Serial Dating

It's What Friends Do

Lee slotted their hips together and rolled his hips in a slanted, circular grind that, when Milo followed the lead, brought them low and steady to the beat.

Those that had their eyes on them whistled obnoxiously as Milo laughed and gave Lee an encouraging smile when the verse shifted tempo and Lee's left foot stepped back, pivoting until he was dancing on his own, hands up to his shoulders as he spun, cranking his hands like he was a cog in a machine that jerked to a halt at the Spanish verse.

He rolled his torso nice and slow. He could feel the heat of the room getting to his head where his breath was gone, eyes channeling on the colored lights circling the living room.

He heard Milo saying, "Ai, ai, ai!" with a purr that rolled his tongue and sent shivers across Lee's skin where Milo's hands curved over his hips and flattened over his abdomen. The clamminess of Milo's skin against his back was, by far, the greatest experience ever to be had in his eighteen years of existence.

A shuddered breath nearly took Lee out at the knees when Milo's hand grazed lower to the tingling skin of his inner thigh. Every inch of his skin was quivering at the touch, and the sensation of Milo's damp breath against his ear, tickling his neck.

They rocked together through the song at the end of which, everyone had went on with their lives and Milo shouted over the music, "Have you gotten something to drink yet?"

Lee turned, shaking his head. He could barely stand straight and, thankfully, Milo steadied him with a hand on his back. He wondered if his lightheadedness was obvious.

Milo gestured towards the archway at the far side of the living room. Lee nodded and reached out to tap Rushil on the shoulder. He waved to get his friend's attention at which point he pointed over to where Milo was starting to lead the way. "We're getting something to drink!" Lee explained.

Rushil and the red-haired girl hurried to follow. The girl held Rushil by the hand and tugged on Lee's arm to keep the three of them connected. They wove through the crowd as dense electronic music shook the room and flashed the strobe lights over them. The motion through the crowd became choppy, blending together into one vast sheet of silhouettes abruptly overexposed, the lights glistening on the sweaty sheen of their foreheads.

Lee's head buzzed, vision swaying until they were at last beyond the crowd. The air was distinctly salty on his tongue as he trailed after the sight of Milo's loose, maroon shirt billowing behind him on his way down the stairs to the basement of the frat house.

People lined the railing of the stairs, sitting, standing, all of the above. Lee passed them by and took Olivia's hand when she offered it. At the base of the stairs, Lee nearly tripped into Milo's back when he stopped, suddenly distracted by the group of football guys gathered in the dingy basement.

The frat house basement honestly looked like the set of a horror film. From the concrete floors to the cement brick walls, Lee was certain he saw this same scene in a murder mystery before. It likely involved a cellar and a serial killer. Distinctly, he felt Olivia squeeze his hand tighter as she shifted closer to Rushil's side.

The basement had less of a crowd, but a crowd nonetheless. A makeshift bar had been set up at the far side of the basement. A wooden shelf on the wall was lined with liquor bottles and two of the frat guys were playing bartender.

Milo turned back to them, pointing to where Roland Ball sat on a makeshift chair made of plastic cartons. "Roland brought Jack Daniels and Whiteclaw if you're into that, otherwise we can get something from the bar."

Lee grimaced a little, but Rushil seemed fine with whiskey. Roland got up to throw his arms around Rushil and, likewise, Olivia. Olivia's eyes went wide as her cheek was pushed up against the quarterback's massive pec. Her hand dropped from Lee's.