“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I muttered, kind of breathless, pushing him away. But only gently. “Slow down, Carter. You sure you want to do this, in your best friend’s bedroom, right now?”
He kissed my neck, right over the hickey Max had left, ignoring me completely.
“Yes,” he whispered, his voice husky. Damn. He was good at this too – almost as good as Max. I closed my eyes for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of his lips dancing over my skin, the feeling of his hard body pressed up against mine. His hot breath against my jaw-line, tracing in, slowly reaching my lips, and then –
“You guys coming down?” an annoying, loud voice came up the stairs.
Blondie.
I cussed mentally, but tried to stay cool.
“Do you want to go downstairs?” I asked, pushing him away for real.
“No,” he mumbled, but he linked his fingers through mine, and came with me as I walked to the door.
“Carter,” I said, my hand on the doorknob. “Max can’t know about this. Let’s keep this between us. It can be our little secret.”
His lips formed a cute little smile.
I leaned into him, gently pressing my lips against his, so softly we barely touched. Then I moved away.
“You go down first,” I whispered. “I’ll come a couple minutes later.”
***
And so I was back in the bathroom, in front of the mirror.
I was brushing my hair, working through the knots I’d gotten when Carter pushed me right up against the wall. I’m so used to my hair being like this – you know, after you’re pushed up against a wall/tree/wooden beam/a random stranger while making out, me and my (ex) best friends actually made up a name for it. Hook-up hair.
I lifted one side of my hair up, so I could brush through it better, and I saw something. I pulled up the other side of my hair. A hickey. It matched the one just above my cleavage perfectly.
Then I closed my eyes. It’s times like this, when a girl wonders if she’s really a slut.
***
“So what’s everyone doing?” I said, making my way through the big jumble of pizza and beer. I sat myself on the floor, opposite Blondie. She smiled at me, and winked, looking between me and Carter. Damn. How did she know? I’d covered up the hickey Carter had left with concealer, but did nothing with Max’s one. I was meant to make him fall for me, right?
“You okay?” Max asked, who next to me but higher up because he was in a chair, looking down at me worriedly. I almost semi-believed that he cared. He was too damn good of an actor. Players were like that. I would know. I was the best of the best.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said rubbing my now-pristine hair against his hand gently.
But why did it hurt to know that deep down, he didn’t really care?
I must be too sober.
I leaned in, and grabbed a beer, unconsciously let Carter have a view down my top. But I winked anyway. Innocent (well, sort of) flirting was my forte. And it was fun.
Tom and Ollie’s chatter faded off gently into background noise, mixing in with the hip hop music playing in the background, Blondie’s voice interrupted every so often. Carter joined in occasionally, his sarcastic comments making everyone laugh. Eventually, I lost track of the conversation. I didn’t care. I just drank, beer after cheap beer. I had to admit, even though expensive champagne had its pros, sometimes crappy, cheap beer was better. Even though it had way more calories.
