Playing Matchmaker

chapter thirty

I'll Go Jason Voorhees On Your Pale Little Ass

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Picture: jeez I'm obsessed with these ecards

Song: loving this to death at the moment

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How I found myself taking body shots off Tyler's neatly defined stomach - I would tell you have I have no clue. Maybe its the adrenalin pumping through my body, or the alcohol I had consumed moments before.

I'm thinking more of the latter.

One minute Tyler and I are taking turns finishing off the bottle of Midori, the next Clark and Nate are coaxing us into body shot rounds. Heck, even Emily was all aboard the body shot train, now sucking the salt off Nate's stomach.

I don't know what I was nervous about, because doing body shots is the next best thing since coffee after a hangover according to Emily. The best part? I get to lick Tyler's abs. As much as I love my boyfriend's ass, his stomach is much more interesting.

"You finished quicker than a guy with premature ejaculation," Clark snorts as he watches Eli down a cup filled with the liquid from the Suicide Bowl.

The suicide bowl is pretty much every single type of alcohol in the kitchen/brewery (there's that much alcohol in there) mixed into one bowl. The person who can drink a whole cup full is the winner. There isn't even a prize, so I made no effort to join in.

"Your abs are nice," I commented to Tyler as I sucked on a piece of lime. "Very nice, I like."

Tyler smirks, "Face it, I'm irresistible."

I shrug, "Eh. Quite the prick as well."

Tyler gasps loudly, getting up from the table where we were doing body shots from only a minute or so ago. His hair looked like he licked a plug socket, with it standing up in all directions from me running my fingers through it.

"Whose up for the keg?' Clark hollers as he jumps in between Tyler and I, scaring the living shit out of me.

"Jesus," I  jump, "I swear on my breasts, if you pop up from nowhere again I am going to go Jason Voorhees on your pale little ass."

"Woah," he puts his hands up in surrender, "Calm your tits. I'm just going to go drink 58 litres of beer all by myself then," he wanders off, loud sobbing following him.

"I feel sorry for his liver," I winced, "It must be dead."

Tyler nods in agreement, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the kitchen. "What do you want to do?" He asks as he laces his fingers with my own. "Do you want to go dance like dickheads?"

I nod enthusiastically. What's a party without a couple of idiots on the dance floor?

Clark's makeshift dance floor is small and compacted, but also in the middle of the house. It's the destination for the start of hookups, and is where the thumping speakers are set up.

Clark doesn't believe in hiring a DJ, and just illegally downloads music (well, James, Nate's brother, does for him) for the job. He has huge speakers which Lana and Elizabeth bought him for Christmas one year, so the noise is projected throughout the house, without a doubt interrupting the sleep of his next door neighbors.

We reach the dance floor, with the tacky disco ball hung from the ceiling. I laugh as I look up at it, Tyler wrapping his arms around my waist.

Hotel by Kid Ink and Chris Brown is playing, with students of Octavia dancing like sex-crazed nympho's.