning team of the first and only Beer Olympics.
I would have cheered along with the others if I hadn’t caught the gleam of mischief in Bryce’s eyes as he surveyed the group with the Adidas in hand, ready to distribute the punishment. Sam confirmed their intentions with a devious smile.
“This can only go to one person,” Bryce announced, holding up the Adidas like a trophy, “as penance for their foolish behavior this school year. Though we have forgiven Sebastian, his idiocy cannot go unpunished.”
Well, fuck, it looked like I was getting the foot beer. In all fairness, Bryce was right. I’d been a selfish prick this year, and if anyone deserved to drink a warm beer out of a mystery shoe, it was me.
“Come forward, Sebastian, and accept your unholy goblet!”
Before I’d taken more than a few steps, Grace was tugging me back. “Hold on, I need to borrow him for a minute before he does,” she announced.
She led me toward the storage room off the bottom of the stairs. The place reeked of must and sweaty hockey bags, but Grace didn’t seem to care. She closed the door behind us and pushed me against it.
“What are you doing?” I asked, peering down at her through the dim light.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she said playfully, fisting the material of my shirt in her hands.
“I wanted to kiss you one last time in case you die contracting athlete’s foot of the mouth.
” Grace stood on her toes until her lips hovered inches from mine.
“And if you don’t die, there’s a chance I won’t kiss you for a week, so make it good, Evans.
You’ll need the memory to get through these next seven days. ”
I cupped her face in my hands, the tips of my fingers delving into the hair at the base of her neck.
Grace let out a contented sigh as I leaned forward.
She smelled of her cherry perfume laced with a hint of beer.
It was a strange combination, but I would have bottled the scent if I could have.
I’d bottle this day too, if it were possible, and every other day we spent together.