Chapter 20 Clover
Clover
“I thought our outfits were pretty scandalous,” Daisy shouts as a few girls walk by dressed in bikinis made of McDonald’s Happy Meal boxes. They’re followed by girls wearing the Wexley seal as pasties and paper bags from the bookstore as miniskirts.
A small group of guys who are obviously trolling for something to do are walking toward us in the ultimate PNW bro uniform of khakis and Patagonia vests. They stare at us in confused silence.
“What are you looking at?” snaps Daisy.
Briar lets out a loud meow at Daisy’s surprise sauciness.
“I’ll tell you what you’re looking at: three hot bitches who are invited to a very exclusive party. What do you see, Briar?” Daisy asks.
“Virgins who can’t drive!” she shouts, quoting Clueless.
I snort, clutching my side, the act of walking suddenly becoming very complicated.
“Whatever,” one of them mutters.
We finish our cotton candy booze on our walk. The buzz is alive and well and I am feeling good. As we approach the house, I notice flower boxes on the front windowsill. “Oh! Hang on a sec,” I call as I skip to the window and swipe some dirt aside before planting my phone among the pansies.
“College guys with landscaped flower beds?” Daisy asks. “I’m impressed.”
“It’s so their mommies and daddies can make the house pretty on the outside and probably ignore the absolute debauchery on the inside,” Briar tells us, her tongue stumbling over the word debauchery.
I pat the soil where my phone is sticking out like a budding flower stem. “I’ll be back for you,” I whisper. “You’ll be safe here.”
Daisy’s head drops down over my shoulder, her chin hooked there as she giggles. “Is there a good reason why you’re burying your phone in dirt?”
“A very good reason,” I confirm.
I lead the charge with the card held above my head as we walk to the front of the house where a line is accumulating. Not only does the card get us out of the cover charge, but it also helps us skip the line when a guy wearing nothing but a moving box—and I mean nothing—waves us through.
We take a self-guided tour through the house and find that the main floor rooms are divided by activity.
The living room is for lounging and lazy making out that is likely the prequel to something more.
The formal dining room is home to a very intense beer pong tournament.
The kitchen is drinks central. There are also about forty Taco Bell tacos and a few half-eaten pizzas up for grabs.
The patio is reserved for recreational drug use.
And the formal sitting area is where the DJ and a writhing sea of bodies can be found.
It is every college movie I have ever seen and I am giddy, which might have more to do with my dwindling sobriety.
We find ourselves with cans of spiked sparkling water and Briar, the most bullish of us in such a large crowd, leads us through limbs and torsos with our hands locked together like a pre-K class on a field trip until we find a small alcove near a speaker.
Our hands are marked with X’s to show we’re under twenty-one, but we have encountered zero resistance from the guys policing the coolers full of booze.
“It didn’t occur to me that when you party with rich kids, all the booze is free,” Briar says in an uncharacteristically cheerful tone.
“Every bar is an open bar,” I shout back at her. “The oyster is your world!”
After a few minutes of us clinging to the walls, a girl wearing scraps of an IKEA shopping tote stops by with a plastic bag of sealed lime green shots. “GHB-free shots for the ladies? Three dollars each!”
“You’re an angel,” I tell her.
“And an entrepreneur,” Briar says with admiration.
Daisy hands her a twenty and scoops up six shots. “Keep the change, baby!”
IKEA bag girl taps her nose. “I am but a humble woman-owned small business,” she announces. “Just because the booze is free doesn’t mean it’s clean. No unsealed beverages for you ladies. Understand?”
“Yes, Mommy,” I tell her.
She gives us each a kiss on the cheek and is off to the next group of girls like the safe party fairy she is.
“Cheers?” Daisy asks as she passes around the lime-green liquid-filled shot glasses that bear a striking resemblance to communion cups.
“Are we each taking two right now?” I ask.
Briar laughs. “I didn’t come here to pace myself!”
I shrug and peel back the plastic seal on one of the cups before holding it out for a toast.
“Does this make us an official friend group?” Daisy asks. “We need a text thread.”
Briar shrugs. “My general policy is no new friends, and I’m pretty opposed to group activities.”
“You would have to have friends in the first place in order for that to be your policy,” Daisy tells her sweetly.
“You are vicious,” Briar says with a great deal of respect.
Daisy bounces up and down. “This is so Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants coded. Or—or, like, the three best friends in Mamma Mia!”
“I mean, we legit could share pants,” I tell them. “I’ve never had friends I could potentially share clothes with.”
Daisy slaps me on the shoulder, her jaw unhinged in shock. “Oh my god! Me neither.”
Briar scoffs. “Well, I guess I could say the same, but I can’t imagine wanting to wear either of your cutesy-ass clothes.”
“Awww,” I croon, and rest my head against her shoulder. “I’m always the grumpy friend, but you’ve really set the bar so high.”
“Don’t be too nice to me,” she warns. “It’ll make me horny and confused.”
I reach up to pat her head affectionately.
With the second shot working its magic, I am a new woman who suddenly has the confidence to dance. “Do you guys like to dance?” I ask. “I feel like I would be so good at dancing.”
Daisy grinds against me a little. “You read my mind.”
She drags us toward the formal sitting room where the couches and leather wingback armchairs have been pushed to the sides. A crush of hardly clothed people are bouncing around and in many cases dry humping to “Dancing Queen” by ABBA and then “Espresso” by Sabrina Carpenter.
Daisy ends up squashed between us and she throws her arms in the air. “Slutty dance sandwich!”
A taller guy in a very tiny loincloth made out of condoms still in their wrappers settles in behind Briar and the look on her face tells me everything I need to know.
“How do you feel about virgins?” Daisy asks.
I slap my hand over her mouth and she licks my palm. “She’s kidding.”
The guy doesn’t budge, so Briar very plainly yells, “We’re not looking for a fourth and even if we were, it wouldn’t be you, buddy.”
“She called you buddy!” I shout at him. “What a burn!”
Briar laughs, taken aback, like she finds me both confusing and surprising. “You know what? Hell yeah!”
His face screws up in confusion before he disappears into the crowd that is awash with light from the blue strip lights that have been adhered to the ornate crown molding.
Whoever’s mom hired the landscaper is probably also responsible for the interior decor, and I have a feeling she would not approve of tape on her walls.
“You sure about not needing a fourth?” someone behind me asks. “I am the ideal candidate.”
I spin around to tell this next guy to back off and stumble into Tate’s chest, my palms resting on each of his very naked pectorals.
“Whoa there.” He catches me by the waist and pulls me closer into a lingering hug.
“Hey, buddy,” Daisy says with a snort, “she’s married!”
“Settle down, kitty,” he says. “I’m a friend. You don’t have to make up a fake husband to keep me away. I’m the one who invited you three here anyway.”
Daisy hiccups and then giggles to herself.
He takes inventory of the three of us. “And I’m guessing the person manning the coolers did not take the X’s on your hands into consideration.”
“It would be rude not to offer your guests beverages,” I explain with his arms still around my waist.
“No, actually, it would be a liability to offer,” he corrects. “In fact, you guys should just stay here and sleep it off. We have a few spare rooms at the moment. You don’t want to get hassled by the campus police on your walk back.”
Before I can kindly decline, Daisy yanks my hand up so that my ring is right in his face. “Married, remember? We’ve got to get this little lady home to her old man at the end of the night or else she’ll turn into a pumpkin.”
“Oh shit! You were serious.” Tate looks down at me like I’m an absolute stranger and also a very interesting challenge.
My cheeks warm as I remember how close we got at that hockey party earlier this semester.
Since then, we’ve flirted in pottery class (when I usually take off my ring), but nothing has progressed beyond that, so it didn’t feel necessary to tell him about Bennett.
He unfurls one arm from around my waist but still holds me tight with the other. “This husband of yours lets you out of his sight?” he asks. “I sure as hell wouldn’t.”
“She’s an independent woman,” Briar explains. “And they got into a fight.”
I glare at her for spilling more details. Why couldn’t I just keep flirting with Tate for the semester and then maybe we could reconnect in January when I didn’t have to worry about the moral dilemma of cheating on my fake husband who I have a complicated history with and also enjoy kissing?
“Ahhh, well, you should take me up on my offer to stay the night,” Tate says. “That would teach him a lesson.”
Briar leans forward and whispers loudly in Tate’s ear. “I could be swayed. I feel like there’s a real market here for grilled cheese sandwiches. Do you have any spare ironing boards?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m sure I could find you an ironing board,” Tate replies.
Daisy hiccups again, but this time it turns into a burp. “I don’t feel so great,” she says, and covers her mouth with one hand.
She trips over her own feet as she moves to the edge of the room.
“Not in the vase!” Tate calls. “It’s an antique!”
But it’s too late. Daisy is already hunched over the oversize oriental-style vase with gold trim, retching.
“It’s okay,” Briar calls to Daisy as she comes up to rub circles along her back. “Let it all out.”
“Or don’t,” Tate says.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him as my head falls against his chest, and the way his hips press into my backside feels nice. Maybe we should just stay here. It’s late anyway.
His body is moving to the music, and the fingers around my waist spread until they’re brushing the underside of my foil-covered breast.
“We should go,” Briar calls from where she’s helping Daisy.
“I think we need to build up our party tolerance,” I tell Tate.
His voice is low and his breath tickles against my neck as he whispers, “Don’t you want to stay, Clover? That beautiful little head of yours is always spinning. Always thinking. Doesn’t it feel nice to just shut it off for a little while?”
I let myself fully lean against him and a tired moan slips past my lips.
Fingers are tracing up along the length of my neck, warm breaths lingering.
And then I’m being tugged away by my wrist.
“Time to go,” Briar says with me on one side and Daisy on the other. “As much as I would love to turn this place into a grilled cheese franchise.”
“You guys go!” I tell them. “Tate’s a friend. I’ll be fine.”
Briar eyes me and then Tate warily, but behind her Daisy gags and then burps.
“Really!” I tell her. “Plus, Bennett knows where I am!”
“Fine. Please text us when you’re ready to leave. I’ll send Bennett to pick you up.”
“Sounds good!” I shout as I let Tate pull me deeper into the crowd and my body melts into his just like it did that night next to the firepit. My skin feels warm and tingly all over.
Briar uses her lengthy figure and commanding presence to part the crowd as she hauls Daisy along like a little duckling.