Too Hard: Chapter 8

“I DON’T WANT TO PLAY,” I tell Brandon when he sets the bowl in my lap for the third time, pleading. “Take it away.”

“Oh, come on, loosen up. Everyone’s playing, babe.”

“Everyone but me.” I squeeze my wine glass, tipping back the last of it.

“What’s wrong, Blair?” Mikaela asks, arms folded, eyes drilling into mine. “You’re too good for a bit of fun? Better than all of us? Don’t be such a buzzkill. Grab a watch, and we’ll go dancing when you’re done.”

Peer pressure at its finest.

I shouldn’t give in, but neither Kelly-Ann, Mikaela, nor a single other girl said a word to me since I arrived. That’s how influential the triplets are. Their mere presence reverts me to the public enemy chair. Besides Brandon, Justin, and maybe Finn, no one will risk speaking to me. They’re too worried they’d get on the wrong side of the Hayes brothers.

It’s scary how much power a surname holds. How much respect it evokes.

“Deal or no deal?” Kelly-Ann clips expectantly, arms akimbo, brown irises burning into my blue ones.

It’s stupid, but I consider playing. Life is so fucking lonely without friends. I still have a year in college… I don’t want to spend it alone. They’re throwing me a bone, readmitting me to their group if I play like everyone else. If only for one night.

This past year was torture, even though Brandon kept me company. Now he’s not just graduating, he’s leaving Newport to travel, and I’ll be lonelier than ever.

“Forget it,” Mikaela huffs. “She won’t do it.”

She starts backing away, and the girls follow, leaving me at a table full of guys who only tolerate me because of Brandon.

My guts threaten mutiny.

My throat constricts.

Alone reverberates inside my head, summoning the bitter guilt that’s plagued me for months. I only got a small taste of loneliness, but it was enough to break me…

Mia spent her whole life without friends until the triplets found her. All because of me and… Jake.

Loneliness is the least I deserve, but I can’t stand it.

Sucking in a harsh breath when Mikaela shoves the bowl into Finn’s chest, I cave. “Give it here.” The words are out. Too late to reconsider despite the heavy weight settling in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll play.”

A chorus of ohs and ahs fills the air as the girls turn around, applying their brakes when Finn holds the bowl out with a knowing grin.

“Eyes closed,” he reminds.

Pinching my lips together, I do as instructed and dip my hand into the bowl, swirling the watches until my fingers brush a leather strap with three rows of tiny holes along the whole length.

I close my fingers, pull it out, then open my palm. It’s a nice watch. Looks brand new. No scratches on the face, the strap stiff and smooth.

“Fuck,” Brandon snaps beside me.

I turn, but instead of looking at Brandon, my eyes move further, higher, and find Cody in the doorway, glaring at the watch I’m holding, his jaw ticking dangerously.

Oh no… no, no, no. My heart pounds in my chest. A cold slither travels down my spine, and blood whooshes in my ears.

This is not happening…

It’s bad enough I caved under pressure. What the hell was I thinking? No matter how fine I tell myself I am, I don’t have the balls to let someone feel me up in the closet.

But I didn’t think about the reality of participating. I focused solely on winning my friends back.

“Fuck indeed,” Colt agrees, a humorless chuckle falling from his lips. He sits in a wing chair, his hair messy after seven minutes in the closet with Anastasia.

“Whose watch is it?” someone shouts from the crowd.

“Cody’s,” Finn supplies. Uncertainty paints his face, but since no one is exempt, he plucks the courage to remind Cody of the rules. “Big boy pants, man. No swapping, no whining. Hate-fucks are awesome.”

The image of Cody’s big hands holding my hips as he thrusts into me from behind, pinning me against the wall, is the last thing I need, but my mind floods with more, fashioning a short, looped erotic clip.

His calloused fingers cuffing my wrists.

His warm breath in my ear.

That mountain of a body pressing against me. The sound it would make, slapping into mine after pulling back… Looks like there is someone I’d allow to grope me in the closet.

Slowly, Cody pushes away from the doorframe, his face unreadable. “Conor,” he says, not gracing him with a look as he hands Colt a beer.

Conor jumps to his feet, disappearing out of view, his steps measured like a man on a mission. Apparently, he understood exactly what Cody wants. The triplets have this nonverbal way of communicating I’ve always found fascinating.

I know why Cody hates me. I do. I hate myself more, but the disdain in his eyes as they lock with mine, cuts me deeper than I care to admit.

Regardless of the consequences, he won’t lock himself in the closet with me. He’d rather fuck the ugliest girl on the planet than poke me with a six foot pole, and that… it hurts.

My high school crush has been regaining momentum. It’s been growing faster since he allowed me inside his condo last week. He even visibly relaxed after half an hour of conversation.

I took it as a victory, a huge step away from the hatred. Now it feels like I took ten steps back.

The room is so quiet… no one speaks, and if not for the music pumping outside, you’d hear a pin drop as everyone’s eyes flicker between Cody and me.

“Not happening,” he seethes, holding his hand out, captivating me with a venomous stare. “My watch.”

I pass it over, careful not to brush his palm with my fingers, or I’m sure I’ll burst into flames. Humiliation warms my cheeks, spreading lower.

Inhaling a calming breath, I recenter myself, activating defensive mode, as I tilt my chin up. “Not even if you were the last man on earth.”

Loud boos fill the room, broken up by excited howling.

“Looks like you two are getting shitfaced tonight,” Justin hollers as Conor slams a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses on the table. “You don’t leave until this is empty.”

My palms grow damp. I’m not a big drinker. I enjoy wine, but nothing stronger, and the bottle of Patrón between us is the biggest I’ve ever seen.

“How much is in there?” I whisper to Brandon, my stomach churning. Bile leaps in my throat even though I haven’t had a single shot yet.

I should’ve eaten something before coming over.

“Too much for you to handle half,” he says, running a hand down my back. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you in bed when you pass out. You’re staying with me tonight.”

That’s not much consolation. I never got black-out drunk and don’t want to start now.

“Justin, make sure they’re drinking, and…” Finn glances around the room, extending the bowl of watches toward the girls. “Who’s next?”

A blonde I don’t recognize steps up, but I don’t pay attention to her watch-picking. My eyes are on Justin, who pours us the first shots.

“Lemons?” I ask, straightening my spine. “Salt?”

“Coming up,” Kelly-Ann chirps, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Girl, you’re getting trashed! This’ll be fun!”

I very much doubt that, but Mikaela sitting beside me makes me feel better, until she glances at Cody, every seductive trick she knows in full use.

She’s into him.

Everyone’s into him, Colt, and Conor. Since the latter now has a girlfriend, most girls infatuated with him turned their attention to Colt and Cody. They could snap their fingers and a harem of willing girls would materialize at their feet.

“Had I known we’d be playing this game, I would’ve memorized your watch, babe.”

Conor lets out a short laugh. “Your brother would cut off his dick if it got anywhere near you, Mikaela.”

“I think he’d rather it was Cody’s dick than say… Brandon or Justin’s.”

“Wouldn’t touch you if you begged,” Brandon fires back. “You’re too catty for me, sweetheart.”

“Take Rose home with you,” Cody tells Colt, ignoring the ongoing exchange. “I told her she could stay with me tonight.”

“She’s staying with us,” Vivienne says, sitting in Conor’s lap, his fingers doodling over her thigh.

That’s another thing all Hayes have in common apart from good looks—their love language. They’re incredibly clingy with their girls, always touching, kissing, hugging…

“Better she doesn’t hear you fucking in the next room,” Colt chuckles, messing up Vivienne’s hair before Conor immediately corrects it. “I’ll take Rose, but not before you’re done here, Cody. I have a feeling you’ll need to be carried out.”

“And whose fucking fault is that?” Cody snaps, grabbing a lemon slice from Kelly-Ann before she’s even set the plate on the table. “Let’s get this shitshow on the road.”

With that, he tips his head back, swallowing the tequila, and I follow his lead. I don’t know what would happen if we refused to drink. We won’t, so there’s little point in wondering. Cody will drink because his word is sacred, and I because bailing would give my friends more ammunition.

Justin pours another round, then another, but the bottle remains stubbornly full.

We’ve barely put a dent in, and I’m already tipsy. The shot glasses are big, Justin pours to the brim, and the tempo doesn’t help. It’s only been fifteen minutes.

Instead of hitting the mellow, blissful tipsy, I hit the other kind: tense, wary, scary, but the girls stay close. Their audible support is the most I’ve had from them in months, so I cling to them, downing shot after shot.

If a bottle of Patrón is what it takes to truly earn my friends back, then a bottle of Patrón it is.

Once it’s Justin’s turn to fuck someone in the closet, Cody takes over as our bartender.

My eyes snap to him when after filling his shot to the brim, he pours me half as much. Without using any words, he tells me to keep my mouth shut. At least, I think that’s what his stern look means.

I give him a small thankful nod, a warm feeling spreading through my veins.

He’s being kind.

Toward me.

It might not be much, but knowing he’s willingly cheating, lowering my doses, is another huge step forward. While no one pays us attention, I mouth thank you, slapping the tequila at the back of my throat.

We keep going. Shot after shot at a steady pace. Brandon makes me wash down the alcohol with water and stuffs me with absorbent snacks, but by the tenth shot, I’m past my limit.

I feel sick. Dizzy. The room is spinning, and I see double when my eyes land on Cody. He’s not as drunk even though he drank almost twice as much. No wonder. He’s twice my size at least, that huge tank-like body of his soaking up the alcohol much better than mine.

I used to think Nico was the broadest, largest Hayes and, while Nico is taller, Cody’s gym routine ensures his biceps put Nico’s to shame. They’re huge. Just like his boots…

A warm flush heats my cheeks, followed by a tiny giggle tearing from my chest. If I have more tequila, I’ll pass out, puke, or land in ER with alcohol poisoning.

Or… I’ll make a pass at Cody.

My tiny giggle has his eyes snapping to my mouth, and that warm flush spreads through me, giving me a fever.

“Come on, girl!” Kelly-Ann squeezes my shoulders, snapping me out of my lustful fog. “You can do it! You’re halfway through. Just a bit more.”

The room kaleidoscopes as she shakes me from left to right. “I don’t think—”

“No way,” she clips, morphing from friendly to judgmental. “You had a choice. Fuck Cody or drink tequila. You chose tequila, so suck it up.”

“He chose,” I hiccup. “I didn’t choose anything.”

Cody’s gaze remains burning into my eyes once Kelly-Ann stops rocking me, and the blurriness clears. There’s something in his stare that electrifies my entire body. The abyss of his black pupils melts me from the inside out. I’m not far off crawling to him under the table.

At this point, I’d let Cody hate-fuck me whichever way he pleased. Closet, bed, table, I don’t care, as long as it means no more drinking. I’m about to tell him, but when I blink, he’s gone. He probably went out for a smoke.

My head pounds, my stomach so full of Patrón I feel it sloshing back up to my throat, the vile taste coating my tongue.

I squint, searching for Finn and the bowl of watches. He’s in the corner, chatting with Justin.

“Can I pick again?” I ask Brandon, as he comes back from his seven minutes. “I can’t drink anymore. I’ll pass out.”

“You want to play? You’re drunk, babe. You’re not thinking straight.”

“I won’t be thinking at all if I keep drinking,” I say, doing my utmost not to slur. “Please, let me play. I promise I’m fine. Not that drunk.”

“Yeah, she’s a-okay, babe,” Mikaela purrs in Brandon’s ear. “I’ve seen her drunk, and this isn’t it. Let her play. She’ll be better off getting an orgasm than alcohol poisoning.”

Kelly-Ann nods in agreement, but Brandon doesn’t look entirely convinced. It takes a few more lines of encouragement from the girls for him to check with me again, his gaze unfocused. I think he’s as drunk as I am.

That’s good. Works in my favor.

“You’re sure?” He trades a glance with Justin when I nod, and one short, nonverbal conversation later, Finn approaches, holding the bowl out.

I grab the first watch and haul myself up as Alan Turner steps out of the crowd. I think he’s grinning, but the black spots dancing before my eyes make it hard to tell.

The alcohol rushes straight to my head, every step making me feel twice as drunk.

A warm hand clasps my upper arm, the hold firm but gentle as Alan leads me to the closet. My feet—no longer in heels—drag across the floor. I step in something wet, then something sharp, the pain only registering for a fleeting second before everything goes dark.