Page 17 of The Slug Crystal

“Never have I ever,” he starts, pointing straight at me, “drunk-texted an ex at three in the morning.”

I groan and drink. Jake hesitates, then drinks too. Ben slams his palm on the table. “Knew it. Degenerates, both of you.”

The rounds blur together. Never have I ever stolen something. Never have I ever cried at a Pixar movie. Never have I ever kissed someone in this room— That one makes Jake choke on his shot from the question prior, coughing until he’s pink in the face, while Ben nearly falls over laughing.

By the seventh round, we’re sprawled against the couch cushions, faces hot, voices too loud for the quiet room. Even Jake is loose, his usual more reserved edges.

Ben sets his cup down with mock solemnity. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, wobbling as he tries to stand, “our night is incomplete. We have, mere steps away, the single greatest luxury this town has ever produced.”

Jake groans. “What now?”

“The hot tub,” Ben declares, jabbing a finger toward the backyard. “And it is our civic duty to soak.”

“It’s pouring,” Jake points out.

“Exactly,” Ben says, pulling his pants down his legs with a flourish. He stands there in boxer briefs, while my brain tries to process his words. “Hot water, cold rain. Very therapeutic. Very… Roman bathhouse.”

I shake my head, grinning in spite of myself. “This is how people die.”

“This is how people live ,” Ben corrects, already pulling the door open.

Jake sighs, mutters something about regretting this in the morning, then he turns to me.

He places his hands heavily on my shoulders, leaning in closer to my face to speak to me.

“ Em, I’m going to take a shower and stay in the room with Alex.

He can’t be out in the rain, and I feel like he shouldn’t be left alone either… just don’t do anything stupid. Okay?

I nod, then look at my luggage. “I don’t have a swimsuit, though.”

Jake sighs. “I know, just wear your underwear, no one else will be out there in the rain.”

I follow behind Ben with one last glance at Jake. I laugh as the cold air hits my skin the second I’m outside the motel room, the tequila warming my veins despite the chill. Ben is waiting for me, glancing back at the room with a raised eyebrow.

“Jake is staying with Alex,” I explain.

Ben nods. “Good man.”

We stumble out together, barefoot, the pavement slick under our feet.

The pool area is deserted, echoing and humid, with a hot tub glowing the color of Mountain Dew with steam rising off the top of the water.

I stop by a nearby chair, tug my shirt over my head, and roll my shorts down my legs, stacking the sodden pieces of fabric on top of one another.

My hair is sticking to the skin of my back, so I gather it into a low ponytail, then start towards the water.

Ben grins hopping straight in. He splashes like a kid, then, “Don’t be a coward, Emma. Chlorine kills everything.”

“That statement feels highly inaccurate,” I slur.

“Whatever doesn’t kill us gives us the best story,” Ben says, and for once, I can’t argue.

I ease myself into the hot tub, the heat stinging all the way up my legs. Ben slides closer, handing me the bottle of tequila with a wink. “For courage. Or at least, for amnesia.”

I take another swig, ignoring the way it no longer burns as it slides down my throat, and settle in. The water’s probably fifty percent chlorine based on the smell, but goddamn if it doesn’t feel incredible on my sore muscles and bruised heart.

“So,” Ben says, voice low and almost casual, though I can hear the edge under it. “Why’d you do it, Em? Why turn Alex into a snail in the first place?”

The question lands heavier than the tequila. I stare into the water, watching the surface shiver with rain.

“I don’t know,” I lie at first. Then I sigh, the words dragging themselves out. “I was… heartbroken. I think I just wanted to make him hurt for how he made me feel.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, so I keep going, the words tumbling faster than I mean them to.

“With Alex, it always felt like—like I was a placeholder. A girlfriend of convenience. He liked having me around, but he never really cared. Not enough to notice if I was upset, not enough to… ask. The only way we got along was if I swallowed everything that bothered me and pretended it didn’t exist. That was the deal. ”

My throat tightens. I take another swig straight from the bottle just to loosen it again. The tequila slides down easy now, too easy. “I guess I thought,” I say, laughing without humor, “if he was a snail, he couldn’t ignore me anymore. He’d have to need me. And maybe I’d finally matter.”

The hot tub bubbles fill the silence. Ben tilts his head, studying me with an expression I can’t read. Not quite pity. Not quite judgment. “You know,” he says finally, softer this time, “that’s fucked up.”

“Yeah.” I drag wet hair back from my face, water trickling down my neck. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Ben hands the bottle back to me, his grin returning, faint but genuine. “At least you’re trying to fix what you fucked up. If nothing else, you can create a hashtag and bring other crazy ex-girlfriends into your circle. Create a movement.”

I cackle, tequila fizzing in my sinuses as I half-snort. “#SnailTransformationChallenge.”

Ben slides closer, his thigh pressing against mine under the bubbles. The contact is casual, but not accidental. His eyes are checking out my cleavage every other second and trying not to get caught. I raise my chin in challenge.

He glances at me, voice low. “So what are you going to do if we turn Alex back?”

“Panic and run for the hills?” I try for a joke, but the words fall heavier than I mean.

Ben grins. “That’s fair. But if it’s me, I’d at least ask for him to sign a legal agreement saying he won’t sue you.”

The tequila haze kicks into overdrive all at once, and I feel loose, fuzzy, and unmoored. The world shrinks down to the touch between me, and Ben’s knees. I say, “If we’re being honest, I wish I had never done it.”

Ben’s voice goes soft. “Because you’re scared, or because you wish you never met me?”

I shrug, watching the bubbles swirl around our legs and joke, “Both, probably.”

“Can I let you in on a secret?” Ben asks.

I nod.

“I’ve felt like you before. I married the same woman twice, thinking things had changed after we divorced the first time, but they hadn’t. I don’t think she ever missed me. I think she just liked having me around because I made her life easier.”

I don’t answer, just slide my hand up his thigh in what I hope is a comforting touch. And then we’re kissing, hard and clumsy, mouths full of heat and chlorinated steam. He tastes like tequila and limes, and for a second, I forget all the ways this could go wrong.

The kiss deepens, clumsy at first but urgent.

. Ben’s hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, fingers tangling in my wet hair, and I let myself lean into the touch.

The heat of the tub, the rain coming down in sheets, the burn of tequila still warm in my throat—it all blurs together until there’s nothing but him.

When we finally break apart, breathless, he presses his forehead against mine. “Tell me to stop, Em, and I will,” he says, voice hoarse, softer than I’ve ever heard it.

I don’t.

Instead, I laugh, half nervous, half exhilarated, and whisper, “You talk too much.” Then I kiss him again.

It’s a blur from there. Ben’s hands are everywhere at once, gripping my hips and lifting me onto his lap, then running down my arms and down my spine. He strips off my bra, pinching my nipples, then laving across them with his tongue.

Between the steam, the heat of his mouth, the tequila, and the rain still dropping down onto us, I’m entirely overwhelmed by sensation.

My hands sit heavily on his shoulders while my body arches into his.

My hips thrust against his hard length straining against his boxers, desperately seeking friction against my sensitive core.

Ben moves a hand between us, tugging my underwear to the side to slide his fingers across my clit. A moan bursts from my throat at the touch, and I grind down on him. He picks up the pace, his fingers slicking across my skin as he switches his mouth to my other nipple.

In what feels like seconds, but could have been an hour, I start to feel the first pulses of an orgasm wash over me. I moan again, then shudder against Ben, pulling his mouth to mine for another deep kiss.

He doesn’t waste any time, freeing himself from his boxers, then sliding inside my still-clenching channel. Groaning against my shoulder, he glances up at me from half-lidded eyes, scanning over my face. “Okay?”

I nod once, and that’s all the consent he needs to start thrusting.

The sex is frantic, with water splashing against the sides of the hot tub and over the edge with each of his thrusts upwards.

He’s rougher than I expect, biting my shoulder and grunting my name.

I’m so high on the moment that I barely notice when he tugs on my hair, until he pulls a little harder, causing me to arch away and allow his thrusts to hit even deeper.

Ben fucks like he’s got something to prove, and I don’t mind being the judge.

A second orgasm builds with each of his long, deep strokes.

It crests at the same time as he grunts his release, or close enough that I don’t care about the difference.

Afterwards, I collapse against him, both of us gasping for air.

Ben leans back slightly, watching me. “You’re not what I expected,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that a good thing?”

He grins, a little shy for the first time since I met him. “I like surprises.”