Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel (26 page)

"
UmIdontthinksono
you're wrong, Swedish Fish are way better than Sour Patches. Hands down win. No holds barred," Thomas argues to Lyle.

Lyle then cries, "Outrage! I object!" with a mouthful of Sour Patches already.

"On what grounds?" Thomas asks him, thinking he's won the battle.

"On two kinds of grounds, smarty party pants! First of all, speculation. Secondly," Lyle takes an over dramatic long pause. "
Incompetence!"
he shouts, pointing his finger in the air. As to which finger is being held in the air, that's completely fair to speculate on. "Take face, T-Bird.
Muthafuckin’ mic drop
!"

"Shut up, you guys. He just texted me he's here so everyone quiet," I say with a low but stern voice.

I told Roman to meet me here because my apartment had a roof leak and the building owner paid for a room during repair. I know he's suspicious and thinks I planned for some alone hotel time for his birthday. I hope he's not disappointed it isn't just me and him. He shouldn't be, though, we usually have plenty of alone time. And even if we don't, we will make some.

Someone has turned out the lights and we're all lying low on the ground, or couch, or the bed, really wherever anyone could find a spot. All thirty or so of us.

The door opens, and we all jump up.

"Stir-Fries!" everyone screams.

Roman definitely looks surprised. His eyes widen and he takes quite a jump backward. It’s genuine, not a fake reaction. I can't hide the smile on my face as he walks straight to me and picks me up for a big hug and kiss.

"Damn, y'all. I can honestly say I was surprised as shit."

"You like?" I ask, hopeful.

"I like." He smiles at me and then looks around the rooms at the ridiculousness of the decor. “I feel like I just walked into an AFI video."

"Well, this girl's not grey, so let's drink!" I shout, and then all of our friends lift their drinks in cheers.

Music is going and people are dancing. We ran out of cups a while ago, so we are currently in the improvising stage of the evening. The coffee pot now holds a good amount of Jaeger and Red bull and is being passed around like a joint.

"Guys, I have the best idea! Epiphany!" I hear Lawrence say. "Hey, everybody, listen up!" He stands on a bed to get everyone’s attention. "Naked party!"

Say what now
? More like an epipha-not-likely.

"Naked Party!" miscellaneous voices shout across the room.

I turn to Enzo and ask, "What's a naked party?"

"Don't ask me. But if I had to guess, I would say it has to do with taking your clothes off, " he says, as a wicked grin stretches across his face.

"Try not to get too excited, he means you too, you know."

"If I get to see all these girls naked, it's a sacrifice I'm happy to make." He reaches behind his back with one arm and pulls off his shirt. Pants are the next to go, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

"You haven't talked to Marty yet?" I ask him, looking straight into his eyes to gauge his reaction, and to avoid the area holding his man parts.

"And I was having such a good time." He shakes his head. "Don't, Bee. Don't ruin the night for me, please."

"I won't. I was just asking."

"Then the answer is no. Now can I please enjoy the view without the guilt trip?"

He waves his hand in the direction of many people, both guy and girl, stripping down into their underwear. He sinks low in a chair, then takes a sip of his drink and breaks into a lazy smile. The smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

A girl I don't know starts toward him and climbs right up onto his lap. I'm assuming she is a groupie and thinks he plays. I'll let her think wrong. She starts to giggle about something Enz has whispered in her ear, and I take my hint to leave.

I find Roman in the midst of adding the finishing piece to what can only be described as the Megalodon of beer pyramids. His clothes, aside from his boxers, are removed as well. I guess this is really happening. I've had enough to drink, and I really couldn't care less, but the last time I tried to take my clothes off in front of these same people, Rome flipped his shit. So sue me, but I'm apprehensive.

I look at him and he looks at me, exchanging a thought with pure unspoken understanding. He knows what I'm asking. Knowing I need his answer, he gives the slightest nod of his head.

"Only to your bra and panties, if you're comfortable. But, please, for Christ’s sake, do not try taking off your bra again. I really don't want to have to punch something tonight; my hand still hurts from the last time." He shakes his hand out at the memory.

"Deal."

I go to remove my shirt, but Rome is there first. He slowly lifts it up and over, keeping his eyes trained on me. My hair spills down and around my now bare shoulders. He runs his hands through my roots near my temples and down around both sides of my face, stopping at my shoulders. Keeping his hands there, he stares at me. He takes a moment to breathe in and appreciate what's in front of him.

My body shivers at the intensity. Never taking his eyes from mine, he unzips my jeans and works them down my legs one movement at a time. I step out of them and his hands circle my waist to help me balance. I have all but forgotten the existence of the other thirty or so people in the same room. Right now it is just me and him. And Lyle.
Wait, what?

"Can you guys move over, please? I need to use the table." Lyle squeezes his way through us to the table I was using to lean my weight on. The table I was sure Roman was about to lift me up on.

After sufficiently scooting me aside, Lyle takes a medicine bottle out of his pocket and pours the contents onto the tabletop. White powder. I know what kind of powder. When did he get cocaine and why did he bring it here? At no point in our party planning was coke discussed.

"Lyle, what are you doing?" I whisper-yell my question.

"Don't freak, Bee. It's cool. It will help me not throw up and pass out this time. We all know I have a tendenc-tend-tenden … I throw up a lot," he slurs. "Come to think of it, you do it too! You know." He points at me then tries through his drunkenness to wink. "You know what I'm talking about. You know. You little party puker. I've seen it. I saw you. I know!" He repeats the "I see you" or "I'm watching you" gesture, with his two fingers pointing to his own eyes and then to mine. "Here, have some. It will make you feel awesome."

He fiddles with the line over and over before deciding it was perfect. Then, sure enough, he snorts a good half of it and hands off the rolled up dollar bill to me. I push it back toward him and look back at Roman, dumbfounded.

"Damn it, dude. Don't try to give it to her! Take it outside. I don't want her around the shit," he yells at him.

Now I'm all for taking the illegal narcotic drugs outside—because, frankly, I don't want them here—however, it could be because I'm drunk, but I don't need Roman to do the whole “shelter Rigbee” thing again. I am capable of making my own decisions. I'm about to tell him, when I see him sit down and rub at his knee cap. Something he's been doing more often. I know better than to bring it up, but I know it's been bugging him. The last thing I want right now is to start an argument, so I let the whole thing go, for now.

Lyle did what he was told and ended up out at his car. Everyone else seems coherent enough. We're dancing and drinking. A camera is being passed around and copious amounts of pictures are being taken. When I say a camera, I don't mean a cell phone, I mean a straight up digital SLR with a fancy lens. I hope it doesn't end up broken. Between the selfies, and the guys trying to take pics with girls in their underwear, I think we have sufficiently documented the evening. I always feel awkward in pictures. I never know what to do.
Do I make a funny face? A pouty face? And what about my hands? What am I supposed to do with my hands?
I'm not cool enough to do anything with my hands, so I simply look at the camera and smile when it points to me. I'm about to smile for another picture when I feel something soft, yet firm, hit the side of my head.

"What the …" I pick up the roll of toilet paper from next to me and look around for my assailant.

The next one flies by, successfully striking the face of the girl still sitting on Enzo. She screams out an annoying shrill of a sound, which makes me laugh because I've been waiting for something to happen to knock her off his lap. Then they are everywhere. Rolls of toilet paper, one after another, flying through the air and hitting or missing their marks. Marks being the girls, I'm guessing. Willow takes a hit to the arm but then catches it upon rebound and throws it right back.

"I will throw five at you for every one roll to hit me, so you better give up now!" she shouts.

It's on. I find a roll and chuck it at Thomas, who then throws it at Wes. Malik had come to enough senses to stop hitting Willow, and now they have teamed up behind the sofa, using it as a bunker. They target Dirks, who is standing on the table acting out the battle scene from
Braveheart
.

"Bee, I got you. Throw one here!" Enzo yells to me, ignoring the whining of the big-boobed girl he just dropped to the floor. I toss him a couple and we gang up on Roman. Within a few minutes, two teams have naturally spawned and are out for blood. As much blood as a war using toilet paper for ammunition can produce, anyway.

I wake to the sound of man—grunting and snoring. I can tell without even opening my eyes I have a pounding headache. Now I really don't want to open my eyes. When I finally do, I regret it immediately. I'm lying on the sofa, trying to take in the scene before me. Toilet paper is everywhere. Strung up through the fans, down to the chairs, and covering most of us like mummies. Why on Earth would the hotel even stock so much in one room? Oh, we had two rooms, right. Without moving any other part of my body yet, I reach back behind my head to the table stand next to the couch in search of my phone. Instead of a phone, my hand comes in contact with a wall of empty beer cans. Oh yeah, the Megaladon beeramid. The loud clinking noises of metal hitting metal ring through my ears and the rest of the room as the pyramid comes crashing down around me.

I hear a grumble of something along the lines of, "What the fuck?" next to me as the beer cans finish falling. To be honest, I don't even remember going to sleep, let alone on a tiny ass couch with another person. I turn to face the warm body next to mine, and I scream.  

I wake to the deafening sound of someone screaming. A raging pain in my head pounds to the rhythm of the music from last night, and there is a ringing in my ears I can't make go away, even when I try swallowing. My throat is too thick, like a cotton ball has been lodged in its center.

It's Rigbee's voice. Rigbee is screaming. I shoot up and look next to me. No Rigbee. Thomas and Lawrence are in the bed next to me. Some girl I don't know is lying between them, but no Rigbee. I jump out of bed, tripping over another random body asleep on the floor below, and rush out to find her. 

My scream startles Lyle, causing him to belt out a short, high-pitch scream too.

"What the hell, Lyle? Why are you naked?" I've scooted up toward the arm of the sofa now, giving Lyle a death stare.

What is it with these paintball boys and their need to wake me up in the most uncomfortable, and unconventional ways?

"What? What the fuck! Why am I naked?" Lyle jerks up. Frantically looking back and forth around us, he tries in his sleepy state to comprehend what’s going on.

"I'm asking you!" I push Lyle to get him to move further away from me but he doesn't even budge. He is still looking around confused.

"I don't know. I don't remember a goddamn thing." He yawns and then scratches his head.

"What I remember is you going outside and passing out in your car, so when did you even come back in?"

He stands up and grabs his clothes lying in a pile on the floor next to us.

"Ummm … mid toilet paper fight, I think. Yes. I remember walking in after waking up in my car. My keys were taped to my outside windshield, so thanks." He nods at me, and I realize his thanking me was genuine and not sarcastic. "When I walked in, everyone was going nuts on each other with rolls of toilet paper, which was completely awesome, by the way, so I had to get in on it. That's the last thing I remember."