“That’s the first game,” Lennox continues.
“First?” Kalli asks. “There’s more than one?”
“Of course. It’s Christmas. No way in hell I want to be sober. And you two,” she points a finger in our direction, “have some catching up to do.”
Mick returns then with my beer, and I nod in thanks. I’m starting to realize that he’s a pretty silent dude. Again, the complete opposite of Lennox. He sits down at the other end of the couch, and Kalli is squeezed even tighter against me.
“Game number two involves the Secret Santa presents.”
“I was supposed to bring a present?” I whisper to Kalli.
Lennox must have stellar hearing because she says, “Don’t worry, Wilder. I’ve got you. I forgot to tell you, so I went ahead and got a second one. Unlike regular Secret Santa, every single one of these presents is alcohol. Because that’s how we roll at Orphan Christmas. We’ll pick numbers, and when it’s your turn to pick a gift, you have to try and guess what type alcohol it is. If you’re right, everyone else has to take a shot. If you’re wrong, you have to.”
“Someone is going to get alcohol poisoning,” Kalli says.
“That’s how we roll at Orphan Christmas,” Jack replies sarcastically.
Kalli laughs, and irritation burns in my chest.
Lennox has us all choose numbers from a hat to determine the order in which we pick our presents. Jack is up first, and when he looks in Kalli's direction, I feel an irrational urge to keep her from looking at him. I lean in close to her. Playing with one of the curls on her shoulder, I say, “Tell me something about you that I don't know.”
She tilts her chin toward me, enough that my lips could meet her cheek if she leaned just a little farther.
“There's a lot you don't know about me.”
“Then we better get started. How about we play a little game of our own? Every time one of us has to drink, we also have to tell the other something about ourselves.”
“Anything?”
“To start.”
“Planning to make it more interesting?”
“With you, I think things can only get more interesting.”
“Len is right about you being a dazzler.”
“You know she's on my side, right?”
“There are sides?”
“Definitely. And I don't want to alarm you or anything, but I'm pretty sure your side is losing. Anytime you want to jump ship, just let me know.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but she relaxes a little more against me, and I'm hyper aware of the way we're touching from chest to thigh. My blood pounds in my ear, amplified by adrenaline. This night feels important, like I'm coming up on a summit, and if I can just get there, it will open my eyes up to all the things I haven't been able to see before.
As expected, Jack fails to guess what type of alcohol is in his gift, and Lennox hands him a shot glass so he can get acquainted with his gift, a cheap looking bottle of gin. We're on gift number three (after another failed guess for gift number two) when Kalli says quietly, “Merry Mustache.”
The room pauses, and our heads all swivel to the television, and sure enough the mustache has lined up perfectly with a woman's lip.
“Merry Mustache!” Lennox cries. “Everybody drinks but Kalli.”
Kalli grins at me, and I hold her eyes as I tip back my beer and swallow. “Guess that means I'm up first. Anything in particular you want to know?”
She considers for a second, and then draws a finger over my forearm. The contact lasts for one, two, three seconds, and it makes my jeans feel impossibly tight.
“How many tattoos do you have?”
“In all?” I think for a moment. “Maybe fourteen? Fifteen? My friend Rook is a tattoo artist, and I let him practice on me when he was first starting out.”
Her eyes linger on my forearm, and I'm about to lift it up to give her a better look when Avery guesses her alcohol correctly. A few people cheer and a few others groan when she reveals a bottle of vodka.
There's a group of shot glasses in the center of the coffee table, and each of us reaches out to take one. Avery twists open her bottle, and we pass it around the circle, each pouring a little out. I pour mine first, then Kalli's when she holds her glass out to me.
Lennox laughs and drums her hands against her thighs in anticipation.
“I don't know how she's coherent right now,” Kalli whispers. “She's been drinking since I came over earlier this afternoon to help her cook.”
I look at my own glass, not exactly eager to start mixing beer and liquor. But at least I'll get a little information out of Kalli for it.
“You like to cook?”
“I guess so. It’s relaxing, I think.” Maybe that’s why she was in the kitchen when I came here. A sanctuary of sorts.
Once everyone has his or her vodka poured, Lennox holds hers up in a toast. “Merry freaking Christmas, friends!”
A few people clink their glasses together, and I touch mine to Kalli's. I keep eye contact for a long as I can, and then both of us throw it back. It's definitely not smooth, and I squint while the burn settles in my chest. Kalli doesn't even bat an eye.
“Damn. Somebody is a pro.”
She shrugs. “I've had some practice.”
“That doesn't count for your thing. I want to know something I can't figure out by watching you.” Because God knows I’m going to be doing that all night.
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and holds it there while she thinks. When she lets it go, it's a dark red. It reminds me of the inside of a plum, and shit … I should just not compare her mouth to fruit. The thought of kissing her is already on repeat in my head, and that's doing nothing to make it slow down. It’s this steady thrum in my ears, a not-so-gentle urging to touch her, and I’ve never felt this dangerously close to losing control of my own impulses.
“I … I don't know what to tell you.”
“What do you like to do for fun?”
She shrugs. “Come on. Give me something. You into reading? Movies? Dancing?”
“I told you I like cooking.”
“Doesn’t count. That was before I actually took the drink. Give me something else.”
“I used to like poetry.” Used to? How is it that I can never get a straight answer out of this girl? Over anything. Hell, I could probably ask her favorite color, and she wouldn’t give me a real answer. “Your turn,” she prompts before I have a chance to dig deeper. “That night in your bathroom …”