“You’re not weirded out?” Finn asks. “At all?”
“I didn’t say that.” I think about it honestly. “But I’ve seen weirder.”
“Where?”
“Internet.”
“Okay. Fair.”
Grant leans back on his hands, studying me with a careful look. “You cool with it?”
It’s the right question. I’ve been building the answer for two weeks, ever since I saw the tablet and felt my brain gohold on.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m cool with it.”
* * *
They throw me a party.
I didn’t ask for it, but Saturday night I walk into a rearranged living room, beer in the cooler, six pizzas, and four guys grinning at me. Well, three. Miles is on the couch with his laptop closed, sour as ever. Kit isn’t here.
“Yo! He’s here!” Walker’s the first to spot me. He’s sprawled on the couch, beer in one hand, the other arm stretched across the back.
“Welcome to the shitshow, bro,” Finn says from his place sitting on the floor.
Grant’s got an easy grin. After two weeks, I know it means he’s already three beers deep and planning to go deeper. “Bro! Finally. We were starting to think you got lost.”
“Sorry. My GPS said turn left at Finn’s dick statue,” I say, dropping my bag by the door. “Must’ve missed it.”
It’s not funny, but Walker and Grant cackle anyway. Finn gives me the finger. I see Miles rolling his eyes.
Honestly, I feel myself getting progressively dumber living here, but it feels good to actually fit in.
“Welcome to the party, bro,” Walker announces, gesturing at the spread. “Beer’s in the fridge. Pizza’s probably cold. Weed’s on the table.”
“Classy,” I say, grabbing a beer anyway.
It’s actually a good night. We eat, we drink, and Finn tells a story about a stream disaster that has Grant crying. Miles gets incrementally more human the further into the stash he gets. I’m on my third beer and something from my own stash that hits way harder than what they’re passing around.
About an hour in, though, something shifts. Finn sits up. Walker puts his drink down. Grant gets a look that I recognize now as his “okay, here’s the thing”face.
“Alright,” Grant says. “Part two of the night.”
“We have a welcome gift,” Finn announces with a grin. A shit-eating. A I-know-something-you-don’t grin.
“We talked,” Walker says, “and since you already know—”
“We’re offering you access to the doll,” Miles says, direct as always. “As a trial, I guess. If you want.”
They’re all staring. Three beers in, high as a kite, and four guys are handing me the most unhinged welcome gift in history. My pulse spikes. I don’t think I’d be able to mask my eagerness even if I tried.
“Where is he?”
“Your bed,” Finn says. “We figured your space, your call.”
I start walking, and they follow me immediately, because apparently the pack mentality is strong tonight.
The light’s off, but the hallway spills in enough for me to see a shape in my bed. I reach for the switch and practically punch the lights on.
