Love hates that game of words!
It is a crime to fence with life—I tell you,
There comes one moment, once—and God help those
Who pass that moment by!—when Beauty stands
Looking into the soul with grave, sweet eyes
That sicken at pretty words!
–Cyrano de Bergerac
“Welcome to the party of the century!” A nude man, liberally striped with blue body paint, streaks past me.
I jump out of the way of his quivering butt cheeks and land in some bushes next to the sidewalk.
People waiting in front of Jude’s house clap and yell their approval of the naked man’s pronouncement while I untangle myself from the violent foliage.
The street is lined with cars and the front walk of the house is jam-packed with people laughing, talking, have a grand ol’ time, and waiting to get in. Why am I here?
You should turn around and go home. No one wants to see you anyway, Delores Umbridge insists.
I had the best of intentions to avoid the party. I drove the opposite way down Main Street, passed the Frostee Freeze, waved to Ol’ Roy—who’s eternally chilling outside the H-E-B—and parked at the Finer Diner. Then I sat there and stared through the windows for ten full minutes.
There were—I shit you not—three different couples sitting in booths, sharing milkshakes and fries and gazing into each other’s eyes like annoying love zombies.
And that’s when my thoughts struck me like physical blows.
First, it’s a Friday night and I’m alone, sitting in a car that’s not mine, outside a diner I don’t want to be at.
Second, Granny is right. I need to move on. And perhaps under someone else.
Third, to actually get under someone else, I need a drink. Something stronger than a milkshake.
I get that making out with some random dude isn’t going to fix anything wrong with my life, but maybe it’ll be like . . . when they brought Buffy back from the dead and she was all weird and depressed but then she made out with Spike and everything got better. Except for the hellmouth opening and releasing all the uber vampires, and the nineteenth episode of season six where Spike attacked Buffy as an impetus for him to get his soul back and that was not cool, Joss Whedon.
But still.
I’ve seen enough therapists to know I need to challenge my own assumptions and negative self-talk, and I should go to this party. It’s good for my mental health in general to be around people.
And the most important thought hits me like Thor’s hammer upside the head: I’m sick of myself. My own insecurities. My own thoughts of worthlessness.
I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life, I don’t have control over every aspect of my future, but there is something I can control.
Jack doesn’t have to be my only. Not anymore. The awareness bursts through me, exploding out of my skin like a glitter bomb that settles in a fine sheen of dust. I need to wipe it away. I need to wipe Jack away. I need new memories.
Which is why I’m here.
If this were New York, I could disappear into a hundred different bars or nightclubs to find a random hookup and then never see them again. But in Blue Falls, options are more than limited.
The house sits back from the street, facing a meticulously groomed lawn that’s now being trampled by coeds. It’s small and innocuous—at least it is when it isn’t stuffed with people and thumping with music. There’s a bay window, flower boxes, bright white shutters, and a cheery red door.
During the daylight hours, you wouldn’t imagine a Van Wilder type lives there with a bookworm and a giant, but that’s the truth. It’s like God being a writer named Chuck or Captain America saying, “Hail Hydra!” in Secret Empire. You just don’t expect it.
I crane my neck to see around the line. Normally, Beast mans the entry, taking money and letting people in and out, but he’s not there and the front door is shut.
The crowd around me is restless and excited, people chatting with each other, hooting and laughing. Someone yells out a plea to open the door and let them in.
Maybe it’s full, maxed out, and we’re all gonna be sent away. Then I can leave, with the perfect excuse.
A sigh of relief whispers through me.
Taking a slow step back, I run into a wall. A warm wall. I spin around and look up. And up. And up.
Beast.
My heart rate triples. I mean, anyone would panic a little. It’s like a biological instinct. I can’t control the lizard brain. He’s huge. Rugged. His eyes and hair are dark, matching his dark T-shirt and jeans. His lips are relaxed, unsmiling against his scruffy jaw.
“For a big guy, you sure do move like a ninja.”
He stares at me for a full beat before his head jerks to one side in the universal motion for “come on.” Then he stalks away, toward the house.
Bossy.
Commanding without words. Who knew that was possible? I follow. It’s not like I have anything better to do, and waiting in line alone isn’t exactly an enticing prospect.
“Are you gonna let us in?” someone whines as we breeze past.
Another calls, “Hurry up, we’re gonna miss all the games!”
And finally, a third heckler, “Hey, why’s she getting in?” And then louder, “Who are you?”
My response is a reflex born of being raised in a family where incorporating literary references into casual conversation is considered an art form. “I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too?”
An awkward pause ensues and then a confused, “What?”
I don’t bother looking back. This is why I don’t have friends. No one understands my witty references to dead poets.
I trail after Beast up the steps of the narrow porch. He unlocks the door and motions me in ahead of him.
It’s not as crowded as I thought it would be. A few stragglers are in line at the bathroom down the hallway, and a couple is making out on the love seat in the living room. A sliding glass door at the back of the house yawns open to the backyard, where the crowd is congregating. I follow Beast through an open doorway on our right, into the kitchen.
He opens the fridge and hands me a can of something, his giant fingers obscuring the lettering.
I take it, reading the label out loud. “Delirium.” Surprised, I meet his gaze. “How did you . . .” He can’t answer an open-ended question, so I cut myself off. I’m forever regurgitating nonsense around Beast. “I like these. And you happen to have them.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. Beast is like this. Always watching, always handing people what they need without question. He’s always so observant. The first couple weeks after I came to Blue Falls, tissue and cookies would appear on my nightstand, but only on nights that Beast stayed over.
It’s unnerving. How much does he see? His dark eyes skitter from mine, and after a tripping heartbeat, he strides past, stirring up a small breeze in his wake and disappearing through the doorway.
“Thank you,” I call out, but he’s already gone.
I exit to the backyard right as Jude’s voice cuts through the air. “Babies! Let the games begin!”
Cheering and clapping meet his pronouncement. From the corner of the expansive patio, Jude lifts an air horn and squeezes. Tonight he’s wearing some kind of smoking jacket, per usual. His hair is longish and brown, his posture relaxed. He’s in his midtwenties, not much older than the college students he’s mingling with, but his aura is larger than life, which gives him the feel of an old soul.
Unlike Jude, Beast is actually a student at Blue Falls University, so I’d wager he’s around twenty. But it’s hard to tell since he’s physically bigger than anyone I’ve ever met.
Off the edge of the patio, a lawn stretches beyond the light and into the darkness. The yard is encapsulated by a tall fence and a smattering of large bushes and trees.
Clumps of people swarm the grass, running back and forth, competing in some kind of . . . blind-folded, three-legged race. They also have cups on their heads. One couple trips and face-plants into the grass, much to the amusement of the crowd.
There’s a tap at my elbow. “Hey, you came.”
“Annabel.” I give her a quick hug and then we face the competition together, standing side by side.
She links my arm in hers, a red Solo cup in her opposite hand. “I wasn’t sure you would drop by.” Annabel is a curvy blonde with a wide mouth that’s usually got something sarcastic popping out of it.
“I almost didn’t,” I tell her.
“I don’t blame you.” She laughs and tugs me toward a table set up near the house. “But since you’re here, you have to try one of these appetizers Beast made. I don’t even know what they are, but they’re awesome.”
“Oh.” I examine the finger foods on the table—what’s left of them. “Looks like a caprese skewer with a balsamic reduction.” I pick up one of the sticks and pop it in my mouth. The mozzarella is fresh, as is the basil. I wonder if he got it from Granny’s garden. “Did he make the reduction himself?”
She waves a hand. “Probably. I can’t keep up with him. They used to rotate who cooked dinner throughout the week, but Beast has basically taken over.” She picks up her own skewer. “I don’t know why I’m eating this. I’m so full but it’s so good. It’s like I can’t stop myself. So what made you decide to show up?” She throws away the toothpick and holds up a finger. “Wait, let me guess. Granny?”
“Partially,” I concede.
Annabel snorts. “I’m surprised she didn’t force you here at gunpoint.”
“It was close. Where’s Reese and Fitz?”
“They’re back at the apartment. Making use of their time alone.” She grimaces and takes a sip out of her cup. “Let’s not discuss my brother and his girlfriend and what they might be doing in our apartment. I’ve thought about moving in here with Jude, and then Reese could move in with Fitz, but my parents would freak. I caught them making out in the kitchen yesterday when I got home.” She shudders. “I eat there. Quick. Change the subject. You want to get in on some game action?” she asks, tipping her cup to her mouth.
I shrug. “Not really. I would rather make out with someone.”
It’s a bad time to reveal my intentions because the contents of her cup stream out of her mouth, hitting some guy in a football jersey as he’s sauntering by.
“Hey!”
She coughs and sputters. “Sorry.”
He throws up a hand and stalks off.
Annabel eyes me. “You wanna repeat that, Fred?”
“I’ve decided that I don’t want Jack to be the last man I kissed.” The only man. But I can’t admit that embarrassment out loud.
Annabel considers me for a second, then nods. “I support that. And I can help. I’ll be your wing woman. Come on.”
She tows me over to the corner where Jude is surrounded by a small group. Without looking, he reaches back and tugs Annabel closer, turning his face to kiss her once on the mouth before continuing his conversation.
Since my arm is still linked with Annabel’s, I get a front row seat to the PDA and the brief but heated glance that passes between them. Jude looks at Annabel like K-pop stans look at Kim Nanjoon.
I avert my eyes and take a few long drinks of my beer.
Jack was never affectionate in public. He said it was vulgar.
“We’ll get Jude to help,” Annabel tells me. “But first.” Her eyes brighten and then sharpen, scanning the crowd around us. “What are we looking for? Man? Woman? Tall? Short? What’s your type?”
My gaze moves over the crowd. The three-legged race is over and people are unwrapping their ropes and blindfolds and putting them in a bucket. “Umm . . . man. Not too big, but not too small. Someone good looking. But not too good looking.”
“Okay so someone who looks like a serial killer, got it.”
I nudge her with my shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
“Not really. If I were you, I’d be going for the hottest guy I could find. I mean, why not? Although you can’t have the actual hottest guy, because he’s mine.”
Jude turns into our conversation and kisses her on the side of the neck. “Why thank you, my dear.”
“Hot guys are usually dicks,” I say. “Present company excluded. And—” I cut myself off, flushing, not wanting to continue that train of thought. Hot guys don’t notice me. They definitely don’t want to make out with me, not when they could have someone better, hotter, less likely to bust out obscure movie quotes during intimate moments. I’m not exactly a catch. I’m perhaps better than average looking, but I don’t have a real job, and I’m only smart if you need someone for a trivia night.
Self-conscious, I shrug and turn away, examining the crowd. “I need someone like . . .” I tap a finger to my lips.
There are a few shirtless jocks standing in a cluster, but an equally impressive group of ladies surrounds them, all dressed in short shorts and barely-there tanks with silky hair and tanned skin. I’m like a pale ET in comparison.
Next to them, Beast hands one of the jocks a . . . is that a banana? My eyes roam over Beast’s impressive figure. Not happening. He’s too big and handsome and he doesn’t talk and it makes me nervous. Maybe because I can’t help filling the silence with pointless chatter, and I have nothing to talk about except fandoms and comics and random factoids passed down by my professor parents.
I move on.
My eyes lock with an unassuming figure in the middle of the crowd of players. His lips quirk when I don’t look away. He’s not too tall, on the slender side, with dark hair and a slightly rounded face.
Perfect.
I wait until we’ve broken eye contact and he’s distracted, talking to someone on the field beside him.
I point him out to Annabel. “Him.”
Her eyes follow my finger and then she frowns, her brows dipping in confusion. “Him? The kinda frumpy guy with the brown hair in the brown T-shirt?”
I nod. He won’t have high standards so I’ll have a chance. Plus, he’s probably a nice guy. He looks nice. He’s . . . smiling.
Jude gives Annabel one more kiss and whispers something in her ear that makes a flush spread over her cheeks. Then he steps away, megaphone in hand.
“Babies, prepare yourselves for our next event: the Battle of the Banana Hammocks!” Jude’s voice booms through the night.
“Okay.” Annabel nods. “We just have to get a big banana between your legs.”
“Seriously?”
“Follow my lead.” She drags me over to Jude and whispers something in his ear. He nods and winks at me.
Then we’re on the move, over to the group where my new potential lover is standing with his teammates.
“Hey y’all! We got one more player for your team this round.” She shoves me into the guy and I smash him in the side with an elbow.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
Annabel is still pushing at me and I swipe her away.
“It’s okay.” He smiles. He’s got all his teeth. And sure, maybe he could blend in with a tree stump, but I can work with that.
“This is Fred,” Annabel says. “She’s going first with the bananas.” And with that, Annabel flits away.
“I’m Dan,” he says.
“Perfect.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I clap my hands and glance at my teammates. “So what are we doing?”
There are two others in the group, a tall, thin guy with a faint mustache and his girlfriend, a buxom brunette with a cheery smile and awesome red thick-framed glasses. Dan makes introductions, but I immediately forget both their names.
I’m a little nervous. What if this doesn’t work and I make a total fool of myself? It is rather my MO.
Beast appears in front of us, handing me a banana and a twine of rope.
“Thanks, Beast.” I smile up at him as I take the items.
Beast eyes Dan and then his gaze swings back to me. I could swear his mouth tightens before he moves on to the next group, but the movement is so infinitesimal I must be imagining it.
“What’s up with him?” Dan asks.
“Nothing.” I glance from Dan to Beast and then back again.
It’s funny. They both have dark hair and brown eyes, but on Beast it’s . . . more. Maybe because the width and breadth of him is twice that of Dan. And Beast’s features are sharper, more pronounced.
“He’s weird,” Dan says.
My hackles rise. There’s nothing wrong with weird. I’m weird. “He’s not weird. He’s . . .” I don’t know what he is, but I don’t like anyone saying anything negative about him. “He’s my friend.”
Dan laughs. “Sure. Okay, whatever.” I open my mouth to make some kind of retort but he cuts me off. “Would you like a drink before the game starts?”
Well. That’s sort of thoughtful. “Sure.” I smile.
He disappears while the other team members help me tie the rope around my waist, banana hovering above the ground between my feet.
Dan returns, handing me a Solo cup half full of warm beer.
Okay, not exactly what I thought he meant. I pretend to take a drink—I’m not stupid—and smile at him. “Thanks. This is the second time I’ve been tied up today.”
He laughs. “That’s encouraging.”
Hm. Not sure how to respond to that. He’s not even going to ask for details? Rescuing Kylo Hen is always a good anecdote.
We’re silent and I resist the urge to babble. Instead, I ask, “What exactly is this game about?”
“My guess is something to do with hitting the ball with the banana. And I think,” he glances over at Jude, “we’re about to find out.”
Feedback from the megaphone fills the night air, halted by Jude’s booming voice. “My good people! The Battle of the Banana Hammocks is upon us.”
Whoops and hollers fill the backyard.
“The goal of this event is to use your banana—the edible one only—to push the ball into the bucket on the opposite side.”
“All my bananas are edible!” a male voice yells out.
“That’s debatable, my friend,” Jude replies without missing a beat.
Beast is laying out buckets on their sides about twenty feet away from the row of competitors while Annabel moves down the row, dropping four tennis balls in front of each team.
Jude continues. “It is a relay, so only one banana pusher per team at a time. You must get your ball into the bucket and then run back to give your banana and rope to the next team member to push the next ball, and so on and so forth.” He waves one arm with a flourish. “The first team to successfully contain all their balls within the bucket will be declared victorious. If everyone is nearly ready? We will be starting in T minus two minutes.” He turns away to talk to someone behind him.
“You all ready to go?” my female teammate asks.
“Make us proud!” Her boyfriend pats me on the back.
Dan lifts his drink in salute. I pretend to drink mine before passing the cup to him. And then it’s time.
“All right babies, here we go. Get ready! One, two . . . three!”
An air horn blasts and right along with it a roar of excited cheers goes up from the revelers.
I jerk into motion, swinging my hips in an attempt to get the hanging banana to kick the tennis ball in the direction of the bucket. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be. Even though the lawn is trimmed, it’s still bumpy and uneven, the ball zigzagging in front of me, and that’s when I’m able to hit it. More often than not, the banana sails through the air next to the ball without making contact. Catching glimpses of my competitors swinging their hips with their own flailing bananas isn’t helping matters. I spend more time laughing than humping the air like I should be.
“Come on!” Dan yells when I run into the person next to us.
Finally, I get the ball to roll in the bucket and race back. The jock quickly unties me, and his girlfriend ties the banana to him so he can start swinging at the next ball.
“That was hilarious.”
Dan is smiling at me again and I start to think this whole thing might work out. It was a good idea to come here. I can get him alone, make out, have a good time, and not think about Jack.
Except I just thought of him.
I won’t think of him again after this.
While my teammates kick ass, Beast appears next to me with another unopened can of Delirium and I don’t have a chance to tell him thank you because Dan grabs me up in a hug.
We won third place.
With the end of the game, partygoers disperse. Some move into the house. The music kicks up, a temporary reprieve while the next round of games is being prepared for the new upcoming group.
“Want another drink?” Dan asks me.
“Sure.” I already have one but . . . I down it quickly and follow Dan back into the house.
Once again, he doesn’t ask what I want, but maybe that’s because it’s too loud to really talk, with the music blasting and all. We sip at some keg beer and glance around the party and strain builds between us like a wall. Which makes me drink even faster. The nerves start to dull as the inebriation sets in and then . . .
“Want to go somewhere we can talk?” he yells in my ear over the music.
I nod.
Then my suitor takes my hand and leads me around the side of the house, and out of view.
He kisses me. It’s terrible.
I’m about to introduce my erstwhile suitor to a sprained ankle, but first I give him a chance. “Back. Up.”
And then to my great astonishment, before I can ninja kick him into submission, he does back up. Rather rapidly.
“Let me go!” he yells.
Wait, isn’t that my line?
It isn’t the power of my voice that compels him. He’s being forced.
A giant figure looms in the darkness, bigger than The Hulk, holding Slobber Man by the back of the neck like he’s a recalcitrant puppy.
“Beast?”