Vīgintī septem

The one thing that I hadn't considered when I planned to have the party after the football game on Saturday, is the high school male's desire to be alpha as fuck at any opportunity.

Our locker rooms were completely remodeled the year before last, having top-of-the-line showers put in that somehow manage to have the perfect amount of pressure while still being called "green". Welcome to 2022. Unfortunately, more than a handful of the team decided to forgo getting their sweaty asses in said showers after the game and showed up at my house in their dirty jerseys. Why? Why would you do that?

"They won huge tonight and they want the ladies to know they're on the team," Veronica said with her nose in the air like she was too good for it despite the fact that I've seen her eye more than a few of the men as they make their way through my crowded house. I'm sure there's some evolutional shit at work, here. The man wants to smell like and look like a strong alpha dog. The ladies respond in kind without understanding that they are genetically predisposed to find the display attractive. Man, I need a fucking beer if that's where my brain is going instead of partying. It's going to be a long night if I can't get my mind in the right space.

"I need a fucking drink," I say, turning and going up the stairs to find my own personal stash in my bedroom. Poe, Veronica, and I have our own shot glasses and booze up here. It's not that we're stingy, it's just that we don't want to share. Sue me.

Passing a couple pressed into the wall beside the bathroom door with their lips fused together, I find my way to my bedroom and make a mental note that it's time to lock the door so horny teenagers don't try fucking in my bed. It wouldn't be the first time.

I turn the nob and get one step into my room when I find Oakley sitting on my bed, his legs splayed wide and his elbows resting on his knees. He looks up when I enter, a flash of surprise in his eyes. It is my room, I don't know why he thinks he can be surprised.

"Hey… I didn't even know you were here," I mumble tossing a thumb in the general direction of where my front door would be.

"Yeah, I needed a second."

"Do you want a shot?" I ask, walking over to my dresser where my three shot glasses are stacked, pouring a shot of whipped cream vodka into my Harvard shot glass with the Veritas seal on it for myself, before filling and handing one to Oakley that has an engraved nickel insignia of a witch on it, emblazoned with the name of our city across the curve of the glass. The Harvard shot glass I sniped from Law's room, but the witch one I bought at a gas station the first night I ever drank. It felt appropriate, drinking from something that's as Salem as could possibly be.

Oakley takes the shot from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine, eliciting a familiar spark at their meeting. I suck my bottom lip between my lips and focus on picking up my own shot glass, before putting it in the air in salutation, waiting for him to do the same.

"To, winning football games, and sisters being out of town," I say, toasting my glass against Oakleys, producing a satisfying clink. Oakley lets out a low chuckle before tossing his back along with me. The alcohol sluices down my throat, bringing with it a familiar burn– one I have to physically shake out to keep from gagging.

"So," I say, clinking my shot glass back against the white particleboard dresser, "why are you hiding in my room, Oak? You didn't even come to find me when you got here."

Oakley takes a deep breath before running his hands roughly through his hair, which somehow only makes it more perfect than it was before. "I don't know where to start," he says, rounding his eyes in exasperation.

My throat begins to tighten slightly as I take in his tense concerned posture. Is he about to stab me again? Or worse? Tell me that the woman in the field today was his wife? And why is that suddenly a bigger concern to me than the possibility of his stabbing me? Fuck, I'm going to need another shot.

"So, you know who I am. You know who my brother is," he starts and I acknowledge him with a stiff nod. "I've told you a little bit about The Guild and how we are part of a larger organization."

I give him another nod, not liking the direction this conversation is heading. "What does any of that have to do with why you're up here looking like your goldfish just died?"

He rubs his hand across his face again before stuttering over how he wants to begin his next sentence. "The Guild wants to set up a permanent stronghold here, and they're going to unless I can find a way to convince them that witches aren't a problem in Salem."

I feel my eye twitch as I shift my weight on my feet uncomfortably. Moving toward my bed, I flop onto the edge of the mattress, taking up a position that mirrors the one that Oakley was wearing when I walked into the room. "I guess I figured something like that might happen, so I don't know why I feel so surprised, but I do."

Oakley rolls his lips between his teeth apprehensively before crossing the room to take a seat beside me. "The girl that you saw me talking to today was sent here with her brother to assist. They're both very skilled and very loyal to The Guild They're not going to overlook you."

I rub my suddenly moist palms against the black-knit fishnet stalkings I have stretched across my thigh. "Well, I guess I'm glad she's not your ex or something," the words leave me with an awkward laugh, but the look on Oakley's face tells me that I hit the nail on the head.

"She's your ex?"

He nods, his nose crinkling as though telling me this is bringing him physical pain. "Yes. But she broke my heart, and although I'll always love her like family, I don't feel that way for her anymore. She's also, possibly, a sociopath so I think that would have put a wedge into the relationship eventually anyway."

The sadness in his voice makes me waver for a moment. If I've learned anything from Brock it's that you can't always trust what someone says when they're talking about how they feel about an ex. Sometimes break-ups don't take so well for the wronged party. If she were to decide that she wanted to get back together with him, what's to stop him from running to her side?

"I'm sorry," I whisper, watching as Oakley dips his head in acknowledgment.

"I'm not getting back together with her, Sunday, that's not what the mood is about. I'm not worried about her getting between us because she's my ex. I'm worried about her getting between us because she's going to kill you."

With an exasperated grunt, I throw myself back on my bed. "What the fuck is it with people trying to kill me?"

Oakley leans over me, letting his amber gaze melt into mine. "Sunday, I think you're important. Like, obviously you're important to me, but I think there's something more going on that we don't understand yet."

My eyelids shutter at his statement. "I'm– I'm important to you?"

His eyebrows lift as a small smile spreads across his face. "That's what you took from this whole conversation?"

I bite my lip in a futile effort of stemming my own smile in its tracks, but it has a mind of its own. "You're important to me too."

Oakley dips down, the crucifix he wears around his neck brushing against my cheek before his lips press against mine-- softly at first --, and then more demanding as he parts his lips and lets his tongue invade my mouth.

His hand is sneaking across my midsection, and mine is wrapping around the back of his neck like ivy when I hear my door open. We break apart as though we were being caught doing something illicit to find Veronica and Poe giving us shit-eating grins.

"Hello, lovebirds. Want to do some shots?" Veronica says, her eyebrows dancing and her cheeks warm and flush from the alcohol she's already consumed. She's a natural redhead even under the perfect highlights.

I clear my throat, tugging my shirt back down slightly. "Yep. That's what we were here for, right Oakley?"

"Right," he bursts out faster than strictly necessary. At least I'm not the most awkward one in the room.

Poe pours us all shots, which I take gratefully before refilling my glass and handing it to Oakley since there were only three glasses. "I have good news and bad news," Poe says, setting her shot glass down with menace after blowing out a breath, casting off the nagging fumes of the vodka that must still linger on her tongue.

"Good news first," I say, although the three of us have an ongoing agreement that it's always good news first.

She smiles. "Good news is that Rick's brother just showed up with a whole liquor store of booze."

I toss my head from side to side. That's not the worst thing in the world. At least everyone will stop fighting over the keg. "Bad news?" I ask.

Poe and Veronica share a look. "The bad news is that he brought about twenty of his college buddies with him. And Brock."

What's a girl gotta do to catch a break around here?