~Joey~
"Joey! Come do a body shot!"
"No!" I shout back at Stella, pinning the last bulb to the long rope that hangs all the way from a pillar of the house to one of the trees at the entrance. I have no idea why she wanted fairy lights at a house party but oh well.
"Not the gross kind," Heather says, sipping out of her water bottle. I don't even have to ask to know she's not drinking tonight. She's been averse to alcohol for as long as I've known her and my incident must've unlocked a new fear; fear of being used as a drug experiment. "They won't pour it on your stomach this time."
I burst into laughter at the stupid memory from freshman year. "I don't care."
"Please?" Stella pleads.
"No. I'm immune to peer pressure."
As if to say 'challenge accepted', she balls her fists and begins chanting, "Body shot! Body shot! Body shot!" Logan and Heather soon join in, followed by some other people around who I don't even know. I feel blood rush into my cheeks because I just happen to be standing in plain sight, three feet above everyone's heads at the moment. I soon find myself laughing to channel the energy.
I turn around on the pool table and catch Kevin laughing at me from his spot at the speakers. Traitor. Thanks to Stella, he's the DJ for the party, though I think he's just been going there every five minutes to change the song playing. I flip him off and he returns the gesture with a broad smile.
"Get down here!" Vincent extends both hands to help me get off the table. "Guess you're up for a body shot," he says, the alcohol in his breath fanning my face as he speaks.
I shake my head. "Yeah, I'm not about to—"
"Body shot! Body shot!"
"Alright, alright!" I yell back and give Vin a look that says 'you better make this good'. I would've asked who'd be taking it, but I know he'll never let another guy do it while he's here. Problem for another day.
I boost myself onto the table and lie down like I'm in an operating room, ready for my appendix to be taken out by a surgeon. Wyatt and Tayo bring over the shot glasses and drinks.
"Ready, Jojo?"
"Don't call me that," I say.
He lifts my shirt up to my chest, making sure to trace his fingertips along my skin as he does. I shoot him a warning look as he reaches my boobs and he rolls his eyes with a muttered, "Fine."
The large shadow over my head thickens as more people join the crowd surrounding me, still yelling and hooting their support for both me and Vincent.
My heart races and a chill spreads on the skin of my stomach as he places his tongue right below the center of my bra, to moisten the place where the salt goes. Stella slips a slice of lime in my mouth, which I hold with my lips. Next, they balance the shot glass on my belly button. I feel them pour the drink, spilling a few drops of the cold liquid that run down my stomach to my side. When that's done, the crowd goes silent for the moment of truth. Vincent lowers his head and licks a bit of salt off my chest, then trails down and grips my hips as he takes the glass with his lips. He then stands upright and tilts his head for the tequila to enter his mouth before touching the glass with his hands. He then comes face to face with me for the lime. As per the rules of this game, the lime collection is followed by a hot make out, so we both know what's coming.
He winks.
"I am not making out with you," I say between laughs.
He shakes his head, whispers, "sure," and lowers his mouth to mine to collect the lime, sealing a kiss as he does. Everyone bursts into screams and heavy applause as I playfully return the kiss for all of five seconds and then pulling away.
Doing my best to ignore the disappointed hollers, I get up, wipe off the salt residue with a napkin Stella hands me and tug my shirt down. Thank heaven I wore a cute bra today. Vincent winks again and I roll my eyes, plastering a huge smile on my face.
"See? That was fun," Stella says.
"Okay, yeah," I say between chuckles and take her hand to get off the table so that someone else can take my place.
Vincent is, again, the man to take the shot off her and I honestly don't mind...or care, for that matter. It's his party and he can do whatever he wants with it.
I wave at my brother at the DJ stand as I start to gravitate towards the end of the party. My ears are still ringing from the chants and music, and my heart is still going crazy in my chest like it's having a seizure. I cast one last look over my shoulder at Heather as Stella hands her a bottle of beer, looking every bit like they'll be fine without me.
I've done enough and mentally, I'm exhausted.
Slowly, bit by bit, I slip out until I wind up at the side of the house to catch my breath and get my heart to calm down. When that's done, I proceed to the back, where I tucked my copy of 'After Yuletide'. I'm at the part where hot bodyguard Rhett is the only one around as princess Bailey bursts into tears over the pressure of keeping up with condescending family members. I'll be lying if I say I don't know what's coming in the next few paragraphs. Of course, he'll try to talk her back to her usual self, but I've spent over eighty pages suffering from a severe case of 'bangxiety'. Get into it already!
I tuck myself between the pillars and open to my designated page, smoothing out the dogear before Heather rips me a new one for ruining a book. When it's certified good enough, I find my paragraph and continue from where I left off, letting the words pull me back into the world of Christmas, royalty and romance—lots and lots of romance.
I'm halfway through the scene when I spot a flash of light up ahead. My heart jolts in my chest and I instantly drop the book, my flight response kicking in immediately.
I get up and take a few steps before stopping to make out the figure of a person. I recognise the tiny light from earlier as the phone in the person's hand, and stand there until the figure becomes clear as the one person I haven't seen tonight.
Keenan.
I haven't known him long, but he almost always has this look on his face that makes it seem like there's something bothering him. It's the same expression he has as he places the phone to his ear.
I'm not close with his friend group, but I know he's the outcast. I guess Kevin finally succeeded in finding a group where he isn't the odd ball, because it's quite obvious that their 'odd ball' is Keenan.
Between tales I've heard from Kevin and my conversation with Heather a few hours ago, I can project a million stories, depicting that Keenan is a violent son of a bitch. However, I've had a total of three conversations with the guy so far and he seems nothing of the sort. It's like he's two people in one, sometimes he's one way, and then he flips a switch whenever he wants to. Either that, or he just has an overwhelmingly bad reputation to a sweet soul.
He finishes his phone call, tucks his phone away and turns to collect himself for a few minutes. When he's done, he starts moving and I instinctively turn back to my book to avoid looking like a creep. I mean it's not like I'm explicitly watching him, anyway, he just happens to be in my line of sight—or so I'm telling myself.
I move to the right, closer to the edge of the pillar to get a better view as he finds his way back into the party. He naturally doesn't come off as someone who would have fun at a party like this, but then again he probably has drugs to sell or some shit so I'm not surprised he's going there.
What's funny is I shouldn't want to know this guy—whoever he really is— but I can't stop wondering which Keenan is the real one: who the stories say or who I've seen. He can't be both, not from what I know about human beings.
Unable to focus on the book thanks to invasive thoughts of Keenan Reid, I look up from my book again. My heart resumes its pounding as I spot his figure coming nearer.
He's coming. He's coming. Act natural. Like you weren't just staring at him.
I open the book to a random page and keep my eyes on it till I'm sure he's right beside me. Then I snap it shut and let out a small gasp to feign surprise. "Hey, Keenan."
"What are you doing here?" He asks, looking around like I'm the last person he expects to find at a corner of the house. "You okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You're not at the party."
I'm still using my survival technique, so I gesture to where he's coming from. "Neither are you. Should I be worried?"
"Touché." He gives a small smile that I feel all the way to my stomach. He doesn't smile often, so whenever he does it around me, I feel a hundred times funnier.
"Wanna sit?" I pat the stairs beside me in invitation and he immediately looks away. Shit. Okay, we're back to acting like I have a disease.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Keenan says.
"What? Talking?" I ask. He may not realise it, but he's a real ego dampener sometimes.
"It's not like that."
"Look, I know I'm not your usual type to hang out with, but at least I'm trying to make this less awkward than it has to be. I don't think I like it when you act like I don't exist, or like I have lice or something."
"Your friends will have much to say if they see us."
I hate to break it to him, but I'll be lucky if so called friends know what planet they're on right now. "They don't have to know."
He studies me for a second, then concedes and settles down beside me. "Why aren't you at the party?"
"I...didn't wanna be there anymore," I answer, battling with whether or not to risk mentioning the body shot I did earlier.
He nods like he understands, which means he definitely didn't see me with Vincent. "You looked like you were having fun, though."
Crap. He knows.
I look down at my book, then back to him and shrug. I'd give other reasons, but I honestly don't see Keenan broadcasting anything I say right now, so I answer with the simple truth. "I hate parties." As predicted, his eyes flash with surprise. "I know my life makes it hard to believe but it's true." I motion to the book. "I prefer this to—" I'm cut off by another round of screams, placing a solid backing to my point. "all that," I finish.
"How come?"
I shrug. Plus, he shouldn't expect me to party like the others when I still have mild PTSD from the last time I found myself at one. "For starters, you're firsthand proof that the party scene isn't meant for me." I regret the words the second they leave my lips.
He doesn't say anything, which only heightens my embarrassment. Bad call, Joey. Fucking bad call. I wait for him to react, but he only gives a slight shake of his head.
"Valid."
I don't want him to think I'm blaming him all over again, so I decide to change the topic and ask about his phone call. I'm not sure his he'll take that, so I pause and he says, "what's that?"
He seems to like my sarcasm, so I hold up the copy and say, "It's called a book." He bursts into laughter, which makes me smile with satisfaction. "It's a...dark romance I'm supposed to be buddy reading with Heather, but she ditched me for Stella."
"Buddy reading?" He repeats. "That's a thing?"
"Duh."
I immediately remember that I was in the middle of reading my escape from bangxiety when he showed up. I was right, the author did choose that moment for Rhett and Bailey's first intimate scene, though not the way you'd expect. It felt like they'd been biding time for so long that they already had mental visions of what to expect from each other, so their first time together didn't feel like a typical rookie first time at all. It heightened the experience, if anything, like a release of all the tension from both parties having waited so damn long to get together.
For me, it's easy to understand. For someone who's not a reader, like Keenan, I know I'll fall on my face with the explanation, so I shake my head, blushing red as I answer, "I don't know that I can tell you with a straight face." He seems unconvinced, so I shut the book and change the topic to him. "You can tell me what your story is, though." It's probably more important, too, seeing as his other friends don't even talk to him to know details about him.
To my disappointment, he shakes his head. "No, I can't tell you that." He reads my expression and quickly shakes his head. "What I mean, is that it's not something I want to talk about right now. It'll ruin the moment."
I nearly laugh at the fact that he just said that, and it's cute that he thinks we're having a moment. He's a nice guy— speaking from my own experience with him—and I want him to have me to talk to if he needs it. I get the feeling he's not open with a lot of people, though, so I decide not to force it. "Alright, then."
"If your story's still on the table, I'd like to hear it."
I look up from the pretty cover and he's looking at me again. "My story or the one I'm reading?"
"Either...both." He shrugs. "I have time."
I smile because that actually sounded like he's happy to spend time with me. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
"Everything?"
He shrugs and gestures to the house behind us. "This party isn't dying anytime soon, you know."
"Okay then." I cross my legs, feeling like a new student in a new town all over again, but instead of speaking to a crowd of classmates, I'm speaking to a drug dealer I can't seem to steer clear of. "My name is Joey, as you already know."
"Where are you from, Joey?"
I grin. "Chicago, but for argument sake, Texas."
He cocks his head. "Really?"
"My mother's originally from Spain and my dad's from Texas. My brother and I were born in Chicago so our birth certificates say Chicago, but it's complicated to explain to some people, so we just tell everyone we're from Texas."
He chuckles. "Okay, what else don't I know?"
"I took a gap year after highschool and spent it in Australia doing nothing. Now, I'm a sophomore at Bowen University, where I met my best friend, Heather. I'm currently twenty and..."
"Twenty?" He asks, interrupting my speech.
"Yep."
He shakes his head. "Kevin said he was twenty three."
I chuckle. It's probably one of the tiny lies he's told to blend in. He once told me he hates being the youngest member of our family. Honestly, I don't care how old I am, so I'd probably switch places with him if it were possible, but it isn't, so I'm the older twin.
"We're twenty, but don't tell him I told you."
He nods. "Who's older?"
I smirk. "Me, by four minutes and thirty one seconds." Those are basic things you know about your twin. He laughs and I join him. "How old are you?"
"Twenty four by July."
"July what?" I prod, wanting to know his full birthday.
He hesitates, like he's not sure whether or not I'm seriously asking. When I don't move, he says, "twenty fourth. You?"
"June third. What's your last name?" He quirks a brow. I mirror it, then laugh when I realise I already know what his last name is. "Right. Reid."
His grey eyes join his smile and it's nearly the most amazing thing I've ever seen. I'd trade eyes with him in a second. "You said your mom's from Spain but is American now." I nod. "Alvarez is a Spanish last name, right?"
"Yep," I say, popping the 'p'.
His eyes meet mine again and it takes everything in me not to giggle. I'm waiting for him to ask the question everyone does whenever they analyse my family. Spanish mother, American father, both biological, yet Spanish surname.
"Okay just tell me."
"Tell you what?"
He laughs. "I don't want to ask."
I laugh with him and adjust my sitting position again so that I'm closer and better leant against the wall. "My brother and I have our mother's original last name."
"Why?"
"Why not ?" I challenge. He rolls his eyes.
I begin tracing the small dots on the tiled floor. It's a really simple story. "My parents made a deal before they got married. Their first kid gets named after mom's great grandmother and gets my mother's last name. Second gets Dad's last name. It just so happened that there turned out to be twins so they couldn't give us different last names." My mother also thought It'd be a better idea, in case either of us wanted to make a unique domain name later in life. "Plus, It's generally harder to find a 'Joey Alvarez' than a 'Joey Miller'," I tell Keenan.
He laughs.
"What?" I poke his arm. "I bet you were expecting some huge back story like that my dad's parents were part of a crime syndicate and he didn't want Kevin and me to be connected to them in case a war broke out...yeah, hate to burst your bubble, big guy. It's twisted, but not that twisted."
"I know how that feels," he says casually.
"What?"
"When people make assumptions before asking you about certain things. And instead of just listening to what you have to say, they're comparing the two stories in their heads, and whichever is more scandalous wins."
I grin at first, but then I realise that those words may be coming from somewhere else. "Is that why you never explain anything to anyone?"
He shrugs. "Part of it."
"What's the other reason?"
"People are dicks."
Laughter breaks out of me and I instantly hold my book up. "That, dear Keenan, is why we have books. Fiction does everything better."
"I'll bet." He smiles. "Heard you reading in the kitchen the other night."
"Shit." I say out loud, feeling heat rise up my cheeks. "It wasn't what it looked like!"
He nods in an exaggerated way. "Oh! Okay, so that wasn't you reciting orgasms?"
"Oh my god!" I scream at his sudden boldness. He's always been kind of reserved and it thrills me to hear him talk like this. "For your information," I add, a bit devious myself. "You have no idea what romance books entail."
He grins and shrugs. "So tell me. Starting with that one in your lap."