Page 2 of Double Dared
“How about the one where our initiates kept swapping their jerseys every time Professor Colby turned his back to the class? It took the poor guy?—”
“Forty minutes to catch them,” everyone finished in unison.
“We need better stories,” I conceded.
There was little we hadn’t covered in our weekly beer sessions. We had shared our bests and worsts in throwing stones and one-night stands, dug deep into the embarrassing memories, be it from childhood or recent affairs. We had exhausted every inside joke and imported new ones only to see them fizzle out.
“If only I had a stick,” I sighed to Jason. “I could poke you and make you do something fun.”
“I’m pretty sure Jason gets all the poking he needs,” Finn said.
“And I’m pretty sure you should stop hate-criming our friend,” I said.
“Bisexuals get to say it,” Jason overruled.
“I apologize for being a sexual minority at this table, then,” I said, raising my hands.
“Join the fun side,” Finn offered, inviting me with his index finger.
“What, now? Buy me a dinner first,” I said. “A nice one.” I nodded for emphasis. “Someplace where they bring out breadsticks and those little olives that don’t have pits in them that I have to spit out discreetly into a napkin, then worry what to do with the napkin, and tuck the napkin with the pits into my pocket, only to forget all about it until laundry day and drop them in front of the whole laundromat.”
“That was oddly specific,” Jason said. “Care to tell the story?”
“No,” I replied miserably. It hadn’t been a fun night.
“Let me get this straight,” Finn said, leaning in. “You’re willing to sell yourself for some olives?”
“Nice ones,” I emphasized.
Greg checked his wristwatch and lifted his beer to drain the last of his sticky molasses.
“Whoa, hold on a hot minute,” I said. “We’re not leaving. It’s barely nine.”
“Sorry,” Greg said in his no-nonsense way, ending my protests. “I’d say I have places to be, but I think I’ll just head to bed.”
“Let’s face it,” I said, putting my palms on the table and presiding over the council of boring twenty-year-olds. “Being a young desirable takes work, and we’ve been throwing in the towel. I’m open to suggestions, but I’ll also be the first to admit it, the glue that binds us is the dares. So.” I turned my hands over and lifted them a little to give the spotlight over to them. “Do your worst.”
“And you’ll do it?” Greg asked, his eyes sparking with interest.
“No questions asked,” I said. “I’ll do anything to be interesting again.”
This dragged out a few chuckles. They were of the evil sort, conspiring and plotting. “Alright, let me see,” Finn began. “I’ll give you a fiver if you can walk into the KGB and draw a minimum of three penises on their foreheads before you’re caught.”
“And beaten senseless,” Jason said. “We don’t mess with the KGBs when it’s hot, Finn.”
“It’s more fun when it’s hot,” Finn grumbled.
I turned to Jason for ideas. His were often the best. Often, mind you. He was also responsible for some of the worst examples of disaster and debauchery that had ever taken place in the Bel House. Still, if he could only make the wheels turn in that empty head of his, we’d have tales to spin for weeks.
“I’m out,” Jason said. “I have my domestic life to think of. I can’t die young. Or worse, have someone shave my head in my sleep out of revenge.”
“No, we can’t risk those sexy curls,” I said. “It’s where all your prowess is stored.”
“I have one,” Greg supplied. “And it could be the best one yet, not to brag.”
“Shoot,” I said.
Greg pointed his finger right at me. “You are the most chaotic, rambling, random person I know.”
