The Last First Game

by Gina Azzi

  Well, that sounds like a good idea.

  Me: Sounds good, see you guys there.

  I pull my makeup bag out of my purse and flick the overhead light in Kristen’s car on. I’m glad she’s so giving with her belongings. Most people would be annoyed that their car was MIA, along with their roommate, but Kristen didn’t even ask about it. I dig out my bronzer and blush, trying to conceal the tear tracks that mark my cheeks. My eyelids are still puffy but look considerably better after a few swipes of mascara. Maybe I should focus on my lips since they actually look sexy in a bee-stung sort of way. I line them lightly and add a lip tint and gloss.

  Next, I take a look at my hair, snarled and snagged as it is. Ugh. I run a comb through it and braid the front pieces back, finding several bobby pins scattered at the bottom of my purse. Not fantastic, but not tragic either.

  I pop open Kristen’s trunk and rummage through the random clothes and shoes she keeps in her car in case of an emergency.

  Smart girl. I’ll have to thank her later. And remind Emma that we need to do this starting now until forever. I settle on a short, tight navy dress and a pair of nude pumps. Might as well go all out.

  This bitch is back.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Cade

  When Lila slams the front door closed behind her, my first instinct is to run after her, apologize, and crush her against my chest. Miers’s hand on my shoulder stops me, and I know he’s right. She needs time. She needs space. She needs to be alone for a minute. Still, the way her eyes shone with unshed tears undid me, and I hated myself for putting them there, for causing her to doubt me, to question us. If only she could see that it’s for her own good, that I love her enough to be selfless with her, that I only want what’s best for her. Which, right now, is obviously not me. I wouldn’t even be good for a goldfish in my current state: sick, bitter, weak, depressed. God, I’m like a whiny little bitch.

  I shake my head at Miers as he turns to follow me back up the stairs to my room. I need time, space, a minute to be alone.

  And mourn the girl who ran out my front door with my heart clutched in her hands.

  * * *

  I cave and dial Lila’s number several times, but she doesn’t answer. I know she’s pissed and I don’t really expect her to pick up the phone; still, I can’t help the worry that seizes my chest thinking about her driving away upset, tears blinding her vision. Did she make it home okay? Did she meet up with Kristen and Sam? Are they drowning her sorrows in margaritas and having a bitch fest about the biggest douchebag they know, aka me?

  I debate messaging Kristen. Or asking Miers if he could ask Kristen that all is straight with Lila. But I let her go, I can’t exactly stalk her now.

  Can I?

  When my phone beeps, relief surges through me. It feels like the spike of adrenaline I used to experience before a football game. Man, I haven’t felt that in a long time. I shake my head and stoop to pick up my phone off the floor where I tossed it in a moment of indecision.

  Miers: I’m breaking relationship code and abiding by bro code. Kristen heard from Lila. She’s meeting her at that party on Elm Street. I promised to be DD so no worries, dude, I’ll make she gets home in one piece.

  I let out the worry that has taken up permanent residence in my chest and lean back on my bed. As long as she’s okay.

  Girls’ nights out tend to fix things like broken hearts, right?

  Fuck. What if she hooks up with someone just because she’s pissed at me?

  I didn’t think about that.

  But I know from experience how angry girls react when you tell them something they don’t want to hear. They attempt to make you jealous. They get all sexified and drunk with their girlfriends and go out on a mission to bang a random all in the hopes of making your blood boil.

  Except this time, I would react.

  My blood would boil.

  And I would feel something much different than the usual mild amusement and indifference.

  God, Lila, don’t hook up with a random.

  Me: Miers, are you going to this party with Kristen?

  Miers: Swinging by later on. Figured the girls could do their thing for a bit. Why? You want to come?

  Because I know him so well, I know that he’s being sarcastic, goading me, already knowing that I don’t want any guys posting up on Lila.

  Me: Yeah. I’ll come with you, bro. Let me know when you head out.

  Miers: Yep, I’ll hit you up later on. Getting dinner with K now.

  I toss my phone aside and close my eyes. If I’m going to make it to a party tonight, I need to nap.

  How times have changed. I’ve gone from the life of the party to needing life injections to make it to the party.

  I’m grateful as sleep pulls me under so I can enjoy a reprieve from the disgust and loathing lodged in my chest.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Lila

  The party is popping when I roll up. I feel strange going to a party alone, but remind myself that this is what single girls do, they take life by the balls and throw themselves into the midst of it all. I can do this. I mean, I was single just a few months ago. I know it’s the rejection clinging to my insides, making me question myself.

  But damn, I used to be fearless, badass, a social freaking butterfly.

  I take a deep breath. Fake it ’til you make it. All I need to do is feign confidence until I’m tipsy enough not to care about how I act anyway.

  Twinges of doubt are nothing a little liquid courage can’t fix.

  I just need to get into the party and have a shot.

  Or four.

  The music is loud, pouring out of the open windows and spilling from the porch, mingled with the shouts and laughter of drunken college students. Ah, senior year. I may actually miss this: the smell of stale beer, the wide-eyed glazed-over look of stoners, the infectious giggle of drunken sorority girls.

  I tug the bottom of Kristen’s dress down as I walk up the stairs of the porch. Then I take a deep breath and stop fiddling over the dress. Who am I kidding? I have great legs. Big deal if the dress rides up.

  I’m single!

  I raise my head with faux confidence, scrunch the roots of my hair for some volume, and take a deep breath. Then I walk through the front doors with a plastic smile painted on my face.

  I beeline to the bar, desperate for a drink, for something to focus on, for something to do with my hands. There are four guys hanging around by the makeshift bar. I smile at them nervously and ask, “Anyone want to take a shot with me?”

  Four sets of eyes swivel in my direction, caressing my body lazily, checking out the goods.

  God, I haven’t flirted in ages.

  I cock my head to the side and smile wider.

  One of the guys pours five shots of tequila and pushes one in my direction. “I’d love to, sweetheart.” His voice is raspy.

  “Bottoms up!” I raise my shot. The liquid burns a path down my throat, warming the chill in my chest, thawing the frozen block where my heart used to beat.

  I’m four shots and two drinks in when Kristen walks through the front door, Sam behind her.

  “Hey, bitches!” I yell at them, waving wildly. I’m dancing near the couch and one of the guys sitting there, sipping his beer, wraps his hand around my thigh as I try to make my way to my friends.

  I giggle, swatting his hand playfully. I notice Kristen’s eyes widen, but I ignore her look, throwing myself into Sam’s embrace. I kiss his cheek sloppily. “’Bout time you got here.”

  “Look at you.” He spins me around, tossing an arm over my shoulder. He says something to Kristen over my head, but I don’t make out the words. And I don’t care. Sam’s arms are warm and he smells familiar. I snuggle deeper into his side, burrowing my nose in his shirt to breath him in. Which, I admit, is probably a bit creepy.

  Sam maneuvers me over to the bar, grabbing beers for himself and Kristen. He tries to hand me a bottle of water, but I shrug him off, pulling Kr
isten’s hand to the makeshift dance floor.

  “I love this song!” I begin to sway, grinding my hips to the music. I smile when I hear several appreciative whistles and feel a smack against my ass.

  Kristen rolls her eyes at me and pulls me over to the side. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m great! Dance with me?” I try to tug her back to the dancing.

  “What happened with Cade?”

  A stab pierces my chest at the mention of his name, and I look down as I feel the unpleasant sensation of tears in my throat. “Kristen, please. Not now. Just give me tonight. I need this.” I gesture between us. “Friends, normal, a night out. Without talking or thinking about Cade Wilkins. Please?” My voice has a pleading note to it that I hate, but it’s too late.

  Her eyes soften and she nods. “Okay. Tonight, we party. Good times. Tomorrow, we discuss and rehash. Deal?”

  “Deal!” I grab her hand and pull her back into the swell of pulsing bodies and swaying arms. Losing myself in the music, I dance my ass off, grinding into the muscle that steps up behind me. When he wraps his arms around my waist, Kristen tries to pull me forward, out of his grasp, but I shake her off. The warmth of his hands, the musky scent of his cologne, the tickle of his breath on my shoulder, it’s all wrong. And yet, it feels good, a welcome reminder that I’m still good enough, still hot enough, for someone to want me. I close my eyes to block out Kristen’s face and laugh, enjoying the attention of a stranger.

  Songs play loudly and I’m lost to the party. The music pulses under my skin. The stale taste of cigarettes clouds my mind. My limbs feel disconnected from my body, like a jellyfish. I laugh at my own thoughts. I feel carefree, light, like I’m floating on a marshmallow cloud. The hands that press into my skin as I walk onto the patio for some air are like tiny nods of approval, reminding me that I’m fun to be with, desirable, wanted.

  A tall guy on the patio offers me a cigarette and I sigh, taking one from his pack and accepting his lighter. I inhale deeply. It’s been ages since I’ve smoked. In fact, I’ve never really smoked, but Emma and I tried it once behind the chapel on campus during our freshman year. Marlboro Menthols. They made us sick to our stomachs, but we both felt cool sitting there, our legs crossed at the ankles, rocking black skinny jeans and moccasins. It was an innocent foray into the unknown. We giggled as we chain-smoked the cigarettes, snubbing out the butts in the chapel lawn. We passed a bottle of Bacardi back and forth. When Mia discovered us hours later, her face turned red in anger and she yanked the pack of cigarettes away from us, breaking them all in half, effectively ending our rebellious moment.

  I exhale the smoke, watching it curl and rise upwards. It’s hazy and ethereal and delicate. It’s beautiful. I reach out to touch the smoke but the wisps disappear, fading into the night sky.

  The tall guy laughs. “You okay?” He puts his hand on the small of my back and I nestle into his side.

  I make a sound, a confirmation I guess, but it sounds strange.

  Kristen will be looking for me. I was supposed to wait for her while she got me a bottle of water. Oh well. I’m sure she’ll find me out here.

  “What’s your name?” the tall guy asks. He’s really tall.

  “Lila.”

  “Hey. I’m Tom.” He attempts to shake my hand. A tattoo runs up the inside of his arm, partially hidden by the flannel sleeve that’s cuffed to his mid forearm. It’s a tribal tattoo, black ink. His forearms look strong, stable, sure. Cade’s arms used to look like this. Cade has a tribal tattoo. It wraps around his bicep and makes him look insanely sexy when he reaches behind his neck and pulls off his T-shirt. I smile thinking about Cade as I gently trace Tom’s tattoo, running my fingertips up the inside of his arm. He inhales sharply and I smile, my eyes focused on the intricate pattern of his tattoo. It’s beautiful. Maybe I should get a tattoo?

  “Are you having fun tonight?” Tom asks.

  I nod, not bothering to respond. Of course I’m having fun. Can’t he tell? I’m the life of the freaking party.

  “Want a drink?” He holds out a Solo cup of something. I breathe it in. Rum.

  I take the cup from his hand and tip it back, swallowing three large gulps. “It’s good. Sweet.”

  “So are you.” He takes a step closer.

  I laugh, flattered by his compliment.

  I feel his fingers in my hair, gently placing errant strands behind my ear. His touch is warm and comforting.

  Sweet.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Cade

  When Miers finally knocks on my bedroom door to let me know he’s ready, I’m nearly pacing the room in agitation. Lila hasn’t responded to any of my messages. Not even the one that asked her to let me know that she’s okay, safe, with her friends.

  I got nothing.

  My mind races with the possibilities of what she’s doing at the party. I’ve nearly convinced myself that she hooked up with a random. Anger settles in the pit of my stomach. God dammit, Lila. Did you have to turn out like every other girl I know? You got my attention, sweetheart.

  I can’t place the sinking feeling in my stomach, but it’s as if something is off. I feel it in my bones. I know if I tell Miers he’ll laugh at me, tell me I’m being paranoid. Or just feeling guilty for being a huge douchebag.

  Instead, I’m walking through the carpet, checking my phone incessantly, and running my hands through my hair.

  I’m acting like a freaking girl.

  “You ready?” Miers asks.

  “Yeah.”

  We’re pulling out of the parking lot when Miers phone beeps. “Shit.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Kristen can’t find Lila.”

  “What do you mean she can’t find her?”

  Miers jerks the gearstick into park so he can text with both hands.

  We wait a few moments and the beep alerts us to a new message. I’m leaning over the center console trying to read what Kristen wrote. Maybe Lila went to the bathroom? Or she’s with Sam? Or she was tired and went home without telling anyone? But even as these excuses run through my mind, I know they’re not true.

  Something is off.

  I can feel it.

  “She can’t find her. Kris went to get her a bottle of water and when she returned, Lila was gone. She’s searching the house and asking everyone, but no one seems to know where she wandered off to. Sam is with Kristen.” Miers fixes me with a level stare. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

  I nod, not believing his words for a second. “Let’s go.”

  Miers pushes the gearstick into drive and pulls out of the parking lot. I notice his foot is heavier than usual on the accelerator and my panic spikes.

  Something is wrong.

  Of course, because we are in such a hurry, we hit every single red light and get stuck behind every car driving below the speed limit. My knee jerks up and down nervously, and I can’t stop my fingers from tapping out a rhythm on the side of the door.

  When we arrive at Elm Street, the place is packed. A swarm is making its way out the front door and down the porch stairs. I hear sirens in the distance. Shouts of “5-0” and “cops” ring out. Students are spilling out over the front lawn, pushing and shoving each other as they try and leave the party as fast as they can. The red and blue lights of an ambulance flash brightly in Miers’s rearview mirror as we search for parking. The ambulance is parked in the driveway of the party house.

  Shit. My stomach sinks. Something is really wrong.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Lila

  Tom is dancing with me. His voice rasps in my ear, the stubble on his chin streaking across my shoulder. The sky is pulsing, the stars dancing to the beat of the music. In. Out. In. Out. They blink and wink and flicker. I reach out to touch one.

  * * *

  I stumble on a step, my wrist catching on the stairs as I try to break my fall. Pain blooms suddenly, shooting up my arm. My bracelet gets stuck in the carpet but I’m quickly pulled upright, little strands of carpe
t clinging to the gold bangle.

  * * *

  I feel hot, rivulets of sweat drip down the center of my back. I can feel my bra seeping with wetness under my breasts. Dots of perspiration dance along my hairline. Why is it so hot in here?

  A flash of red flannel and then a sticky hand covers my mouth. “Shh.”

  A tribal tattoo blocks out my vision.

  * * *

  My body feels heavy, my arms won’t lift and my legs won’t move. Black dots and squiggly lines flash before my eyes. I want to touch one, hold on and pull myself up. But I can’t move. Hot hands are moving down my body. I hear something ripping. My wrist pulses. The sky is dark and I can’t find the stars.

  Everything is a black void.

  * * *

  I’m watching myself, a total out-of-body experience. Red flannel moves above me, touching me, tasting the salty sweat from the skin of my neck, licking behind my ear. My dress is moving up my thighs, hitching around my hips. My legs are limp, and I’m missing my left shoe. My hands want to clench and beat against the flannel but they don’t move. My scream dies in my throat. A flash of pain reverberates through my head and the left side of my face burns and then goes numb.

  “Shh.” Again.

  Panic is frozen in my chest. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I can’t breathe.

  * * *

  “Lila?” The voice at my side is gentle. It reminds me of my mother when I was small and sick. A cool hand presses against my forehead. It feels nice. My mother’s touch always felt comforting when I had the flu. Do I have the flu?

  * * *

  Flashes of red and blue beat against the insides of my eyes, but I can’t open them or ask the lights to go away. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

  And I really don’t care either way.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Cade

  Miers and I are crossing the lawn to the party when he spots Sam.

  “Sam!” Miers calls out, waving his hand wildly to catch Sam’s attention.