"And because you no longer need the scholarship?"
"Yeah." She takes a long sip of water. "So now I can live dangerously." She taps her glass.
"You cannot."
"I can too."
"You don't drink on school nights," I say.
"Game nights."
"Because you want to win."
"Of course I want to win. Who doesn't want to win?" she asks.
"Some people don't care."
She looks at me like I'm crazy.
I chuckle.
"What?"
"You."
"What about me?"
"You don't believe some people don't care about winning."
"No… Indie is like that. I just don't get how they could be that way. How can you do something and not give it your all?"
"Don't ask me."
"You let me win."
Maybe. "I was showing off. Paid the price."
"Uh-huh." She looks to the small couch. The desk chair. The seats on the balcony. Settles on the couch. "Do you really sit there, listening to sad music?"
"Sometimes."
"What kind of music?"
"Other than British pop stars?"
"If there is anything else," she says. "Sometimes, I think Amy Winehouse created the only two albums in the universe."
A laugh spills from my lips. She's funny. And she's charming too. In this bold, take no shit way.
I like her.
I like her, and I still want to fuck her.
That doesn't happen.
My eyes go to her bare legs. The hem of her shorts. The tight tank top.
What would she say if I ordered her out of her clothes and onto my cock?
Fuck.
I push the thought aside as I sit at the opposite end of the couch. "Grunge."
"The miserable mumbling guys who don't wash their flannel?"
"I can't see their flannel."
She sticks out her tongue gross. "Men with guitars, huh?"
"Women too. Hole. Garbage. Sleater-Kinney."
She nods with familiarity. "Indigo and Eve are always talking about Hole." She imitates her sister. "'Courtney Love was a poet. How can anyone think Nirvana is the better band?'"
"She's talented."
"She's not mumbling."
I chuckle.
"What? I don't like to listen to men complaining."
My laugh gets louder.
"What?"
Of course, she plays an album dripping with youth and wit. Of course, she dismisses one of the most popular bands of all time as men complaining. "You're sure of yourself."
"Well, yeah, obviously." She turns toward me. "Do you know what Ty likes?"
"Tying up your sister."
Her cheeks just barely flush. "I was going to say what music Ty likes, but if you have more details…"
"I do."
"Well…" Her hazel eyes fill with excitement. "Cam! Tell me!"
"Do you think that will work?"
"What do you need?" She presses her hands together. "Should I get on my knees and beg?"
Fuck yes. "It won't help your case."
"Want to bet on that?"
No. Come here and come on my hand. Who the fuck cares what Ty likes? What do you like? "No."
She smiles, victorious. "It's relevant. We are planning a bachelor party, aren't we? We have to embarrass them by bringing up their sex life."
"How is that different than every Saturday for you?"
She pushes me playfully. "That's why I need more intel. So I can go further."
"Do I want to know what that means?"
"I'll tell if you will." She moves a little closer. Looks up at me with doe eyes. "Pretty, pretty please, Cam."
Fuck. "You know as much as I do."
She shakes her head. "Men talk."
"Women talk."
"Not the same way."
"Ty isn't—"
"Yes, he is."
She's right. Ty isn't the type of man who brags about his sex life, but when he drinks he forgets to guard the details. And when it's his older brother Ian baiting him to spill—
Ty still craves his older brother's approval.
It used to annoy me, how much Ty worshiped his older brother. I wanted to be his best friend, but I could never trump Ian.
Now-
I'm losing him in a different way.
Sienna continues. "You know something." She shifts off the couch. "Should I grab the cheap vodka and loosen your tongue?"
"You see the bruises on her wrists too," I say. "You tease her about it."
"Yeah, but…"
"He likes to bind her, spank her, threaten her."
"Threaten how?"
"Role play."
Her eyes go wide. She doesn't have that detail.
Fuck. I need to shut my mouth. I'm too eager to impress her, tease her, make her gasp.
"What role play?" she asks.
"You know Ty well at this point?"
"Yeah."
"And you know your sister?"
"Obviously."
"What makes you think he'd stop at one scenario?"
"Fuck, you're right. They probably do everything." She's quiet for a moment, soaking in this new shade, adding it to the image in her head. "Would you?"
"Would I what?"
"Role play."
"You know what I'm going to say."
"Do I?"
"I can't tell you. It's all you'll ever think about."
"Or maybe, if you don't tell me, I'll have to keep imagining every possible scenario. But if you do tell me, I can just imagine the one then move on."
"Maybe," I say. "But I still won't tell you."
"What if I go first? Tell you what I imagine?"
I may as well send Ty a text that says I'm going to fuck your future sister-in-law. Have a nice wedding and a nice life, since we both know you'll never speak to me again. "No."