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We let loose, just two girls who can follow a tune with their bodies. I know my skintight jeans are doing wonders for me as I shake my hips. The white crop top is certainly making a few eyes bulge.
Brit’s a total knockout, though. In a black dress glued to her skin and a short skirt that shows off her mile-long legs, she has half the people in the room salivating. She’ll have more than one suitor tonight.
Me? I’m literally thirsty.
“Want a drink?” I shout in her ear.
She shakes her head. “I’m good, boo!”
A couple of other Strikes have joined us on the dance floor, so it’s not like I’ll be leaving her alone to the wolves. After giving her a thumbs-up, I work my way through the throng of people to what I hope is the kitchen. Turns out I was right, but the counter has been taken over by a beer pong game, and there’s no way to get through.
“Seeking booze? I got you, fam.”
I have to laugh as JT pulls at my arm, somehow having read my mind and already having the solution. Best alternate captain a girl could ask for.
Latching on to her arm, I follow her through a narrow hallway by the staircase. The crowd’s thicker here, but it’s not because of the size of the space. No, sir. It’s because here—in a bathroom—there’s a whole freaking bathtub filled with ice and beer bottles.
“Qué carajo…”
Chelsea sits on the toilet lid, chugging a beer to the chants of two guys crammed in the space too. She finishes the bottle in record time, and everyone starts cheering as if the home team scored a goal.
“Oh, there you are.” She wipes her face with the back of her hand when she spots us. “Want a beer?”
“Yes, please.” JT opens her hand and Chelsea flings a bottle at her.
The other girl passes it to me, and I stare at it for a second too long, as if I could scan it for germs with my bare eyes. Well, I did see Chelsea grab it from the top of the tub. And it’s fully capped, so at least the part that will be in contact with my lips is clean. I uncap it with my forearm, a little trick I picked up from my dad. One I’m sure he’s not proud of.
“Dayum, girl!” JT watches as I toss the cap in the basket with precision. “That’s a neat trick. Lemme try it.” She gives up on the first try and ends up opening it like a civilized person—with the edge of the sink counter.
I take a swig of the cold beer and sag against the doorframe. More people come in and out, looking for a drink to fuel their mood. Someone shoves me pretty hard, and I’m about to get in their grill when I notice who it is.
It’s the rudest of the Bolts.
“What’s this?” He takes a look around in the bathroom, zeroing in on Chelsea. “What are a bunch of little girls drinking alcohol for?”
“It’s the only way I could possibly stand seeing your ugly face,” Chelsea says in return, lifting a new bottle in a little toast.
I cackle like a maniac.Unfortunately, that catches his attention.
“What’s so funny, you little b?—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence.” The threatening tone in my voice isn’t subtle. I cram myself into the bathroom to square up to him. As if that would intimidate a guy who has a full head on me.
“Or what?” The clown snorts. “You think you can possibly win against me? But you’re so tiny.”
His breath reeks of way more alcohol than I possibly could’ve had. Which gives me a brilliant idea. “Why don’t we have a little drinking contest, then?” I bet he’ll pass out with only a couple more beers, and that’ll rid us of him for the rest of the night.
“Great idea.” A deep voice comes from the door. I don’t have to turn to see who it’s coming from. Recognition passes through my body with a shiver. “Boucher, get out.”
Boucher, the burly guy who wastes no time insulting the Strikes, scrunches up his face like a kid who’s been told off. “No. She issued the challenge to me. I’m not about to wuss out of it.”
But what if instead of drinking him down, I smash a bottle against his head? Would that make him stop talking? Surely it would be a service to all humankind.
I make the mistake of looking at Cassiano as he says, “Wouldn’t a captain-to-captain challenge be more fun?”The way Cassiano’s eyes glint tells me that, no, it wouldn’t. At least not for me. But if I say that aloud, it’ll be the same as putting my foot in my mouth.
So I shrug. “It doesn’t matter who tries to take me on. I’ll win anyway.”
“Oh, snap!” One of the people I don’t know pulls out two bottles from the tub, ready for the action.
