Silas joins her, and then I notice a few more familiar faces in the group. Stella, dressed in a stunning Greek goddess costume. Ryan stands just behind her shoulder in a suit with a martini glass in his hand. I’m guessing he’s the dude from that “shaken, not stirred” movie that I can’t seem to remember the name of.
“Here’s my question, Teo,” Stella says, stepping up beside Torres to close off our little circle. “Your normal tendency at parties is to lose articles of clothing as the night wears on. Dare I hope that you’re working backward tonight and will put clothes on as you drink?”
“Maybe tonight I’ll focus on helping other people lose their clothes, for a change. We can call it Strip Halloween. It will be a huge hit. I promise. Take this little Grecian sheet dress of yours. One good pull, and you could start the game.”
Ryan shoulders his way into the circle then, and Stella stiffens beside him. It’s Torres who says something: “For God’s sake, man. I was joking. Loosen up. This is a party.”
Those words don’t seem to assure his friend. “I know.”
Stella rolls her eyes and walks away, over toward the kitchen counter. “And on that note, I’m getting a drink. Anyone else need one?”
Several of the college bucket lists I consulted online had “do a keg stand” listed among the tasks. Along with “play beer pong” and other alcohol-related festivities. After a little more Internet research, I learned what exactly a keg stand and beer pong were. And considering the only alcohol I’ve ever had was the wine during Communion at church, I figure I need to start small. Which is why “drink alcohol” is number six on my list.
“I do,” I say, leaving the group to follow her. Standing at the counter, I survey all the options, and even without looking in the ice chests by my feet, I’m overwhelmed. Stella opens one of the chests and grabs a bottle of beer. I decide my safest bet is to copy her, so I grab one, too.
After she opens hers, she reaches out a hand for mine and opens it for me using a complicated-looking little gadget that reminds me of an oversize Swiss Army knife.
“Thanks.” How horrifying would it have been for a girl who prides herself on her intelligence above all else to have been stumped over how to open a bottle of beer?
“No problem. I have a feeling I’m going to need a lot of these tonight.”
I want to ask her about Ryan, about the obvious tension, not just between them, but among the whole group where Stella is concerned. But I remember Dylan’s warning to be understanding with her. And I know myself well enough to know that sometimes I inadvertently put my foot in my mouth, and whatever is going on, I don’t want to cause trouble by prying where I shouldn’t. So, I follow her lead and take a big gulp of the beer in my hand.
Then I proceed to gag so violently that I have to turn around and spit the vile liquid out into the sink behind us. My reaction draws the attention of several people in the room, including Torres, who starts toward me.
I panic and turn away from him, only to meet Stella’s amused smile.
“First time drinking beer?” she asks.
I nod. “It’s awful. Why would anyone drink it?”
“It’s an acquired taste,” Torres says as he steps up beside me. “You get used to it.”
“Why would I want to get used to it? That would be akin to punching myself just to get used to pain.”
He shrugs. “That might make sense for fight club or something like that.”
Stella smacks his arm with the back of her hand. “Dude. First rule.”
He laughs, and they both drink their beer, and I have absolutely no clue what they’re talking about. This. This is why I don’t do parties. Reflexively, I take another sip of my drink, and immediately regret it. Groaning, I force myself to swallow.
Proud of myself, I say, “Hey, I didn’t gag that time.”
It’s Stella who spits her drink out into the sink this time. She gasps, “Oh my God.”
“What? What did I say?”
I look at Torres, and that same blazing look is back in his eyes, and I swear I can feel my blood heating. Surely one sip of beer isn’t enough to heat my skin like his was heated earlier . . . is it? It shouldn’t be possible to actually feel the warm blood rising to the surface, should it? Curious, I lift the long-neck bottle back to my lips for another drink. I make a face, but force myself to take a few swallows. As soon as I pull the bottle away from my lips, Torres snatches the beer right out of my hand.
“Let’s get you something else to drink. Before you kill me.”
“Kill you? How on earth would I kill you?”
“One swallow at a time.”
“Oh God, Torres.” Stella groans, pushing at his shoulder. “You’re terrible.”
“What? It’s the truth!”
He moves past me to the counter, where he grabs a cup and a few bottles. Stella’s eyes meet mine, and she points at Torres’s broad back. “Watch out for that one.”
But despite her warning, she walks away, leaving me alone with him. I stare after her as she heads out of the kitchen. Ryan makes a move to follow her, but she glares, and moves to stand with Brookes by the front door. My eyes search for Dylan and Silas, but they’re no longer in the kitchen.
I gulp, suddenly wishing I had that beer back just so I’d have something to do with my hands. The chaotic atmosphere of the party is even more stressful than Torres’s presence, so I turn and settle for watching him as he mixes. He starts with lemonade, and then adds liquor from a glass bottle that I don’t recognize. He tips in some cranberry juice and two more kinds of liquor.
“What is that?” I ask.
“A Bad Decision.”
“Then why are you making it for me?”
He shoots me a lopsided smile, and I’m forced to acknowledge that maybe the warmth creeping up my neck has far less to do with alcohol than I wish it did. “No, sweetheart. It’s called a Bad Decision. The drink. It’s my own special invention.”
He hands me the cup and I stare at it warily. He moves closer to me, nudging the cup closer to my mouth with his finger.
“Why should I trust you?”
He seems to enjoy my suspicion.
“Always gotta fight me. Just try it. It’s sweet. I guarantee you’ll like it much better than the beer.”