Текст книги "Becoming His"
Автор книги: Mariah Dietz
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
My heavy eyelids blink reluctantly, feeling slightly dazed from the combination of my restless sleep and continued jet lag. I reach for my phone and see that it’s six. Somehow, even with the exhaustion, my mind seems to have reprogrammed my mental alarm clock.
Careful to not disturb Abby, I slip out of bed and pull on some running clothes. Zeus is on my heels as I enter the kitchen and find the scent of burnt toast and fresh coffee, traces that my dad’s been up. For as long as I can remember, my dad and I have shared this time to catch up with one another.
A sheet of paper on the kitchen bar catches my attention, and I wander over to find my dad’s familiar handwriting. It briefly explains he’s been called in early for an accident and promises me chocolate chip pancakes for tomorrow.
I head outside, not bothering to stop for coffee without him being there. The air is already a warm seventy-two, and I relish the sun’s rays on my bare arms as I stretch my calves and hamstrings, fighting the precarious desire to look over at the Millers’. The longing seems to intensify with each passing second leading me to hastily finish with my stretching and shove my earbuds in. I select a loud playlist that Kendall recently added and pat my thigh to get Zeus’s attention before setting off toward the park.
The following week I seem to be hyper aware of any activity coming in or out of the Millers’. I spend most of my time resigned to our backyard where I’m safe from my growing curiosity. From back here there isn’t much of the Millers’ I can see. Max’s bedroom is on the side of the house looking out over the front yard, and it’s directly across from mine.
I’d discovered this shortly after they’d moved in. It was one of the first times that I’d seen him since my mom dragged us over to meet the Millers the day that they moved in. Max had been decorating his room, hanging posters of random baseball players and bands that I’d never heard of. Thinking about this nine years later, the memory still makes me blush as I recall Max turning around and catching me standing frozen in my window staring at him. He stared back at me for a beat and then stalked to his window and closed the shade. Mortified, I’d closed my own as well, and it’s remained shut since.
Friday night I stand in one of our upstairs bathrooms beside Kendall, who’s artfully shading her eyelids with a smoky charcoal, as we primp in preparation to attend a party at Karli Lincoln’s house.
This party is not something I’m willingly attending. Although I’ve been anxious to get out of the house and distract myself, I have no desire to go to a party thrown by Karli. Kendall had begged and pleaded for me to go, and Kendall is nothing if not insistent, refusing to be ignored. However, I’ve had nearly twenty years of practice and am fairly fluent. Eventually, when she realized that groveling wasn’t leading to her desired outcome, she pulled the ‘I kissed Kevin Murphy for you’ card.
She had … in a game of truth or dare that had occurred seven years ago.
Seven.
Years.
Yet she pulled it and I silently submitted because to this day the thought of having to kiss Kevin Murphy when that bottle landed on me during that game of spin the bottle still causes my stomach to lurch.
So here I am, pinning my hair into an impromptu updo that I’ve mastered with years of experience.
Glancing at my reflection, my gaze settles on my brown eyes staring back at me as I pry open another bobby pin with my teeth. I work to see the resemblance to my dad in them as I insert the hair pin. Where his are distinguishable and a warm molten brown, mine appear too big for my face and are such a dark shade of brown that it’s nearly indiscernible to see where my irises end and pupils begin. Before I have the chance to further scrutinize myself, I feel Kendall’s eyes on me and shift my focus to her light blues staring at me with a look that tells me she’s about to ask me what I’m thinking. To avoid her question I turn my attention to the eye-catching short denim skirt that she’s paired with a black sleeveless top and high black heels. She’s obviously dressed to catch attention tonight, and I briefly wonder what I’m in for.
“Why are you dressed for winter?”
“Winter?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I look down at my yellow skinny jeans and sheer white blouse covering a white tank top.
“A nun?” She reaches forward and tugs on my shirt in an attempt to reveal some cleavage. I bat her hand away in protest.
“We both know the crowd attracted to Karli’s parties,” I reply, fastening a final bobby pin into my hair.
“I know, that’s why we’re going. We both need to have some fun! You finally admitted you’re thinking of ending things with Eric. Let’s find you a hot rebound.”
I look at her and roll my eyes before flipping off the bathroom light and heading downstairs, leaving her to follow me. I had confided in Kendall after hearing for the ten thousandth time how much she loathes Eric that I’m starting to consider taking a break from him. Kendall’s used to this; she often calls me a serial dater. According to her I have commitment issues. All because prior to dating Eric, I dated a decent number of guys. She never could understand that just because I went on a date with someone, it didn’t mean I was in a relationship with them. You’d think that someone as high maintenance as my sister can be, she’d understand, but under Kendall’s high fashion and couldn’t-care-less attitude she often exudes is the most undeniably loyal person I know. She doesn’t bother dating people if she isn’t interested in a relationship, whereas I date people to see if I’m interested in being in a relationship.
I’ve been dating Eric for the past nine months and have silently considered ending things with him for the last seven. It isn’t that I’m necessarily bored with our relationship—okay, I’m sort of bored, but that hasn’t been the primary reason for my past relationships not lasting—I just have never felt that toe-curling, sweaty palms, all thoughts consuming kind of love that movies and books portray. It always makes me second guess my relationships until I eventually have myself thoroughly convinced that I’m not with the right person.
My relationship with Eric is really convenient. I take heavy class loads and require independence, and he never seems to protest like other guys that I dated at the beginning of the school year. When I need to study, or want to spend time with my family or friends, he never objects, largely because he’s often busy himself, so I think in a way he appreciates that I require so little of his time. During school we generally make an effort to hang out once a week, sometimes even less, and both of us seem completely satisfied with the commitment.
Watching Kendall act giddy and anxious all week in anticipation of running into Jameson causes my relationship of convenience to wear on me.
Eric has traits that had originally drawn me to him. He’s nice, smart, and incredibly ambitious. However, I quickly found that I can determine his reaction or words to nearly any scenario. I found this to be another convenient attribute initially and even considered that maybe it was a sign that we share a deeper relationship; after all, isn’t love all about knowing someone so deeply and completely that you’re able to know their thoughts and reactions? It didn’t take long before I found it to be boring, lacking both excitement and passion, each time I waited for him to do or say what I already knew he would. I’d begun to forget how mundane our relationship felt while I was in France, but Sunday had brought that dam of emotions back. His predictability nearly drowned me when he came into the bathroom to say he was leaving early.
“Let’s go find you a rebound,” she cries, shooting me a playful grin.
I lead the way to my car without responding. I don’t need to. We both know I’m only attending this party out of obligation. After nine months I still haven’t cashed in my V-card with Eric; there’s no chance I’ll do it tonight.
It’s not that I believe people should wait for marriage or find the love of their life to have sex, if that’s even a reality. It’s just that I’ve heard all my sisters and many of my friends discuss losing their virginity. Inevitably they all seemed to regret their decision—some within mere hours of completing the deed. I’m beginning to consider that perhaps this is just a side effect of having sex for the first time because although you understand anatomically what happens, you don’t really know what to expect, and it’s supposed to be painful, so really, how can it be anything other than awkward and result in some degree of regret.
Before leaving for France I’d decided that when I returned home I would cash it in with Eric. I half expect a convent to begin contacting me if I hit twenty, still a virgin. Now with cringing each time I analyze mine and Eric’s relationship, and continuing to conclude things are just convenient between us, I’m feeling more reluctant to lose my virginity status; it’s one thing that I hold complete control over.
I certainly haven’t always played by the rules. I can drink any of my sisters under the table, and I’ve done my share of sneaking out and partying, but I realized at a very young age from growing up in a house with five kids that you have no control over most things in life, being the youngest this was especially true at times.
When we arrive at Karli’s I’m not surprised to see a large number of people from high school. Most of them are from Kendall’s class, even though Karli’s a year between Kendall and me.
“Oh my god! Great shoes!” I look over to see Britney Ballard with her round face and short blond hair that’s been subjected to a straightening iron so many times it now resembles the coarse ends of an old, used broom. She smiles at me excitedly and I instantly regret my mental comparison. I don’t want to be judgmental and catty. That’s one of the many reasons I despise being at these parties; they’re filled with lies and fake exchanges. I wipe away my fleeting thoughts and plaster a smile to my face, glancing down at the cobalt blue heels I’m wearing.
“Thanks! I love your dress,” I add before fully taking in the low cut silver dress she has on.
“I’m so glad you guys made it! I heard someone say they thought they saw you guys were home for the summer!”
“Hey, Britney.” Kendall smiles warmly at her and I look on in amazement. She has the uncanny ability to recall people’s names at the drop of a hat. I’m certain it can be attributed to the many social events my mother’s hosted since we were young, but it’s still impressive since I doubt these two have seen each other in years.
“This is like a high school reunion!” Jeanie Ebbs squeals, throwing her arms around my neck. Her dark brown hair falls across my face in a curtain as I hug her, cringing at the reality of her evaluation. She pulls back, smiling widely at me. I’ve always liked Jeanie and wish I kept in touch with her better. Her smile and happy personality has always been contagious and fun.
“Nathan Hudson is here and dear lord he’s gotten even hotter!” I look at her grinning face and notice her glassy expression; she’s already had too much to drink.
Nathan, who I like to call Nate—solely because he hates it—is a stereotypical pretty boy. He’s undeniably good looking: clean cut, perfect white smile, deep tan from hours of being outside shirtless, always adorned with Abercrombie styled clothing. My mom used to tell us it was boys like Nathan Hudson we should seek to date because they were “good boys.”
My mom’s wrong.
Nathan Hudson is none of the amazing things she assumes he is. Rather, he’s conceited, manipulative, and conniving, expecting every girl to want him. Unfortunately most of them did all throughout high school, and it sounds like they still do. Even after sleeping with nearly everyone I know, including Kendall, he somehow has never been labeled a player.
“Who cares about him?” Kendall says brazenly, in true fashion of any scorned woman. I want to remind her again that I didn’t want to come because people like Nate always attend Karli’s parties, but based on the anxious look on her face, I don’t.
“Come on, Ace, take a shot with me for old times’ sake!” Jeanie pleads, tugging on my fingers she’s entwined with hers. I shake my head gently as I give her a small smile.
“Oh, come on, we used to have so much fun! Don’t you remember?” She drops my fingers and sticks her bottom lip out. Five-year-olds are pretty difficult to refuse with this face, twenty-year-olds aren’t.
“Maybe later.” My words don’t need to appease her; she’s already distracted thankfully. I link arms with Kendall and follow her through a web of people.
We stop to talk with several familiar faces about surface topics. Kendall loves this stuff; she’d make a great politician one day if she was willing to wear longer skirts, much longer skirts.
My smile to an old soccer teammate turns into a wince as Kendall’s nails dig into the tender flesh on the underside of my forearm.
“Jameson’s here.” She works to maintain her grip on my arm.
“Ow! You’re like a python with claws!” I use my other hand to physically pull her fingers loose as I glance up in the direction she’s staring and catch a glimpse of Jameson before turning my attention back to freeing my arm.
“Is that why you wanted to come so much?” I ask, eyeing the way her shoulders square and her chest pushes out a bit further as I finally wrench my arm free.
“No! Of course not!” Kendall answers defiantly, but her actions sell her out as she tucks her blond hair behind her ear—a clear indication that my sister isn’t being truthful, at least not entirely. Most people wouldn’t know she’s lying; she can lie with immense conviction and not bat an eye, but years of experience has taught me that she, like all of my sisters, has a nearly indiscernible giveaway.
“How are you going to know if you like the guy if we’re going to avoid him all night?” I ask after we dodge Jameson once again. We’ve been here for two hours, and still she’s refusing to talk to him.
“I’m waiting for him to come over.” Kendall whines impatiently.
“How can he when we keep moving? Are you sure he’s actually seen you?”
“Are you kidding me? Of course he’s seen us. Your pants pretty much glow in the dark!”
I stare at her for a long moment so she can see my growing frustration then close my eyes and count to ten to keep from strangling her when she doesn’t seem to care.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I yell over the music pouring from the speaker we’re standing too close to. I need a breather. She nods without breaking her intense eye stalking and I set off.
The bathroom has a line eleven people long, and I really don’t need to go, so instead I turn back to head to where I’d seen my friend, Maria, and feel a hand clasp over my shoulder.
I look at the large hand that’s holding my shoulder and turn to see Nathan Hudson. My eyes go past him for a second and focus on Brock Walker and Max a couple of feet from us. Max’s eyes flash to mine, and his head turns as though he’s as surprised to see me as I am him.
“What’s up, baby Bosse? How are you doing, Ace?” Nate asks, making it apparent that he’s checking me out as his eyes slowly travel up and down my body. The simple act coming from Nate makes me feel violated, and I frown in response, repositioning my body so I’m leaning on my back leg to attempt a little more space.
“How’s your summer been?” He gives me a wicked grin like it’s an invitation.
The last thing I want to do is make small talk with him. I glance around, grasping for a distraction, and come up empty. “It’s good,” I reluctantly reply, not bothering to ask how his is, hoping he’ll lose interest.
“How are things going with Eric? Where’s he tonight?” I keep my attention on Nate but notice Max sag a bit as Javier Torres approaches him and wraps an arm around his shoulder in a man-hug.
“He’s around,” I answer vaguely. He nods with a cocky smirk, and I can tell he knows I’m lying.
“You want to get a drink or something? You used to promise me you would, and it still hasn’t happened.”
“Maybe that’s a hint.”
“Oh, come on, you know you want this.” I watch from the corner of my eye as he reaches down and lifts the hem of his T-shirt exposing his stomach muscles and part of his chest.
I refuse to play his game and don’t break eye contact with him. “Do you want me to congratulate you on knowing how to do a sit-up?”
A loud scoff bursts from his lips as he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “A sit-up? Do you know what I do to train my body to keep it in this kind of condition?” He still has his shirt pulled up, and I still refuse to let my eyes wander from his as we stand there in a silent stalemate.
“Come on, I showed you mine now you show me yours,” he says, practicing his wicked, I-know-you-want-me smile once more as he shifts closer and grips the hem of my blouse in his free hand.
I instantly take a step back and smack his hand away, glaring at him as I feel my heart accelerate. “If you touch me again, I’ll break. Your. Nose.”
“You and I need to have a serious talk; you still think I’m a bad guy. That or you’re playing hard to get. If that’s the case, I’ll play along.”
Max stops talking and takes a few steps closer, breaking my attention from Nate for a second. The realization that he’s hanging out with Nate, and may be just like him, makes my stomach falter.
“I’m not interested in you, Nate. I never have been. You don’t understand what personal space is. And let’s face it, I’ve heard enough of your reviews to know that your open garage houses a very compact car.” I glance at his crotch.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with all of me, baby.”
“It’s a good thing we’ll never have to find out.” I eye him again with a silent threat to leave me alone before I turn and walk away.
“You need to talk to me, Ace, trust me. You may even find that you like me,” he calls to my back, but I don’t bother replying.
The backyard’s mostly filled with smokers, which taints the fresh air appeal, but I need a few moments before distributing more fake smiles and playing cat and mouse games with Kendall and Jameson.
I make a beeline to an empty picnic table at the far corner of the yard and sit on the table with my feet resting on the wet bench emanating the stench of beer. My head drops back to stare at the night sky. There are too many lights to see any stars, but the wide expanse is comforting and allows me to breathe a bit easier.
“You know you’re a game to him.”
I look up at the familiar voice that’s been haunting far too many of my dreams over the past week and see Max. He leans the top of his thigh against the picnic table, his eyes hidden beneath dark lashes as he looks down and shoves a hand in his pocket.
“He needs to find a new opponent, because it’s not going to happen.”
Max shrugs. “It might be easier just to sleep with him and get it over with.”
My eyebrows shoot up as I look at him incredulously. “I appreciate your advice, and you thinking so highly of me.”
Max shrugs again as if completely impassive. “I’m not trying to be offensive.” He doesn’t even glance in my direction as he continues, real sincere. “He likes you and seems like your type.” His shoulders lift in another shrug, and I find the gesture to be maddening as all hell. I can’t believe my thoughts have been so consumed by him lately.
“My type?” My voice rises in contempt.
“You know, pretty boy, likes to talk about himself and how great he is. Spends a decent amount of his day on his hair.”
“That’s what you think my type is?” My mind races in multiple directions: first to the last few guys that I’ve dated, then to why in the hell Max is out here doling advice. “Isn’t he your friend?” The words burst from my mouth as the minor detail rushes to the forefront of my mind. “It’s good to know it’s not just people you don’t know you have no problem insulting.”
“Hell no.” Max shakes his head. “He came by to say hello, and you showed up.”
I turn away from him, feeling my neck and shoulders burn with tension, and follow an airplane as it flies overhead. I’ve always loved airplanes; to me they signify defying convention. “I don’t have a type.”
“He and Eric seem pretty similar. Plus, I went to high school with you.”
The fact that Max admits to paying attention to me in high school makes me want to smile with elation, which is completely irrational since he’s still insulting me so I maintain my focus on the airplane and wonder where they’re going, who’s on the plane, and why are they going? Business? Travel? To escape?
“Nate isn’t my type. He makes my skin crawl,” I admit.
“Usually girls say that after they’ve slept with him.” I turn my attention from the sky to see if he’s insinuating that I’ve slept with Nate, or if he’s feeling the effects of the party and doesn’t realize what he’s said. He looks as sober as I am.
“Who in the hell do you think you are?” My voice startles me as the words come out louder than I intend. Other than the tightening of his jaw, Max looks completely unfazed by my outburst, which just pisses me off even more. “You don’t know anything about me! You think because some asshole pays attention to me, that I should spread my legs? That might be your game, but it sure as hell isn’t mine.”
Max keeps his eyes focused on mine as an intense stare down ensues between us. The pull that I had felt to him last week seems like a distant memory as I see a dark fierceness in his eyes, as though I’ve in some way insulted him. Finally his eyes fall to the table, and I take the opportunity to leave. I have to force myself not to run and make it obvious just how uncomfortable he’s made me.
I spend the next couple of hours working to avoid Nate, Jameson, and now Max, as I politely mingle and discuss high school memories with nearly everyone. I find it ironic that prior to graduating all you heard people talk about at parties was the excitement of graduating and plans for after school. Now everyone reminisces about every last detail of high school, even though we’ve barely left. In some ways I can understand it; it’s hard to move forward and it can be scary as all hell. I ended up unable to bring myself to go any further from home than San Diego, even though I’d been accepted to several schools on the East Coast where I’d always imagined myself going.
“Ace! Holy shit. What are you doing here?” I turn to see Jessica Finley and instantly feel the pull on my cheeks as she rushes toward me and wraps me tightly in her arms.
Jess and I have been friends since the first day of kindergarten. She’d been upset about being separated from her older brother Keith, and I’d offered her my M&M’s and the sage advice that chocolate would help. From there we became very close. Once we reached high school, Jess had become friends with the art and drama clique, who never seemed particularly fond of me, and we began spending less and less time together. Even though I haven’t seen her in over a year, since before we each left for college, our friendship never seems to skip a beat between lapses. It’s not because it’s convenient, it’s because we both understand that as we grow up our lives change, and some of those changes have brought us closer, and others haven’t. Ultimately we both know who the other is and share a love and respect for one another that time and distance has never lessened.
“Gosh, it’s good to see you!” I say, scanning her face and noticing a couple of new piercings: one in her nose and one above her upper lip. She has such delicate features that the jewelry only seems to accentuate her beauty, and rather than making her appear like she’s trying to be unique, it just confirms she is.
“You too! Let’s go outside. It’s getting too loud in here. I want to hear how you’ve been!” She takes my hand in hers, and without waiting for a response makes her way through the crowd toward the back door. I follow close behind her, scanning the room for Kendall. It only takes me a moment to catch sight of her, she and her headband of a skirt have attracted a small crowd of admirers but appears to be safe, dancing and giggling with some girls I know from her class.
“Is she totally wasted?” The deep voice startles me, and I turn to see Jameson staring in Kendall’s direction. A grimace painted on his face shows he’s more concerned than annoyed. We’re blocking the entrance of the back door people attempt to enter, so I nod my head toward the yard.
The air has become thicker with cigarette smoke making my lungs constrict in protest. I follow Jess and glance over my shoulder to see Jameson trailing behind us, looking restless.
“Jameson, this is my good friend Jessica. Jess, this is Jameson.” I introduce the two with a wave of my hand.
He lifts his chin to acknowledge her and immediately turns his attention back to the house. “She’s testing you,” I explain, brushing imaginary lint from my right thigh. I don’t know why I feel uncomfortable divulging this information exactly when I want to help Jameson. It’s not as though I’m even stating anything that isn’t fairly obvious, but she’s my sister and my best friend, thus causing guilt to whittle through me, making my hands feel restless like they do anytime I’m uncomfortable. I hardly even realize I’m doing it. Generally they seem to have a mind of their own and absently work to occupy themselves until the awkwardness, or in this case guilt, subsides.
“Why in the hell do you girls play with our heads like this?” he demands, obviously unaware that I’m being a bit of a traitor at the moment—that, or not caring.
“Kendall?” Jess asks, and I nod turning to see her pulling out a cigarette.
“No! You don’t smoke!”
She laughs, ignoring my protest. “Kendall’s trying to see if you’re going to be worth the effort. Ace should learn a little from her.” Jess replies, lighting her cigarette and taking a long pull before blowing the smoke away from us. Her quip about me makes me frown at her, before I turn my attention back to Jameson.
“She’s right; she wants you to fight for her attention.”
“I told you.”
I turn to see Max approaching us, his gaze locked on me, and I sigh in annoyance before I can stop the reaction.
“Max!” Jess cries out his name with adoration, shocking me even more than the cigarette, which she carefully holds out in an extended hand as she gives him a small hug. How did I not know they were friends?
“Hey, Jess.” He greets her and the warmth in his tone annoys me for reasons I’m not interested in dissecting at the moment. I turn my attention back to Jameson again.
“Blondie giving you some good advice on what to do, or you ready to bounce?” Max asks, as if I’m not a foot away hearing every word that he’s saying. His dismissal intensifies my irritation with him.
“Blondie wasn’t offering advice,” I reply snidely. I have to tilt my head up slightly to look at him, and as I do I catch his blue eyes that seem too familiar peering back at me and wonder who he is and what he did with the Max I was introduced to just a few days ago. This conflicting side reminds me that I have no clue who in the hell Max Miller is, regardless of the fact that he’s been my neighbor for the past ten years.
“Max, do you know Ace?” Jess asks, taking a drag of her cigarette. I know her well enough to realize she’s trying to diffuse the situation because I also know she knows me well enough to realize I’m pissed.
Max nods, raising an eyebrow as if the answer is apparent.
“Obviously not very well,” Jess says, tapping the end of her cigarette with a delicate finger. She eyes me and I see her silently prepare me for what she’s about to say, warning me that she’s about to compare me to one of my sisters, something I despise. “Kendall’s the spitfire, Ace is the chill one.”
“Nate hit on me,” I explain quietly. She knows the history. “Max thinks I should just sleep with him, to make things easier for myself.” Sarcasm drips from my words.
“What in the hell’s wrong with you?” Her hand flies out, making contact with his chest. “Just because she’s nice doesn’t mean she’s going to take your shit! And why in the hell are you trying to set anyone up with Nathan Hudson? You hate him.”
I don’t bother to allow Max to respond, I’m not sure I want to hear it after all that I’ve heard him say tonight. “Thanks for defending my honor,” I tease, batting my eyelashes several times before she rolls her eyes at me and grins, “but I should check on my spitfire sister, make sure she doesn’t need a reminder on her limits. Plus, if she finds out I’m being all Benedict Arnold, she’ll take her vengeance out on my shoes.” I turn to Jess. “Call me, I want to see you again before you head back to New York.”
“Hell yes! You’re one of the few people I was hoping to see. I’m just shocked to see you here of all places.”
“Yeah, I’m still paying an old debt, otherwise you wouldn’t have.” I wrap my arms around her, and the lingering scent of cinnamon that always seems to follow her tickles my nose.
“You should quit with the cancer sticks,” I say, raising my eyebrows as I watch the toe of her black heel rub it into the cement. “You’re too pretty, and you’ve got a great laugh without the guttural cough.”
“I’m working on it,” she says with a grin.
I smile and turn to Jameson. “She may be a spitfire and a pain in the ass at times, but she’s worth it.” I give him my best reassuring smile as I gently squeeze his forearm in an attempt to convey my honesty, then glance over to Max and see he’s looking at me like I’m some complicated math equation to solve. Apparently I seem to confound him as much as he does me. I force myself to give him a small smile before walking back toward the house and catch the faint scent of Max that makes my body feel all too aware and slightly buzzed.
“I love your pants, Ace. They make your ass look amazing!” Jess calls.
“Stop, you’re making me blush.” I shoot her a wink before turning into the house.
Kendall’s moved on from dancing and is now playing beer pong with her friend, Chelsea, against two boys that I don’t recognize. Her glassy eyes and vulgar language confirm she’s had way too much to drink.
