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I take a deep breath and then head to the keg sitting on the dining room table. There are red cups full of flat beer and who knows what else, pre-poured beside it for anyone to take. A new party game? Roofie Roulette.
No thanks.
I grab three empty red cups. One for Joy, one for Brad, and one for the third wheel, and spray the little beer gun into the first cup. It fills with foam.
I glance around, looking for the keg attendee or something when I glimpse a guy in the kitchen who makes my breath catch. He’s leaning against the refrigerator as a skanky-looking girl in a white crop top tries to chat him up. He’s looking a little disinterested even though she looks like she’s practically throwing herself at him.
And I can see why. He’s taller than the refrigerator and his chest looks just as wide. My heart starts thumping a little faster as I shamelessly gawk at him from the dining room. His dirty blond hair is a little long and messy, but holy crap it looks good on him.
You don’t see guys like him where I’m from. He’s covered in tattoos from his fingers all the way up to his neck. I’m glad the tattoo artist spared his face, because it’s already pure perfection. Just the right length of stubble on his thick masculine jaw, a nose that’s just so utterly kissable, and bright blue eyes that will make you think you’re having a holy experience.
All I can do is stare in awe as I overfill the cup, spilling foam and cheap beer all over my shoes. Darn it!
I fill another cup full of delicious beer foam as I steal another peek at him. Dozens of questions are flooding my mind. I want to know everything about him, but there’s no way I’m brave enough to go over there and ask. No way.
Guys like him don’t go out with girls like me. We’re from different parts of the city. We might as well be from different planets. I’m sure we have nothing in common, and even if we did, he is way out of my league.
But still, I can’t stop willing him to look over here.
I should have worn the black shirt.
A cold hand touches mine and I nearly jump out of my skin. My head whips around and there is Mr. Creepy McCracked Nose in my personal space. He smiles and it feels as warming as a cold shower.
“Hi, beautiful.” His voice washes over me like a swarm of spiders.
I back away and bump into the couch. He smiles, showing off his missing front tooth.
“What’s your name?”
I glance over at Joy, wanting to get her to save me but she is pressed against the wall with her eyes closed as Brad does things to her that shouldn’t be done in public. His hands are gripped on her breasts while he kisses her neck. At least her dress is still on.
“What’s your name, little lady?” he asks again.
“Mackenzie,” I squeak.
“I’m Scorpion,” he says while pulling down his shirt collar to show his palm-sized, neck tattoo of a mean-looking scorpion.
I wonder if he got the tattoo because of his name or got his name because of his tattoo, but I’m not curious enough to ask. I just want to get the fuck away from this future convict.
I glance back at Joy and she’s gone. My chest tightens. I’m stuck here now. With Scorpion.
“Let me take care of this for you,” he says, taking the foam-filled cups out of my trembling hands. He reaches behind the keg and hands me a cup that’s already full of beer. It has a hint of green to it that the other cups on the table don’t have. A Roofie Roulette winner!
“Thanks,” I gulp as I look around for Joy. Even the gorgeous guy is gone from the kitchen. I’m truly on my own. A little fly trapped in a scorpion’s nest.
“I’m just going to get back to my friends,” I say, pointing at the empty wall.
“I think they’re gone,” he says, stepping in close. His breath smells like rum and cigarettes. “I’ll keep you company.”
He is staring at the cup in my hands. “Cheers,” he says, hitting my glass with his. “Drink up.”
He watches me intently as he takes a sip. His eyes light up as I lift the glass to my lips and pretend to take a sip like I’m placating a toddler who just handed me a piece of plastic food. Yup. Definitely a Roofie Roulette winner.
Scorpion looks in my cup and frowns as I lower it. He’s got flakes of dandruff on his shoulders and more clinging to his long, greasy hair.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Scorpion,” I say with a smile as I back away.
“Let’s hangout,” he says, not letting me go. He runs his unwelcome hand up my arm and nausea creeps up my throat. I slip my hand in my purse and grip my lip gloss, ready to use it as a weapon if I have to but unless he has a lip gloss allergy, I’ll be desperately outgunned.
