Taking the bottle of tequila from the freezer, I pour myself a shot. I tilt my head back, pour the liquid gold in, and choke the burning down my throat until it settles in my chest.
Knowing Viola and her hatred for me, I know this means war. But I wonder if I really know Viola at all anymore. When we were kids, I knew everything about her, but now I clearly have a lot more to learn.
The Viola I grew up with loved daisies and putting peanut butter on everything. Her favorite season was fall so she could jump into the huge piles of leaves. Before all of her adult teeth came in, whenever she smiled, her top teeth would rest on top of her lower lip, which I, of course, teased her about.
I also know that certain things about her will never change. Whenever she really, wholeheartedly laughs, it’s so infectious that a whole room cracks up with her. I know she has freckles sprinkled across her shoulders and a mole on her left shoulder blade. Though she prides herself on being a know-it-all, sexual jokes tend to go right over her head. When we were younger, she used to throw punches like a boy and could run faster than Drew and me. But what about now? Who is Viola Fisher outside of her books and geeky Harry Potter references?
It drives me fucking insane that I genuinely want to know. I pour another shot because there’s nothing better than self-sabotage. I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see Viola in a tank top and black leggings. Her wet hair is pulled up into a messy bun, her cheeks flushed. I lean up against the counter and raise an eyebrow at her.
“Hardly recognize you with clothes on,” I quip.
“Shove it, asshole.” She walks past me and opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. She opens the top and takes a huge drink, then places it on the counter. She goes quiet, but then after a moment, she stands on her tiptoes and reaches for a shot glass from the cabinet. Her body is so close to mine that I can smell her fresh, clean scent. She smells like strawberries and fresh rain. I watch her every move as she slides the tequila bottle closer to her, unscrews the top, and pours herself a shot.
“Shit, that burns.” She gasps for air, slamming the glass down on the counter.
“Have you ever been drunk before?” I find myself asking.
She shoots daggers at me, her fingers still wrapped around the glass. “Yes, I’ve had alcohol before.” She rolls her eyes.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Wait,” she says dramatically, her jaw dropping. “Is this stuff magically supposed to make my panties fly off while I trip and fall on your dick?” Her expression is completely serious, although I’m ninety percent sure she’s fucking with me.
“Well, I wouldn’t say fly off…” I tilt the corner of my lips up, enjoying this little battle we have going on. “But if you prefer being on top, I’m all about it,” I say smugly, knowing it’s going to boil her blood.
She makes a gagging noise and steps away. “In your dreams, King. I don’t need to fake an orgasm to know you’re all talk.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” I go on the defense, catching up to her when she walks to the living room. “There is no way in hell a girl has ever faked it with me. I have a one-hundred percent satisfaction guarantee.” I know I sound like a tool, but Viola is making me stumble on my own thoughts.
She bursts out laughing, shaking her head at me as she grabs the TV remote.
“I knew you were arrogant, but Christ.”
“What?” I ask.
“Do you have a full refund policy, too? Get an STD, all panties returned and burned.”
“I’ve never had any complaints,” I say, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall so I can study her features.
“I’m sure.” She rolls her eyes, flipping through the channels.
“Have you ever had one?”
“Had what?” she asks, avoiding eye contact.
I curl my lips up. “An orgasm.”
I watch as her fingers lose their grip on the remote, and it falls to the floor. “I’m not answering that!” she shouts, reaching for the remote again.
“Why not?” I shrug. “It’s a valid question.”
“It’s none of your damn business,” she hisses.
I chuckle. “That’s a no.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Then just answer the damn question.” I groan.
She slams the remote down and stalks toward me, seething. “Fuck off.”
I smile as I watch her walk back down the hall. Now that’s the Viola I know.
Viola hides out in Drew’s room most of the night, which is just fine by me. It’s day one alone with her, and I’m already desperate to go out and drink away all the memories of her walking wet and naked down my hallway.
She finally resurfaces, walking straight to the kitchen and ignoring me like the priss she is.
“I thought you’d be all tucked into bed by now.”
“Believe it or not, I need to eat,” she snaps, opening the fridge door.
“Work up an appetite in there?” I ask, pinching my lips together.
“Do you have an off button?”
“Actually…”
“Never mind,” she quickly spits out. “Forget I asked.” She groans, knowing exactly where I was about to take it.
Trying to get under her skin as best I can, I ask in my best conversational tone, “So can you give yourself an orgasm?”
She gasps as her eyes widen in shock. “Do you just say the first thing that comes to your teeny tiny brain?”
“Hasn’t let me down yet.” I shrug. She rolls her eyes at me, and I laugh. “Want me to make you something for dinner?”
“No,” she says on instinct. “I don’t want your hands anywhere near what goes into my mouth.”
She closes her eyes and immediately catches herself, but it’s too late.
“Well, I’ve never been told that before, but hey, there’s a first time for everything,” I say nonchalantly. I have to say it. “However, whenever I offer to cook for a girl, we usually skip the dinner portion of the night and go right to dessert.”
“It doesn’t count if you have to drug them,” she retorts automatically. Christ, this girl has a lot of pent-up aggression. I could offer to help her with that, but I have a feeling it would end with her knee in my junk and me collapsing to the ground.
She continues busying herself in the kitchen, pretending I’m invisible. I guess I deserve that, but I’m not about to let her ruin my night.
As if on cue, my phone rings on the counter between us, and before I can grab it, she glances down at it and frowns.
“Sarah From The Bar?” she asks, cocking one brow up in disdain. “Classy.”
“Don’t be jealous, princess. I have a nickname for you too.” I smile wide, knowing she’ll know exactly what I mean. V the Virgin.
“Is it under Never in a Million Fucking Years?”
I press a hand to my chest as if her words actually hurt me. “Not even in a million years?”
“Grow up, asshole.” She takes her PB&J sandwich and twists around me, walking out of the kitchen.
I answer my phone before Viola’s out of hearing distance. “Hey, baby.”
“I’m in the area tonight. Was thinking about stopping over. Is that okay?” Her loud moans and perky ass immediately come to mind.