Chapter Three
Everett Young
I’m technically older than Skylar by six months, something I never let him forget, so I’ve been twenty-two for a while now.
Not that it means much, not when twenty-two is such a boring age.
Now, when I turned twenty-one, it was a different story—Skylar was pissed.
He wouldn’t even let me go into bars until he got his fake ID. He had a serious case of FOMO.
But tonight we’re partying as if none of us have yet to cross that threshold, to behold the wondrous age of twenty-two. As if it’s life-altering.
Shot after shot, I watch as more people enter the apartment and things get livelier. Kelly and Henry begin telling the volleyball guys embarrassing stories about Skylar, and I become aware that they only know a certain side of him.
The volleyball star, the asshole, the jock.
The man of the hour himself is in the kitchen, taking shots with Dante. And Dante… Well, I can admit that the guy is a giant. He’s about two inches taller than I am and straight muscle—dark brown hair, green eyes, and a decent five o’clock shadow.
He’s laughing at something that Skylar is saying as I watch them from the living room, his big arm thrown around Skylar’s shoulders. Dante is always doing that, I’ve noticed.
“I think he’s drunk,” Kelly says, coming up next to me as she nurses her own drink.
“Already?” I have my own buzz going, sure, but drunk is a bit much. I eye Skylar again, taking in the flush of his soft cheeks and the way he sways slightly when Dante leans into him too hard. “Huh.”
Two hours later, the party is still in full swing, and Skylar is most definitely drunk. He laughs at every joke he hears, leaning against shoulders and snapping back at people who make targeting comments.
That’s his typical drunk facade, and most of the time his sober one too. My little poisonous snake.
Even if he’s only two inches shorter than me, Skylar’s muscles are leaner, and those big blue eyes and floppy brown curls make him look small and adorable—like a puppy. When I first started calling him that in middle school, he straight-up decked me in the nose, made me bleed and everything.
Now, he doesn’t even bat an eye.
I hold his arm as said little snake plops down next to me on the floor of the living room. Not that I’m the best support, being decently drunk myself. Everyone here is fucked up, actually.
I watch the crowd around us, a few people sitting in a circle with Skylar and me, and enjoy the energy.
“Finding your next victim, you manwhore?” Skylar slurs, leaning into me with those judgmental eyes.
“Not quite. I normally wait until I can barely stand.”
This makes him laugh, loud and full, which of course just makes me grin harder. The best friend effect, if you will. I want to laugh when he laughs; I want to hit him when he annoys me; I want to protect him when he’s in trouble.
“How very Everett of you,” he jokes.
I shove him playfully—only, I don’t know my own strength when I’m drunk, and I watch as he tips backward, his drink spilling onto his chest and running up his neck.
There is one moment of silence between us, where he just stares at the ceiling in shock.
And then—
“Asshole!” Skylar screeches. Still, he doesn’t bother to move from where he now lies.
“Oops.” I wipe at the sticky liquor on his neck, licking it off my fingers in lieu of having to drag my ass to the kitchen for a napkin.
Walking sounds hard right now.
After a few more passes of my fingertips over his neck, collecting what tastes like Vodka, I decide he’s now acceptable, and my eyes find his. Skylar is already staring at me—assessing, curious, and calculating.
I can see the rise and fall of his chest, the dark patch of his shirt where the liquor soaked in.
There is so much laughter in the room, the music pounding through the floorboards and into my body. I can’t read him well when I’m incapacitated, so I squint down at him in question.
“What?”
“Nothing.” His voice is empty, controlled, and betrays nothing.
“Let’s play a game!” Kelly’s voice suddenly rings out, gathering the attention of the little circle we’ve formed on the floor.
Skylar grips my leg and pulls himself up, gulping down what remains of his drink.
“Henry, bring me a new drink!” he yells, and Henry nods from where he stands in the kitchen, making himself what appears to be a Jack and Coke.
By the time he joins us, giving Skylar his new cup, we have a decent number of people around us. Some that I recognize, and some that I don’t.
“Okay,” Kelly starts, “let’s play Truth or Dare!”
I groan as I give her an unimpressed look. “Are we in middle school?”
“Nooo!” Skylar whines, smacking my arm. “Let’s play!”
“Birthday man has spoken!” Kelly declares. “Truth or dare, Sky?”
He grins. It’s an evil little twitch of his lips, and the first time I’ve ever seen him purposefully make an expression that looks so… suggestive. I can feel my body pulse with anticipation at whatever will come next, and on instinct, I grin with him.
“Dare, because I’m not a pussy.”
A few people in the circle laugh at his joke, and I watch as he takes a large drink from his cup without cringing.
He is most definitely fit for his bartender gig—or incredibly drunk. Maybe both?
I turn my attention to Kelly, who is watching Skylar with amused, scheming eyes. Oh, no. She’s setting the stage; our earlier conversation is coming back to me in a sudden rush of anxiety.
Kelly says, “Alright, Mr. Bigshot, I dare you to strip to your underwear and do a backflip off of the coffee table.”
Everyone in the circle choruses a loud “Ohhh,” but I stay silent as my mouth hangs open in shock. I wait for his denial, but Skylar hands me his cup and stands shakily, ripping off his shirt.
“Skylar,” I call to him, but he doesn’t even look at me, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them over his little black briefs.
Dante is sitting next to Henry, whistling loudly. I can feel my face flush as I realize everyone can see the outline of him through the thin fabric.
“Skylar,” I repeat.
Finally, he looks at me. “What, Evie?”
He’s walking toward the low table, his back to me, and before I can stop myself, my eyes fall to his ass—round and perky in those ridiculous briefs.
“You’re too drunk for that,” I tell him.
He laughs, tossing me a look over his shoulder that effectively cuts off my staring. “I can do a backflip perfectly fine when I’m sober, so why not drunk? Kelly, help me up.”
She does, holding his hand as he climbs onto the table.
My anxiety peaks, and I stand, placing myself in his way by blocking his landing spot. “I swear to fucking god, Sky, no”
I call on every ounce of self-control that I possess and keep my eyes trained on his, and not what’s right in front of my face.
“You’re being bossy as fuck,” he complains. “It’s my birthday. Let me jump. Don’t you want to see how cool I am?”
My eyes narrow in on him. “I already think you’re cool. Get. Down.”
Skylar bends at the waist, his evil little grin growing wider. More devious, more seductive. My heart is pounding erratically as I try to wrap my mind around this—this new version of him.
“You think I’m cool?” he purrs. I say nothing. “Say it again. Come on, Evie. Tell me how cool you think I am.”
Grabbing his bare thigh, I tug lightly. “I think you’re very cool, puppy. Now come down before I lose it. Please.”
Skylar rests his palm on the top of my head, his fingers wrapping around the various strands of my hair, laughing as he leans back up.
He’s shaking his head, looking so radiant and so fucking happy I can barely breathe.
“I am jumping,” he declares. “You can’t stop me! Now, move so I can dare someone to do something dirty.”
Alright, well now I’m not breathing at all. I choke on the remaining air in my lungs, staring up at him with wide, helpless eyes. In fact, I’m so startled that Kelly is able to grab my arm and pull me to the side.
Skylar turns and is on the ground a second later, having successfully completed his backflip before I could even register the situation unfolding around me.
Here’s the thing: Skylar doesn’t get sexual. Actually, he’s always said that no girl is good enough for him—that he doesn’t have desires the way other guys do. So, this? Well, it’s new.
“Damn!” Kelly yells, poking his leg from where she is sitting once again.
Skylar giggles, turning to place a hand over my heated cheek. “See, Evie? Super cool, right?”
I turn away from him and take my seat. I don’t think I’ve ever been so irritated with him, and whether it’s from the alcohol or the fact that he could have just broken his neck—or maybe that everyone is seeing him in his underwear—I don’t know.
I’m fucked up, and I’m concerned.
Skylar takes his place next to me, leaning into my space with probing eyes.
“What?” I snap.
“Stop being mad at me. You’re ruining my birthday.”
I internally sigh, reminding myself that he’s safe now and I can be as mad as I want tomorrow. “Fine. But you’re in trouble later.”
Once again, that grin, that evil, flirty little grin, appears on his lips. “Can’t wait.”
I force myself to look away.
A fun fact about me? I’ve always been into women.
Really into women. Yet it appears that somewhere along the way, a perverted desire has appeared within me.
But if I keep reminding myself of my normal attraction, if I keep picturing the consequences of acting on these urges I feel, then I can keep to my path in life.
The one I’ve been molded to follow; the only real option I have. Being attracted to Skylar is not a path I am able to take.
For me, it is wrong.
“Dante, truth or dare?” Skylar asks, pulling me away from the mental chastising I was stuck in.
“Truth.” It appears that Dante is playing it safe.
“When was the last time you had your dick sucked, and how long did you last?”
My eyes snap to Skylar, who is smirking at his teammate between sips from his cup. Dante is laughing, sure, but I’m sitting in a state of shock.
Who the fuck is sitting next to me, and what did he do with my little puppy?!