Page 52 of The Bet
Kayleigh fake gasps and bats her eyes. “It’s not about the wedding, it’s about the man,” she says, but her smile is hungry. “Plus, let’s be honest, he has to be hung. A guy that hot can’t be not hung.”
Mary Kate giggles at the double negative. “Are you sure? You know that shoe size can be deceiving.” But then, she leans forward, arms folded, nails tap-tapping the table in a nervous Morse code. “Okay. I have a situation that’s technically in progress that might even top yours, girlfriend.” She says this so softly, all three of us lean in to catch the words.
“Last night,” Mary Kate continues, “my stepdad called, and we talked. Like, really talked. About college, and his job, and…” She breaks off, bites her lip, and glances at the window, as if checking for snipers.
I cut in. “Oh my god, you had phone sex with him?” I squeal.
Mary Kate rolls her eyes.
“Not exactly. Sort of. Okay, maybe a little.”
Stella gasps. “Is your mom still married to him?”
Mary Kate grins, a lopsided show of teeth, and flips her hair over one shoulder. “Not for long. They’re in the process of getting a divorce, and she’s already moving out, so it’s not like I’m breaking up a happy home. Technically, I’m just getting a head start.”
A silence lands, not awkward, but dense—a quick inhale before the next hit. Kayleigh lets out a squeak, slaps her hand to her mouth, and then, with a strangled giggle, says, “You are so bad. You’re actually bad.”
Stella cracks up, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re literally going to win the bet, with your stepdad, no less. I can’t believe it.”
Mary Kate shrugs, the glint in her eye brighter now. “I mean, unless you have an update, Stells?”
Stella straightens her posture—she’s good at that, the little queen bee moves—and fixes us all with a look of smug clarity. “You’re gonna love this,” she says. “I have been shamelessly flirting with both Brody and Kane?—”
“The hockey twins?” I interrupt.
She holds up a hand. “Not twins. Just line-mates. But they do look almost identical when they have their helmets on.” She waits for effect. “Anyway. They both want me, but neither wants to be the first to say it out loud, because they’re best friends and all. So I have a plan.” She pauses, then leans in. “I’m going to lose my virginity to both at the same time. One in each hole. Pussy and ass.”
Mary Kate actually shrieks. Kayleigh covers her mouth with her hand. I just blink.
“Stella,” I say, “there’s not even a word for that.”
She grins. “Sure there is. It’s called ‘winning.’ There should be a bonus if I manage it, honestly. I mean, getting popped two at a time? I’ll be stretched so hard I’ll need a wheelchair.”
Kayleigh is the first to recover. “You’re a psycho,” she says, but her admiration is obvious. “I hope you film it. For science, of course.”
Stella grins evilly.
“I’m definitely going to film it. But I can’t figure out what position we’ll be in. Should I be lying down, with one in front and one in back? Or should I be in doggie? But I don’t get how they’d take my holes simultaneously if I’m on my hands and knees.”
I wink at her.
“You’re flexible, girlfriend. You’ll find a way to get your cherries popped.”
All four of us collapse into laughter, the kind that rises in waves, each echo triggering a new round. The table shakes. The girls at the next booth turn to look. I feel the knot in my stomach unwind a little, replaced by a fizzy warmth that has nothing to do with the mango smoothie.
When the laughter dies, Stella wipes her eyes with her napkin, then turns her full attention to me. “Andie,” she says, stretching my name out to three syllables. “We’ve all spilled, so it’s your turn to go.”
Three pairs of eyes. All expectation, no mercy. My hands go clammy on the cup. For a half-second I think about telling the truth, just to keep the rhythm going. But my tongue feels like lead in my mouth, heavy and sour.
I glance down at my phone, still on the table, and see my own reflection in the black screen: cheeks a little flushed, eyes too bright, mouth half-smiling like I’ve got a secret. I think about Thomas, about last night, about the rules I broke and the ones I didn’t know existed until I tripped over them.
“Okay,” I say, and clear my throat, “I have an update, but it’s not as epic as any of yours.”
Mary Kate tilts her head, a lock of pale hair falling into her face. “Try us.”
Three pairs of eyes, each a different flavor of expectation: Mary Kate’s sweet and pink-cheeked, Kayleigh’s narrowed and hungry, Stella’s cool and direct, her chin propped on the heel of her hand. They all want something from me—a story, an update, a punchline. I give them nothing, at first, just a half-smile as I suck at the bottom inch of my mango smoothie, pretending the only thing I care about is getting the last of the pulp up the straw.
But it’s not the smoothie I’m thinking about. It’s the way my checking account flashed a neon warning last night when I bought textbooks for next term; it’s the feel of Thomas’s hand on the back of my neck, that weirdly protective gesture, right before he pressed me against his penthouse window and told me I was perfect. It’s the way both things—money and the man—make my stomach twist.
