Page 98 of The Golden Boys
I hold in a laugh, because I know I shouldn’t find humor in Parker’s frustration, and I guess I’ve gotten used to hiding what a sick fuck I am. But when I peer over at Southside again, she doesn’t even bother trying to pretend. She’s smiling big, maybe because she knows getting caught with me has just destroyed Parker on the inside.
Southside’s a little crazy, and I might be a little obsessed with that side of her.
The distance between us has grown as we draw closer to the others. I slow down and she speeds up, until it isn’t even obvious we came from the same place. Onlyweknow the truth.
I unashamedly scan every face for hers when she disappears among the others, but I find her quickly. She’s laughing and chatting it up with Rodriguez and a small group near the beer pong table.
Watching her, I brush my thumb over my bottom lip and I’m aware of the missed opportunity. Aware I’m getting deeper in this by the second.
Pull back, Golden. You know who she really is.
“Where’d you disappear to?” Sterling asks, slamming his hand against my back.
“Probably putting Parker’s mouth to good use,” Dane adds. “Anything to shut her up for a few minutes.”
Meanwhile, barely listening to my brothers’ speak, my eyes are glued to Southside. She, on the other hand, is doing everything in her power to avoid looking this way.
“Nah, not this time,” I answer. “Found something … a little more interesting to keep me busy.”
“She got a name?”
Dane laughs at Sterling’s question before asking one of his own. “Better yet, do yourememberher name?”
All I give them is a vague smile.
The music quiets and Marcus climbs up on a table, already drunk off his ass, but that’s not unusual when he parties. He’s got a crooked crown resting on his fro and he pushes his kingly robe behind him in dramatic fashion.
“Here ye, here ye,” he says into his scepter, using it like a microphone. Everyone laughs. “It is a time-honored tradition that all guests drink from the Chalice of Doom every Halloween. Should someone fail to complete the tradition, the curse of our most notable Cypress Pointe founding father—Sir Vladimir Bledsoe—will be upon thee,” he adds. “And nobody wants that because, as history tells us, the old man’s insides leaked out through his arse, on a dreadful night from thenceforth known as the darkest, shittiest night in Cypress Pointe.”
Cheers erupt as he spouts this made up BS, and all I can do is laugh. Details of his story change a little every year. But what’s most important is that, aside from Bledsoe’s name, nothing else is true.
“Bar wench, hand forth my chalice,” he barks out, and Parker reluctantly approaches the center with said chalice in hand.
He accepts it and leans in when Parker pulls him close, whispering something so quickly I don’t know if anyone else catches it. She walks away and Marcus smiles, staring at the skimpy piece of fabric Parker is trying to pass off as a costume.
“Shall we begin?” Marcus announces, prompting Sterling to shove Dane and I closer. You know, to avoid the whole ‘mouthherpes’situation.
We make our way to the front quickly. Helps a little that people know not to try us and back off when they see we’re coming through.
“This year, I’d like to bring a little order to our tradition,” Marcus announces. “We have a few new faces here, and being the thoughtful host that I am, what do you say we invitethemto partake first?”
My steps halt and I scan the crowd again. There Southside is, trying to blend into the crowd in that short, stark-white dress and long black wig. She’s the hottest thing out here, which means no one’s going to mistake her for one of our regulars.
“No, really. It’s okay,” she insists when Marcus goes into the crowd to get her himself.
Rodriguez, half drunk and tripping over her own feet, is egging the whole thing on. Southside politely declines several more times before the chanting starts.
Now, she’s not protesting so much, and as she looks around, I see her getting ready to cave.
Peer pressure’s a bitchanyday of the week, but it’s inescapable when you’ve got a couple hundred kids all calling you out at once.
Everyone goes silent when Marcus raises his hand to let Southside speak. She looks like a deer caught in headlights. Turning to Rodriguez, she gets zero support.
“…Fine, I guess,” she concedes.
More cheering and howling. Then, bottoms up.
Her face scrunches up and she shakes her head wildly, trying to get the taste out of her mouth. Sorry to say it, but it’ll be sometime tomorrow when she’s finally free from it.