As soon as we pull up to the house, Alana hops out of the car and beelines it straight to the door, not even bothering to wait for me.
Maaan,I am so fucked.
I scamper up the stairs behind her trying to catch up when I walk straight into a house party in full swing.
“Where the hell did all these people come from?” she asks as she stands on the edge of the living room, the hat I just won her gripped tightly in her hand.
“Mac’s friends. It always gets like this.” Before I can say anything else, the man himself struts up to us. He’s trashed already. His eyes are red, he has that goofy grin on his face, and he stinks like — if I had to guess — Jägermeister. The huge red stain down the front of his shirt also gives away his spirit of choice.
“I didn’t think you two would make it.” He puts one arm around each of us.
“What made you think that?” Alana asks.
“Just thought you’d want somealllooonetime.”
“No such luck,” Alana gripes, crossing her arms.
Oy.
“Well,” Mac drawls, catching on to her hostility. “There’s a keg in the living room, Jell-O shots in the kitchen, and hard lemonade in the fridge.”
“Sounds perfect.” Alana struts off.
“We’re also playing Spray and Wash,” he shouts quietly.
“What?” I snap my head at him.
“Incoming!” Mac bellows just as Alana walks into the kitchen.
Oh shit. There isn’t even time to warn her, because as soon as she crosses the threshold, there’s an ear-piercing shriek.
“You’re a dick.” I elbow Mac in the ribs and then storm off after her.
“You’ll thank me later,” he gloats, doubled over in pain.
I doubt that.
As soon as I get into the kitchen, I find Alana standing there frozen. She looks up at me with a shocked expression, drenched in beer. Her hair is soaked, and her white shirt is now completely see-through.
Fuck.
Spray and Wash is Mac’s own mad scientist creation. It’s his way of getting girls topless by having them spontaneously sprayed with beer when they least expect it. I guess the kitchen was ground zero tonight.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it; I laugh. Right in her face. My perfect, proper, little Alana got beer bombed, and it’s hilarious.
“You think this is funny?” she fumes.
“A little,” I admit, with everyone in the room watching us.
She’s silent as she turns around toward the counter. Before I realize it, she’s spraying me in the face with beer. “Right back at ya,” she cries.
Fucker!
I snatch her wrist in an attempt to wrestle the can out of her hand. Alana’s laughing so hard I can’t tell if it’s tears or alcohol running down her face. Finally, I gain control of the situation and have her pinned up against my body.
She stares up at me devilishly. “Now I stink like beer and need a shower.”
“Is that an invitation?” I drop my mouth to her ear.