Lesson 1
All characters are 18 years old or
older.
We just got back from the party at the frat house, so the
apartment smells like cheap beer and the faint smoke from the bonfire pit. My
head’s buzzing just enough that the edges of everything feel soft and warm. Chris’
sprawled across one end of the beat-up sectional, legs kicked up on the coffee
table, while Rico’s slouched on the other side of the couch, one arm thrown
over the backrest like he owns the whole damn room—which, he technically does.
I’m in the armchair across from them, nursing the last warm inch of whatever
was left in my red cup, trying to look like I belong here.
Rico suddenly leans forward, grinning wide enough that I can
see the chipped tooth on the right side of his mouth. “Yo, Michael. Veronica
was all over you tonight, bro. Like, glued to your side. You see the way she
kept touching your arm?”
Heat crawls up my neck before I can stop it. I shrug, stare
down at the carpet. “I guess.”
Chris snorts. “You guess? Dude.” He swings his legs off the
table and sits up straighter, elbows on his knees. “Why the hell aren’t you
with her right now? She was practically humping your leg on the dance floor.
Bet if you’d stayed, you’d be balls-deep in that pussy already.”
My face burns hotter. I can feel it spreading to my ears. “I’m… not really good with girls,” I mumble. The words come out smaller than I mean them to.
