Blues

16. Blue Side

"Oh, the blue side is the true side
For anyone who's had a broken heart."
Blue side by Crystal Gayle.

Chapter sixteen:

I frown, giving him a sideways look, but he still doesn't grant me his attention. Instead, he walks toward the house with abandon, never averting his cryptic gaze. I follow closely behind him, sort of fascinated by the confidence he retains and the sheer magnetism he possesses.

He stops directly before the front door, and the music becomes dangerously close to spading chinks into my eardrums as I stand alongside its source. My guess is that it's a frat house, or maybe a party that is being overdone. Looking at me with a detached lower, he warns, “You must stick to me no matter what.”

I feel my eyebrows drawing together in perplexity. “Why? What exactly is in there? A sex club? Are you into that kinky shit?” I hound him.

His chest jounces in a sigh, his patience seemingly debilitated. “That was a bad idea.” He mutters under his breath. “It's just a party. One that never ends.” With that, he rings the bell, waiting for someone to open the door. We don't bide for long, before a willowy-looking guy with ash-blond hair and a stubble beard opens the door. His green close-set eyes spot me first, discerning me, a frown marring the space between his immaculately shaped eyebrows, before his eyes flicker to Dylan, recognition flaunting on his youngish face. His mouth curls in a toothy grin, two dimples displaying. I decide he looks cute, conceivably younger than me.

“Ah! Our dear folk brought a new friend.” His beam doesn't alter, as he steps aside to let us in. Dylan startles me when he playfully pats his back once while we pass through the door, the act of fondness throwing me off a bit. They must be close friends.

The moment I traipse into the place, a discomposing, pungent smell shocks my senses. No, several odors fused into a strong one. A combination of tobacco, alcohol, a cluster of perfumes and air freshener. The smell almost makes me gag. How could they survive such a nauseating smell without dying of suffocation?

The smell is not the only thing I perceive. Something normal, yet peculiar commands my attention. I expected to find the place packed, but I'm befuddled when I don't find more than a few dozens, all of them gathered in what I assume is the parlor. Some of them are cramming the three sofas, and the rest are either standing or occupying the floor, all surrounding a ping-pong table that has cups sprawled on it. They're all laughing so hard at something that is beyond my cognizance, not even bothering to observe the new visitors. The blond guy strides toward the massive music speaker, before he de-escalates the volume. That works to entice their attention. They all swerve to gape at us, or rather me, flabbergasted expressions on their countenances.

What appalls the hell out of me is not that, but the two half-naked guys, only in boxer briefs whom the crowd is converged around, and the two girls standing opposite them. One of them is clothed in a bra and a pair of panties, and the other is a blonde, who happens to be buck naked.

I'm sure my jaw is about to make impact with the ground now, and I can't help exclaiming, “I knew you were fucked-up, but not like that.”

A couple of snorts and laughs erupt, Dylan's included. I look at him, horrified, only to find his chest vibrating in laughter, his face flushed. I don't know whether I should capture a picture of him looking so beautiful, or thwack that laughter out of him. “Chill. It's strip pong.” He shakes his head, finally recovering.

“Why didn't you mention bringing a guest? Now she thinks I'm cheap, seeing me naked even before our first date.” The disrobed blonde complains in a fruity, modulated voice from across the room, and I risk a glance at her, to find her clasping her bra, winking at me. She pulls on a white tank top, before squeezing her legs into tight, black, leather leggings that result in looking like second skin. I notice that the rest are getting dressed too, all of them giving me curious looks.