Love's Learning Curve (7 page)

I pull out my phone firing off a quick text to Ashley telling her I’m on my way and not to tell Morgan.  I want to surprise her and can’t wait to see her fall over in shock when I walk in.  My scalp tingles with overwhelming excitement, but the nervousness is still outweighing the excitement.

I consider the outfit I’m wearing and try to recall the wardrobe selections of the other girls.  They were all wearing short skirts and dresses with tops showing tons of cleavage, but they were still mostly on the casual-ish side.  Since I own nothing within the slutty category of wardrobe options, I won’t be running home to change.  After a quick glance in the mirror on my sun visor, I decide to unbutton the first two buttons of my blouse.  Looking down, I see the crests of my breasts and a little cleavage mostly hidden by the lacy cami.  It’s risqué enough and pretty much all I can do anyway.  I don’t want to go so crazy in my need to experience life that I turn into a slutty party animal all in one night.  Baby steps.  It’ll work.

Driving back to campus, I rehash my decision now wishing I’d never texted Ashley and just waited to surprise everyone when I walked in the door; but if that were the case, I probably wouldn’t make it to the door.  I know I’m stuck now.

I park behind the line of cars and am at least a block from the house.  Getting out of my car, I glance down at my outfit again.  I pull my shirt together and fumble to button the blouse up.  No way, this can’t happen.  This was a huge mistake, and I’m claiming temporary insanity.  I move back toward my car to leave.  I need to brush off this ridiculous idea and text Ash to make my excuse.  Before I reach the door, Ashley’s voice calls out my name, and I look up to see her smiling face headed my direction.  Why I didn’t think to pretend not to hear her is beyond my smarts, and now, I cannot ignore her.  I’ll just have to tell her I’ve changed my mind or come up with an excuse that’s something’s come up.

“O.M.G.  I didn’t think you’d ever come.  I’m so excited to see you,” she says with bubbly joy just as I’m trying to plan my great escape.

“Hey Ashley, I actually just remembered …” I begin before she cuts me off.

“Oh no, you don’t … you’re here.  Just come in.  Stay for an hour.  If you hate it, I won’t make you stay longer,” she demands, and I quickly realize my mistake earlier at thinking she was a quiet follower.  How wrong I was; this bossy little one has stated her demands, and by the look on her face, I’m stuck, and my only ticket out isn’t good for one hour.  So I allow her to take my arm and drag me toward the party as she tells me how cute I look, lists all the people who are here, and describes what there’s to do inside.

This place is packed, and I’ve searched high and low for Morgan unsuccessfully for at least twenty minutes.  I lost Ashley pretty quickly when I walked in the door.  She was asked to drive one of the sorority sisters, who was already stumbling drunk and on the verge of getting sick, back to her apartment.  She promised it would only take ten minutes, and she’d find me as soon as she got back.  I think that’s probably going to be impossible.

I walk around aimlessly watching people greet each other, and I feel out of sorts, as if I’m watching it all happen on television and am not really a part of it.  A loud, piercing yell catches my attention.  A few of my sorority sisters squeal, while bouncing up and down, and simultaneously come running toward me.  My God.  This is not normal.

They start talking fast and all at once.  I don’t even understand most of what’s said.  Completely overwhelmed, but used to people talking at me and not being able to answer, I plaster on a fake smile and give them the impression that I too am thrilled to be here. Then I excuse myself by telling them I’m going to the bathroom and need to find Morgan. 

When I find myself in the backyard, I realize hundreds of people are here and not only is it highly unlikely that I’ll ever actually find Morgan, but Ashley definitely won’t find me easily either.  I make my way over to the table where they’re playing a game to get a closer look and see if she’s over there.  I get closer to the action, and I’m intrigued, unable to pull myself away from watching the excitement.

Morgan’s not here, but I watch anyway.  Everyone’s laughing and cheering every time someone sinks a Ping-Pong ball into the cup on the other side of the table, then the opposing team has to drink the liquid in the cup that looks and smells like beer.  The number of drinks the players each consumes shocks me, yet at the same time, it’s funny.

The game ends, and they begin switching up the players, arguing about who’s next.  Still content watching, I’m not even thinking about my original countdown to leave any longer.  Hanging out here until I see Morgan or Ashley can’t be terrible.  They’ll come along eventually, I hope.  Watching others have fun and enjoying the excitement of it all, I find myself cheering quietly each time a ball sinks in a cup.  I’m losing it.

When a guy next to me grasps his hands around my waist and pulls me next to him in front of the table, I’m stunned into stillness resembling that of a granite statue.  The residual feeling left from the fire of his touch is the only thing that snaps me back to life.  “You’re up with me, buttercup.”  His voice is deep, strong, and demanding as he speaks with authority, softening it with a wink.  I’m shocked.  What the hell?  I don’t want to play.  I just want to watch.

 “Oh … no, thank you. I’m just watching.”  I look up into his eyes, attempting to smile and beginning to plead my apologies for not being able to play the game.

His eyes lock onto mine as his face changes.  The fun expression vanishes, and something I can’t describe now takes hold on his features; the tables have turned, and he’s now become the statue.  Clearly, I’ve done something wrong already.

“So … umm … I guess, thank you.  Maybe next time,” I say confused momentarily before pulling away.  The beautifully mysterious brown eyes searing into me become alert.  Before I’m able to take the second step back and escape, his arm is back around my waist pulling me back to the table.  The warmth of his touch once again taking hold as every affected area sparks feverishly again.  I look down trying to register my body’s reaction and make sure a leftover sparkler from earlier hasn’t affixed itself to me.

“House rules … if you watch, you have to play,” he orders, placing a Ping-Pong ball into my hand and telling the guy and girl on the other side of the table that they can go first.  His mood is now back to happy and playful once again, leaving me feeling the whiplash of confusion.

I’m a nervous wreck and find that I’ve lost my voice and ability to argue.  As the game begins, I’m still stunned as I watch the girl in front of me toss the ball, one bounce, and I’m pleading softly for the ball to miss the cup so that I won’t have to drink.  After at least twenty minutes of watching, I know the game rules.  They’re simple.

When she misses, I smile for the first time taking a deep breath and looking up at my game partner in relief.  He leans in to my side, his face angling toward me while the warmth of his breath combined with the deep voice tickles my ear and causes a blush to cover me.  “She’ll sink one eventually, but she sucks, so it’ll be a little while.”  I have to keep the effect of him from hypnotizing me, but it’s tough.  He distracts me from even myself, but I look up and mimic his smile. We turn back to resume play of the game, and I wait for him hoping this mystery guy will go next.  As if I’d said the question aloud, he acknowledges my inner thought with his words, and his voice lights fire to my body.

“Me first, buttercup.  Watch and see the master work.”  The girls around him enjoy his cockiness, and apparently, everything about him hypnotizes them.  He’s tall and has a well-defined muscular build that even his shirt cannot hide.  His voice makes it almost impossible to ignore what he says, but everything about him screams danger for a girl like me.  He’s everything that could get me in a lot of trouble, and for that reason, I vow to play this game and then walk away.  Forget I ever had this dumb idea to attend a college party.

He sinks the ball on the first try.  The crowd around us is growing, and cheers are now echoing.  The guy on the other team shoots and also sinks a ball. Without asking if I want it, mystery guy picks up the cup and drinks it.

Girl, up … she misses again.  Lucky times two.  I’m up.  Just before I’m about to bounce the ball toward the cups, he leans in to me issuing instructions.  “Not too hard.  That’s the rookie mistake.  Shoot toward the center of all the cups and don’t focus on one.”

“How do you know I’m a rookie?”  I ask smartly.

He laughs.  “Oh … I’d remember you.”

I heed his warnings; knowing had he not said something, I too would have likely made a similar rookie mistake.  The ball bounces and lands in the center cup, and my excitement overflows as I jump up and down and cheer, turning to mystery man and high-fiving him as the chick across the table whines about having to chug her beer.

It takes everything I am not to leap into his arms when he awards me with a smile.

“Thanks, Coach!”  I wink.

“Oh my God, Charlotte!  What are YOOOOUUU doing here?”  I hear from behind the crowd.  I turn and see Morgan make her way through the group surrounding the table and cheerfully wrapping me in a hug when she finally makes her way to me.

“Well … Ashley wrote me a note and then … well … I just decided to come.”  I brush off the thoughts that cemented my plan to come and then casually move on.  “I was looking for you, but now, I’m playing this game, whatever it’s called, with this mystery man.”  I smile and point at the guy beside me thinking I have no idea of his name, or I’d introduce her formally.

“Ha-ha ... Are you insane?  Everyone knows this mystery man,” she says to him putting on the Morgan Chamber’s full flirt effect.  I just shrug it off knowing she knows everyone, and I don’t really care who my game coach is.  At this point, the most important thing in the world is that he’s teaching me how not to lose this game.

He nods at the table, dismissing her flirtations, and I realize the game must continue. The other guy is up.  He shoots, and the ball sinks in a corner cup.  Does that mean I drink?  Shit.  I don’t know how this part works.  Do I only drink when the girl sinks a ball?  Wait.  When mystery man picks up the cup and passes it to me, my heart sinks.  I was having fun, but I don’t want to drink.  What would my parents say if I got caught drinking?  I’d be screwed.

I shake my head and tell mystery man to drink up, none for me, but he ignores me, assuring me again that game rules require I take this one.  He resumes the authoritative tone leaving me to either drink or look like a fool with everyone watching.  But I know if I do drink, everyone’s watching and word could easily get back to my mother.

Morgan, reading my thoughts, leans forward speaking quietly to me so no one can hear.  “Drink it, Char, it’s fine.  It’s not even a full beer.”  With her influence and the pressure of everyone watching, I pause staring down at the cup and know this will either be a really good or a really bad decision.  We shall see.  I tip the cup and chug; with a smile on my face, I toss the empty cup to the side of the table next to the others.

“That didn’t suck,” I tell her over my shoulder then meet the eyes of my coach before he takes his turn, of course sinking the next ball and every one that followed.  Even though I missed a couple of the tougher shots when the cups were spread farther apart, I still took pride in the fact that I did far better than the other girl did.  By the time the game ended, I had consumed four cups of the gross beer.  I have no idea what that equates to in actual full beverages, but I was feeling a little lighter nonetheless.