Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [76]
“So, Erin, are you a freshman?”
Erin, I learned from our screaming yet intimate conversation, was a psychology major from the Kansas City suburbs. She knew Laura from work. She didn’t usually go to frat parties, but my sister had asked her to come.
I popped open a beer from a cooler near the couch. It must have been about eighty degrees in the building. Erin’s hair was damp with sweat. Over the next six-pack, we exchanged bellowed life stories as the Greeks around us danced, smoked, and made out.
When the stereo began pounding out “Y.M.C.A.,” the crowd joined in, slurring the chorus and doing the dance. Conversation was impossible. Erin, whose face grew cuter with every beer, smiled shyly at me. Someone collapsed at the other end of the sofa, shoving us together. We didn’t attempt to separate.
Just as I was raising my arm to drape over her shoulders, a loud squeal of electronic feedback split the air. I looked up to see a man in a Kappa sweater standing on sort of a dais, talking half into a microphone.
He hollered incoherently for several minutes, but the audience cheered anyway. Eventually, someone turned down the stereo, cutting off the screech from the speakers.
“… third annual Tex-ASS hold ’em contest!”
The frat boys lifted their drinks and howled like wolves on crack.
“What’s he talking about?” asked Erin. “Poker?”
“Nah,” said a man who was busy holding up a doorway with both arms. “They get chicks to try to hold up cups of beers with their knockers. It’s hilarious.”
By golly, he was right. Already, a girl in a low-cut sweater was supporting a plastic cup, using only what God had given her. The MC poured a bottle of Heineken into the container until it overcame her assets and spilled down her front. She giggled, her face somehow expressing Oh my gosh, I just spilled beer all over my enormous chest! How wacky!
“C’mon, who’s next?”
Erin had a look of intense distaste on her face. I tried to look equally disgusted as the next two contestants competed shirtless, in just their bras. I noticed a girl who looked suspiciously like Laura walking toward the stage. She glanced in my direction and quickly ducked into the kitchen. I’d pretend I hadn’t seen that.
“Logan, let’s go for a walk.” Erin was standing, trying to take me by the arm.
A walk. Away from this noise and smoke. A stroll through Greek Town in the cool night air, a chance to clear my head. Me and Erin, alone under the streetlights. I got up.
We were almost to the door when I heard a commotion over the many other commotions in the building. Two guys had grabbed a girl by the arms and were dragging her toward the stage while another one pushed her from behind. She was protesting and trying to twist loose, a look of fear on her face.
It was Sage.
Without a word to Erin, I dashed through the room. My experience with the hurdles paid off; I was at Sage’s side in seconds. I’d been prepared to threaten her kidnappers and fight all three of them if I had to. But right before I reached them, they all let go of Sage and ducked off in different directions. Apparently, I’d looked frightening.
Sage grabbed my wrist with a look of profound thanks. Her makeup was smeared and her hair messy, but she seemed okay. I led her to a quieter part of the house to make sure she really was all right.
“Logan …” Sage suddenly stopped, and I realized we were not alone. Erin had followed me. She seemed unsure if I was a hero who’d rescued a woman in distress or a jerk who was ditching her for someone else.
Luckily, my awkward explanation was cut off by the appearance of Dalton. He was now wearing a giant foam #1 hand on his head. The stench of alcohol in the air informed me that he had forgotten his beer before liquor advice.
“Logan!” he sang, and embraced me. Booze had turned me from a complete stranger into his brother. He hugged me to the point of awkwardness, then jerked away.
“C’mon, we need more players.” He gesticulated wildly to another room. Sage immediately followed. With an apologetic look to Erin, I followed