Page 5 of Dirty Roulette

Chapter five

Payton

“Sweet! My bitch has something to drink!” Naomi squeals and snatches the vodka from my grip before I can even close the screen door to the patio deck.

“Oh my god, is it true?” Naomi brings a hand up to her lips, but it doesn’t hide the lipstick smeared on her snaggletooth.

“Are you dating the Crab?” Gooey eyeliner clumps up between her tear ducts, and her blue eyes are bloodshot.

“What? No, and I don’t care to. I’m here for the beer pong.” I lift my chin toward a group of guys huddled around a table, laughing.

“A little birdie told me about the breakup, and the Crab cheated on her with you. Spill the tea,” she whispers and leans into my personal bubble.

How about I don’t? I’m not playing a game of telephone for her to spread words I didn’t say. “I’m not spilling anything.”

“Come on!” She flutters her cakey eyelashes. “That’s why she went to Brody.” Pure alcohol breath greets my face better than morning gum disease. “She didn’t know how else to deal with the betrayal.”

“Is that what you were told?”

“Brittni was so heartbroken.” Naomi’s face tells me she actually believes the sob story Brittni made up.

“Pitty,” I deadpan.

Another word from her might make me hurl. I hit her with the bitchiest eyes I possess. When she realizes I refuse to entertain the subject, she groans and twists off the bottle cap before tossing her head back to take a shot. “You should have grabbed blue raspberry.”

The feral urge to rip the bottle from her fingertips and scream thrashes in my ribcage. I’m the one who stole it in the first place, and I didn’t steal it solely for her to poison her liver.

Brittni emerges into view amid the jocks hanging around the beer pong table where guys trash-talk one another.

“I swear, if you lose to a chick, your nickname is going to be Little Bitch!” One guy shouts with a red cup raised in the air.

“Shut up, man!” The other jock twirls the orange ball in his hands to line up his shot, and when he throws it the ball bounces off the rim. Everyone huddling around starts to laugh.

It’s Brittni’s turn. She tosses the ball.

It swirls across the rim of a plastic cup and plops in.

Cheers roar behind her as she throws up two peace signs for her victory.

The other player takes out the ball, shaking off the foam before downing the contents of the cup.

She’s even good at beer pong, and I bite my tongue hard enough for it to bleed.

“Brittni!” Naomi squeals, holding up the bottle of glory.

Brittni gasps and flips her blonde Barbie hair strutting over, and Autumn magically appears like someone rubbed a genie bottle. “No way. I didn’t think you’d actually have the balls to do it.” Brittni’s voice is sultry and pretty. I have no other option but to hate it.

“Maybe Payton is cheerleading material for GCU,” Autumn slurs.

“Don’t flatter her just yet. She still has to play the game.” Brittni wiggles her fingers in a give me motion and Naomi passes the liquor to her. Each one of them takes turns downing a shot.

One of them caught my flutter-bitch-eye-roll because someone croaked out “Trash!” Then all three spit out alcohol in idiotic laughter.

“You’re so much prettier than that skanky boyfriend stealer,” one of them mutters to Brittni.

I push through them and head back to the sliding glass door.

Charlie digs for treasure in a gigantic bag of chips.

She’s dipping her head back in a laugh as she talks to Noah, a guy she desperately tried hooking me up with this summer.

We hung out once at a party before Ryder came dragging us out by the ear.

Let’s just say Charlie attempting to play matchmaker made me a complete bitch that night. I probably rubbed Noah the wrong way.

Metalhead vibes are written all over his forehead with his lengthy dark hair.

Both of his arms are a canvas painted with a plethora of tattoos.

The baggy shirt, skinny jeans, and a pair of Vans speak for themselves.

Noah snatches the chip bag, throwing a handful of crumbs at her face as she giggles.

I walk towards them through the kitchen, booming with music. “Hey, what’s up, princess?” Noah lifts up his chin, greeting me as I stumble over. “Did you lose already?” He asks.

“Yeah, that was rather quick,” Charlie says but preoccupies herself by dusting chips off and pushing him playfully on the shoulder.

“It’s kinda crowded over there.” I bite the inside of my cheek.

Before Charlie responds, Brittni and her gang pour into the house. I’ve been here for five minutes and already I wanna crawl back into a hole. It never takes long for the world to prove that I don’t belong here.

“Charlie!” they squeal, parading over.

Charlie stares up at the ceiling fixtures and mouths “Lord help me.”

“Are you ready to play Dirty Roulette?” Brittni smirks with the bottle in her hand. Autumn stands beside her with a red cup, giggling at nothing in particular, and wobbling like her legs are made of jelly.

“Totally!” Charlie beams with the fakest smile.

“We found a handful of hotties who wanna play!” Autumn winks, then hiccups pointing a finger at Noah. “And you can bring the bad boy with you... He’s cute.”

Autumn takes another swig of her drink as Brittni says, “Oh my god, you brought a guy for Trash. How sweet of you.”

Autumn chokes and spits out her drink, snorting like a pig. “Don’t be such a bitch,” Naomi giggles at the same time Charlie mutters “Don’t call her that.”

“Well, someone’s gotta take on the responsibility.” Brittni laughs, completely ignoring Charlie.

Where is Norman Bates with the fattest knife in the world when you need him? If he doesn’t show up, I’ll have no other choice but to gouge her eyes out.

Noah looks between Charlie and Brittni as he dips his hands into his front pockets. “What’s Dirty Roulette?”

“Come upstairs and you’ll find out.” Brittni uses an index finger, baiting us all to follow.

“I’m in. Let me grab a friend, and I’ll be right up.” He walks out to the patio deck. “Hey, Omen!” He lifts a chin and disappears into the mob.

Charlie snatches my hand, “Let’s go!” I spin my head around, fighting against her pull as we weave through the tide of partygoers.

I drag my feet. “I dunno about this.”

“You’re with me. We’re gonna have a blast,” Charlie says.

We climb up the crowded stairs and down a dim hallway to a bedroom at the end. Other girls burst through the door in giggling fits. When we step in, the devil’s eyes meet mine.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Brody says and lifts an eyebrow.

He stands in the corner with his bad-boy undercut blond hair.

Girls in the room look at him like an appetizer waiting to be licked.

They are weak in the knees from his cockiness like it’s irresistible.

In my reality, he’s a spoiled, hard-boiled egg fermented to perfection – and I want to throw up.

I can’t escape his black shirt clinging to his jacked bodybuilder features that can snap my neck in half like a twig.

I lean into Charlie’s ear and whisper, “Why is he here?”

“Chill, let’s go sit down.” Like a magnet, Charlie follows Brittni, Autumn, and Naomi and sits down on the gray shag rug in front of the unmade bed.

It smells like sweaty socks, spilled beer, and a mix of cloying aftershave.

Strung lights shed colors across the wall and discarded red plastic cups lay scattered all about.

I don’t recognize any of the guys in the room, but my sixth sense tells me they are part of the football team. The guys elbow one another, clearly thirsty for a taste. They point at us, scouting for the perfect snack to win.

Charlie eyeballs me and mouths, “Get over here.” She pats her palm on the floor, demanding me to sit next to her. I pull off the melodramatic, tilt my head back, groan, and weasel over with my five-year-old tantrum.

“Hey,” says one of the guys. He’s got an alpaca haircut and I can’t see his face with the curly hair hanging over his tanned, pointed nose. He’s jacked too, and from the looks of it, he probably spends the night at the gym working out in his sleep.

“Mm, hey Mama...” Nick – Scottie P’s long-lost son – sits at the edge of the bed with his best friend, a neon bong.

Others look like typical Brads and Chads.

It won’t surprise me if there is a Kyle in here too.

My mouth becomes dry and my heartbeat greets my eardrums. I don’t like any of these guys and all the other girls are gushing over them, already touching on their biceps, biting their lips, and doing flirty hair flips.

Noah and his friend, several inches shorter than him, stumble in. He’s basically his twin, but with a man-bun and a punk wife-beater showing off his chest tattoos. They sit down on the carpet and a few other girls pop in until there are over a dozen of us.

“Listen up!” Brody throws several packs of cards to the center of the circle with the bottle of vodka I stole.