by Kacey Shea
“Do you want a drink? Want me to introduce you to everyone?”
“A drink is good. There are a lot of people here. Do they all work at your station?”
“Nah, just friends of friends.” We start toward the kitchen but get stopped every few feet by someone new.
“Who’s the hottie, Hugh?”
“This is Callie.”
“Nice to meet you.” I smile politely.
A few more steps.
“’Sup Hughmiester. Hey, pretty lady, I’m Steve.”
“Nice to meet you, Steve.”
Chase’s jaw clenches in irritation and he pulls me away from Smiley Steve.
“He seemed friendly.”
“He’s an ass. I need a drink.”
“Almost there.” I laugh and when we reach the fridge Chase pulls out two bottles of beer. He pops the tops and hands one to me. We click the bottles in cheers and I bring the glass to my lips. Before I drink I tilt my head. “Hey, why’s everyone here calling you Hugh?”
“Because he’s a fucking stud!” Troy slaps Chase on the back and then grips the counter to steady himself. He attempts to meet my gaze but his eyes focus and unfocus a few times as his lips pull into a smirk. “Callie, you look fucking hot tonight. Can I get you a drink?” He stumbles back a bit as Chase steps closer to my side.
I raise my bottle and he laughs.
“Oh, you have a drink already! My bad! Sorry, Hugh.” Troy punches Chase in the arm, but it’s sloppy and barely grazes his skin.
I glance at Chase, my mind racing. Why does everyone keep calling him that? Chase’s brow furrows and he scowls at Troy who struggles to maintain a vertical position. Chase meets my eyes and he mouths, “it’s nothing” and shrugs.
“Fucking Hugh! It’s not nothing! It’s fan-fucking-nominal. Oops!” Troy shouts, his brow raised high. He scoots so he’s to my left and Chase to my right. The stench of whiskey fills my face as he stands too close. “Shhh . . . Private firefighter business. I shouldn’t share secrets. Hugh’s gonna beat my ass later.”
“Troy. You’re fucking wasted. Leave my girl alone,” Chase teases, but his intent is clear.
Troy raises his arms and backs out of the kitchen. “Got it, boss. Later, Callie.” He turns and stumbles over to the couch. Chase downs the rest of his beer and retrieves another.
“What was that about?” I ask. Chase merely nods toward the living room.
“Nothing. Ignore him. He’s a fucking joke. Fights are on. Let’s go watch.” He links our hands together and pulls me toward the TV. We find a space behind the couch and Chase stands behind me. He holds one hand on my hip and rests his chin on my shoulder. Soft kisses skim my neck and ear every few minutes and his fingers circle at the skin just under the waistband of my shorts, sending goosebumps over my skin.
In this crowded room it feels as if we’re the only two people here. I watch the screen on the television as two grown men attempt to beat the shit out of each other. It should be repulsing, but Chase’s breath on my neck between kisses reminds me of the way he works his lips down my legs to my wet and ready center. His calloused touch at my waist makes me ache for his hands all over my body. I bite my lip and lock my gaze as the fighter in the red shorts punches the one in blue. Blood covers one’s gloves and the other’s face. Our crowd cheers, gasps, and shouts, but all I can do is dig my teeth into my lip so I don’t moan aloud. I’m all worked up. I want Chase. Suddenly, I couldn’t care less about being at this party. The referee on-screen stops the match and our crowd of spectators thins as most people head outside. The TV goes back to mute and music cranks through the speakers.
“Brother, come on. I need you on my team.” Our bubble is broken as a man comes up and punches Chase in the shoulder. I step to the side and study their interaction.
“Fuck, man. Don’t hit me.” Chase scowls and rubs his arm.
“Make me!” The man sticks his tongue out. Wow. Real mature, especially considering he looks to be the oldest guy here.
“Find someone else,” Chase grumbles.
“Don’t be a pussy. Get outside.” He slaps Chase upside the back of his head and my mouth falls open. I can’t believe anyone would do that to Chase. He’s always so in control of the guys at the station. “And when you going to introduce me to your girl?” The guy smiles. His lips lift to one side as his gaze leaves Chase to focus on me.
“Callie,” Chase nods to the man. “This is Cameron.”
“Hi. Nice to m—”
Cameron’s eyes dance with humor as his gaze returns to Chase. “Oh? Just Cameron, is it? I’m not good enough to be family now.”
“I wasn’t finished talking. Don’t be an ass,” Chase growls, and then smiles back at me even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Cameron is my brother.”
“Oh! Nice to meet you, Cameron,” I say, and he nods.
“Five minutes. Your ass better be outside.” Cameron points at Chase and then deserts us to recruit someone else.
“So, you have a brother?” I turn to face Chase. It’s surprising because he’s never mentioned it before and we talk a lot. Cameron looks so different, he must be a good ten years older than Chase, with light hair cut into a buzz that shows his retreating hairline. He’s also at least four inches shorter, with a stockier build.
“Yeah.” His gaze is trained over my shoulder. “Cam is the oldest. He’s a Captain, too. Different station. Shit, that dumbass mother fucker . . .”
Chase darts away, leaving me stunned and more than a little confused. I watch as he drags Troy by the arm, out the front door, and away from where Alicia and Jill stand talking to three other guys. Alicia glances up and gives me an exaggerated thumbs up, her smile wide and relaxed. Jill’s eyes dance as she laughs at something one of the guys says. I’m glad they’re having fun but where is Chase taking Troy? And why did he rush off? I finish my lukewarm beer and head over to the fridge to grab a cold one.
Two of the beauty queens stand next to the fridge, giggling together. One has false nails as long as talons, Tigress, and the other’s eye makeup is so heavy I nickname her Knock Out. Knock Out is pretty, gorgeous really, but her dark eyelids remind me of the swollen bruises the fighters on screen are sporting tonight.
Tigress and Knock Out stop to look down their noses as I pass by. I hate to judge by appearances, but I know without one conversation I won’t like these two. I peg them for being catty. Privileged. Materialistic. I open the fridge and try to ignore their conversation but I hear one mutter “bitch” when I retrieve a bottle.
“Did you just call me a bitch?” I say. I’m met with two blank stares.
“I’m sorry? Who are you, sweetie?” Knock Out’s voice is full of sugar and venom. Damn it. Where are my girls when I need them?
“Callie. I’m with Chase—”
“We know exactly who you are.” Tigress blinks twice before meeting Knock Out’s gaze. “Let’s go before Tiff gets here.” They both leave, brushing my shoulders as they walk past like I’m not standing here. What the fuck—? Alicia’s lyrical giggle pulls my gaze out of the kitchen to where she’s barely standing upright despite her one arm draped over an attractive looking guy. The guy seems less intoxicated, what with his attentive gaze focused down her top.
Jill emerges from the hallway. Her eyes dart around to locate Alicia and then me. She bugs them out at me and points to our shitfaced friend. I nod and meet her at the scene of the drunken spectacle.
“Alicia, let’s get you some water,” Jill suggests, calm and practical.
“Water! The only water I’ll be having tonight is this tall drink,” Alicia slurs to the guy she’s using as a handrail. “Dan! Dan. Danny. Danny my man. You have to show the girls your six pack.”
Danny Boy smirks, pulls his shirt up and flexes, revealing well defined abdominals.
“Cool party trick,” Jill deadpans, causing me to smirk.
Alicia giggles. “Danny, can I call you Rick? You look like a Rick.”
“Baby, you ca
n call me anything you like,” he says as if we weren’t here, his gaze back on Alicia’s rack. Jill catches my eyes and rolls hers.
“Tricky Ricky. That’s what I’mma call you. Tricky Ricky with the less than average dicky.” This apparently is the only thing Alicia’s said all night to warrant direct eye contact from Rick.
Or was it Dan? He pulls back from my friend and she stumbles before Jill and I each take a side to steady her. “I do not have an average dick! Take it back!” Oh, God! What, are we in middle school? I stifle a giggle.
At that exact moment the music pulsing through the speakers turns to one of our favorite songs by The Pussycat Dolls.
Alicia screams with glee and on cue she, Jill, and I dance and sing along. I know we look stupid, but I have to join in. It’s part of the girlfriend code. Some songs are just like that. We scream the lyrics at the top of our lungs. It’s obnoxious, sure, but nobody remaining at the party seems to mind. In fact, a few of the guys gather and shout words of encouragement. Well, as encouraging as twentysomething drunk men can be.
I’m having fun and when the song ends we walk outside, arm in arm to learn where Chase disappeared to. It’s complex work leading a hammered Alicia down the stairs, but Jill and I successfully maneuver her to flat land and follow the boisterous voices to the covered parking behind the apartment.
The boys have assembled a long folding table and divided into teams for flip cup. Chase stands at the end of the table across from his gloating brother. A few other people mill around observing the drinking game. I don’t know if it’s my imagination but Chase’s team seems to wobble as they stand.
The cups are consumed and flipped down the line, arriving at both Chase and Cameron within seconds of each other. Cameron flips his cup on the first try whereas Chase doesn’t. Cameron laughs as his team cheers and high fives.
“Again!” Chase shouts and that’s when I catch his gaze. The chocolate that’s always a little melted appears burnt. He blinks several times before he smiles and waves me over. “I’m subbing my losers out,” Chase says in a voice that’s gone all slurry.
“You’re subbing for girls?” Cameron scoffs. He appraises me, Alicia, and Jill as we walk over to the table. “No offense, but I think you just traded one losing team for another, little brother.”
“Fuck you, man,” Chase says to Cameron. He dismisses Troy, Lopez, and some guy I’ve never met, and we take our places. Tigress and Knock Out murmur and giggle from behind Cameron.
Underdogs. That’s what everyone assumes we are, but I already told Chase in one of our late night conversations about the longstanding legacy of flip cup championship I share with my girls, so really, he knows he’s holding a secret weapon. I attempt to telepathically communicate to Alicia and Jill how important it is we school the other team as our cups are filled with cheap beer. We order ourselves with strategy; lush face Alicia at the start, Jill second, and me next to the closer, Chase.
“You girls ready?” Cameron asks but his eyes don’t leave his brother’s. Chase just glares back. “One, two, three, flip!”
Alicia chugs her beer like the pro she is and only takes two tries before landing her cup. The first guy takes his time drinking and lands his cup on the first flip in a showboating manner, placing our teams neck and neck. Jill’s a pro and doesn’t disappoint, earning us a precious seconds’ lead. I gulp the beer that tastes like college and bad decisions but power through in record time. I land my cup with a loud belch, earning a chorus of cheers from the crowd.
Cameron yells at his teammate, shouting to hurry the fuck up, and is obviously pissed when the guy doesn’t land his cup. Chase finishes his cup and flips once. The red Solo bounces to a sideways roll. He attempts again. Cameron curses, but it’s finally his turn to drink up.
“Come on, Chase! You’ve got this!” I cheer as he misses a second flip. He sets up the third just as Cameron finishes his cup. Chase knocks his cup onto the table and it lands a fraction of a second before Cameron’s does the same. The entire crowd, now at least twenty people, cheers in a mix of enthusiasm, disappointment, shock, and unfiltered joy. Alicia and Jill grip my arms and we bounce the best we can to celebrate the fact we haven’t lost our college skills.
Alicia’s eyes widen and she drops her hands, turns, and runs to the nearby bushes to empty the contents of her stomach on the unsuspecting shrubbery.
“Fuck you, Cam! Station Ten just kicked your ass!” Chase shouts, pointing at his brother with a cocky, manic grin. The laughter and smack talk are deafening. Everyone from Ten starts chanting “Hugh, Hugh, Hugh . . .”
Chase picks me up and spins us both around. I can’t help but laugh at his joy and the fact I’ve brought this man so much happiness. “You’re the best, Callie,” he whispers in my ear before he sets me down and then kisses me passionately, right there in front of everyone. Cat calls and wolf whistles replace the chanting but I don’t care. They can stare and make fun all they want. This man is mine, and the way his lips move with mine sets my entire body on fire.
“Station Ten kicked your asses, Twenty-two. I guess we know who the better brother is.” Troy says with a drunken slur as Chase and I finally break apart.
“Only because Chase’s bitch did it for him,” a woman’s voice snarks back. I snap out of my lusty state to lock eyes with the Wicked Witch of the Pancakes. Fuck. When did she get here?
Chase lunges out of my reach and toward the woman, but two of his buddies have quick reflexes and hold him back.
“Easy, Tiff,” Cameron warns the woman. He levels her with a glare as he steps between her and Chase.
“Take it back,” Chase grinds out, still struggling against his friends.
The snotty, beautiful women from earlier flank Pancake Bitch’s side. “Come on Tiff, let’s go,” Knock Out says. “You’re better than this trash.” Tigress sends me a pointed glare.
“Fine. Let’s go. This party sucks anyway,” Tiff says to no one in particular. “Have fun with your party, Hugh.” This time she locks eyes with my boyfriend. I don’t know what comes over me but I go for her, claws out and anger blazing, but I stumble when Jill holds me in place. Chase breaks out of his friends’ hold and dives again. Cameron turns in time to hold Chase back.
“Go home, Tiff. Get her out of here,” Cameron yells at the girls. “Come on brother, let’s get your drunk ass home.” He braces one hand on Chase’s shoulder.
Chase’s angry posture deflates as he meets his brother’s eyes and it’s only then he turns away from the retreating women. The moment Chase’s stare meets mine he drops his gaze.
“Everyone back inside!” Cameron shouts and everyone stumbles back toward the apartment.
“Do you want to go or stay?” Jill loosens her hold on my arms to grip my hand and squeeze.
“What did I miss?” Alicia staggers over, bright eyed and surprisingly lucid.
“That was Pancake Bitch, right?” Jill asks and I just nod.
“What happened? She his ex or something?” Alicia repeats.
“Fuck if I know.” Jill glances at me from the corner of her eye. “Maybe we should go.”
Maybe we should leave. I glance at the pathway that leads back to the apartment. Back to Chase. Unless he already left with his brother. I want to make sure he’s okay. I want to know who Tiff is to him. He’s my boyfriend, but our relationship is so new that I don’t know my place here.
“I guess we should go home,” I say.
But Alicia shakes her head. “Hell, no! No. There is no way we leave this place, slinking away with our tails between our legs,” she declares valiantly, and weaves her arm through mine and then Jill’s. She marches us back toward the apartment and up the set of stairs.
“We don’t cower in the face of danger, or more likely, jealous ex-girlfriends. We are brave. We are fierce. We make our mark. If we were dogs we’d piss all over this place,” she announces as we step inside.
All eyes meet ours when we enter the room. Less than a dozen guys remain and thei
r conversation hushes as Chase glances up from an empty shot glass while Cameron sits at his left ready with a bottle of amber liquor. My heart stops—it waits for him and I can’t breathe—until Chase’s lips pull, slow and steady into a brilliant smile. All my worries fade as my pulse picks up, rapid fire, and my own smile hurts my face.
“Callie.” He grins and then motions for me to come to him.
“It’s the flip cup champs!” Troy shouts and everyone cheers. Soon we’re enveloped in the embraces of half drunken men, privy to stories of calls gone wrong, and welcomed into the fold as if we were one of the guys. Apparently, flip cup play perfected in college truly is a valuable life skill. Jill joins in the banter, arguing and giving as good as the boys—entertainment for all. Alicia flirts the night away, never landing on one man tonight, but sharing the wealth and inflating egos in her wake. I sit on Chase’s lap through most of the party, sharing laughs and shots with my best friends and Chase’s best friends. He steals kisses between drinks and I let him.
I should ask him about the woman. I want to know about her, but no one else brings it up, and we’re having such a great time it would be a shame to ruin it. I push the skirmish of earlier to the back corner of my mind. The lazy smile of my boyfriend and the alcohol we drink does wonders for my temporary memory loss.
I fucking hate parties.
Why? Why did I drink so much last night? I dry heave into my porcelain throne. Nothing but stomach acid remains. Puking your guts out for hours will do that to a person.
Why? Why have I not learned from my past sins? Now I remember why we honed our flip cups skills back in college. It was to avoid episodes like this. I should have stopped drinking after the game. Watching Alicia empty her stomach—that alone should have been warning enough, but no . . . I had to show the big bad fire boys that I could hang like a champ. And I hung. I hung until two o’clock in the morning. But that last shot was a mistake. As soon as it went down I knew it wasn’t staying for long.