The Loft Game: Elf on a Shelf

"Need a ride?"

I turned to see Emily, keys in hand. She didn't look quite as bad as I felt, but she'd started later in the evening.

"I heard and it's my car your sister is complaining about. Sorry."

"Don't be. She needs a bitchectomy."

I saw them out the door with promises to see her in four or five days. I wondered what she'd tell Anthony on the five-minute ride to his house. I waited until no one was looking and then went out to the camper, but it was empty.

"Did you have fun at the party?"

"Oh yeah," Emily replied. She and I were sitting in her bedroom, paper towels woven between our toes while we waited for the polish to dry. "I like Julia; she's fun. Too bad she doesn't go to the same school. Did you have fun?" The innuendo was blatant.

"What did you tell Anthony?"

She laughed. "I told him, 'A topless woman,' when he asked if he missed anything important. I didn't know anything else to tell him. But I sure wanna know!" The tone was inviting; the eyes were dancing in a leer. Once again, I wondered if this was an overture.

"I'll tell you all the details ... and there are details ... if you'll answer one question in return."

Her face sobered while she thought about it. She knew it wouldn't be an idle question. "Okay."

So, I told her about my seventeen minutes in heaven and the deal I made with Anthony. I told her about the insufficiency and, therefore, about a camper rocking in time and my hand on a wrist, synchronizing it. I told her about the ever-more-distinct sounds from the mouths of people in the grip of passion. I told her about envisioning what they were doing. "I know exactly what every inch of him looks like naked in bed."

"Every inch?" she teased.

I held my hands apart to show and we both grinned.

"Hot," she pronounced after picturing my dare for a few seconds. "Maybe not for everyone, but people like us, yeah, hot." She glanced over. "You'll pay up with Anthony?"

"You know I will." She nodded. "This is just between us two, right?"

"Of course."

I let the moment linger, then asked, "So: Fuck, Marry, Kill?"

She sighed. "I was afraid it was that." A pause. "Please don't judge."

Shit! She is attracted to women. Are things about to get awkward with us sleeping in the same bed? Or wait ... is it Julia? Is it she's attracted to blondes, not brunettes, and knows—

"I play fair and you remember how the question was worded."

Huh?

"So ..." Another pause. "Fuck: your father."

While my mind tried to wrap itself around what seemed a bizarre statement, she continued in a rush. "I have a thing for older men. I mean, Ryan is fifteen years older than I am. And the question was 'partying here tonight,' and he was, you know, upstairs, and so I had to be honest. And your dad's attractive and I liked his voice when he ..." The babble trailed off as she tried to read my expression.

We stared at each other for what felt like ten minutes but was probably five seconds. Finally, I said, "I'm not judging, but I'd rather not have details."

That got a tentative smile. I shoved my feet over at her.

"Top-coat these, you home-wrecking bitch, while I try to forget you said that."

The smile faltered slightly. "I'd never, ever go after a married guy or say yes if he went after me. It was a game and—"

I cut her off. "It was a joke. But you do have to top-coat my toes."

While she applied the clear lacquer, I did the head-wrapping-around part. Grossed out that she likes older men? No. Not my thing, but no. Note to self: meet Ryan. Points to her for being honest and not bullshitting. We'd never have known. Dad's attractive? None of my friends had ever said I had a hot dad. I pictured him. I guessed "attractive" would fit. Face is kinda average. Good hair. He's tall, doesn't look fifty-six. In shape, still goes out every day—

A chain of association suddenly yanked my mind in a different direction: "jog" went to "run" went to "cross-country" went to "Ethan." Another tall, dark-haired figure swam into my mind, though those two things were the only real similarities. I contemplated Emily's brother and the implications.

I looked back to meet her uncertain eyes.

"Eww!" I said. "Let's just leave it at that." We shared a smile.

But your brother is not off-limits.

"Kings!" The chant got taken up. "Kings! Kings!"

Emily looked at me. "My friends are as moronic as yours are." She ignored the indignant protests from around the table. "You up for it?"

I shrugged. "Go through the cards." They rattled them off. "Mostly the same. I think it was Jacks is Social the one time I played." They explained Jacks is Rulemaster to me. "Umm, what's Joker is Slavedriver."

"Pick someone and tell them to do something. Like get you a new drink or give you a shoulder rub. Nothing crazy allowed." I saw a flicker pass between a couple of sets of eyes, though most looked honestly guileless. Emily saw where I was looking and read the question in my eyes.

"Yep, nothing crazy," she emphasized. Her expression was bland, but I knew there'd be an explanation later. Same wavelength.

The beers in front of each of us got filled. The bouncer pitcher was placed in the middle of the floor and "inaugurated" with a hefty shot of whiskey. The cards were fanned in a rough circle around it.

"Youngest starts," someone said, and everyone looked at me.

"That's me, I guess." We turned at Ethan's voice. "Push over," he asked two players and dropped onto the floor between them.

"Ethan!" Emily protested.

"Well, I guess I could call Mom and Dad and—"

"They said I could have friends over."

"—and tell them that some of their precious Balvenie just got poured into a pitcher that's going to be filled with beer and backwash," he finished without missing a beat.

"You wouldn't."

He played eye-chicken for a moment, then shrugged and looked away. "No, I wouldn't." His voice turned plaintive. "Come on, Ems. There's no way I can sleep with you guys hollering in the living room. My friends just want to play Red Dead Redemption 2 that they got for Christmas, and I hate that game. There's nothing on the tube, and I don't feel like reading."

I could tell she didn't like it, but she yielded to the chorus from her friends. "Do you know how to play?"

"I looked it up on Wikipedia."

She sighed theatrically and gestured for him to start. At his flipped card, she burst into laughter. "Six is Dicks and you are so a dick, baby brother." She waited until he drank. "And another because you were last dick to drink."

I got nailed on a Three is Me.

The guy two to my left picked up a card, dropped it, and yelled, "Vroom," turning his hands to the right.

"Vroom," the guy immediately to my left echoed.

"Skert!" I sent it back the other way. The weird hilarity that is Five is Drive went on until someone turned their hands the wrong way and drank.

The first king came out and the picker's Solo cup was emptied into the pitcher and refilled.

Another Six is Dicks.

Jack. The guy who drew it, Mark, had been flirting with me a little in the early evening. We both knew it was nothing serious, just new girl. He gave me a cute grin. "As Rulemaster, I rule that you are now a dick."

"Can he?" I asked the group. Nods. It burned me two cards later when a four came up and I snatched my cup without thinking, not wanting to be the last to answer the call of Fours is Whores.

It went on, Solo cup levels dropping. A second king came out.

"Eight's Mate," Emily said. She looked over—"Chips"—and we both drank.

"Joker!" a girl named Liz crowed. She looked around the circle of eleven people with a predatory gleam in her eye. "Andrew. A foot rub."

"Bio break while she gets it," someone announced. I waited my turn for one of the bathrooms and then scooted back to the table. Ethan hadn't met my eyes the entire game. Now I checked to see if Emily was watching—she wasn't—caught his gaze and winked. He blushed. It was so cute.

As the last person dropped back down, I stretched my Solo cup across the table toward Mark. "Pour me another one, will you?" I asked as I dropped the queen on the table.

"Sure," he said reaching for beers on the counter. Then he did a classic doubletake back at my card and yelled, "Fuck!" as we all laughed. Queen's Question ... answer a question with a question.

"That was too easy," I teased.

The remaining two kings fell in short order and a girl, Marta, drank the pitcher. It was a quick game, which meant a lot of beer still in the Solo cups that went into it. I didn't envy her.

"Another!"

"There's a Johnny Walker Black under the counter," Ethan said. "It was a Christmas gift Dad got from a salesman. He'll never miss it."

"For a dick of a baby brother, you're not too stupid," Emily said affectionately. She put the Balvenie back in their liquor cabinet and hunted out the cheap stuff.

I flipped a four. My female status restored by the start of a new game, I snatched up my cup while the card was still falling. Marta was slowest; that pitcher was making itself felt.

On it went. I was glad that Emily didn't target me on another eight; she seemed to be treating me just like everyone else. I managed to slide through a Nine is Rhyme without trouble but got tripped up on a Ten is Category when I couldn't think of a car brand that hadn't been named. Of course, two seconds after swallowing, I thought of several. The beer was getting to us.

While keeping my attention on the game for Fours, Fives, and Sevens because they required reflexes, I checked out Ethan with my peripheral vision. He still looked good to me. Tall, whippet-lean, soft brown eyes behind those glasses that gave him a nerdy look. I liked nerdy looks. The five o'clock shadow I'd wished for last time was there. The T-shirt was still unfortunate, but I remembered what was under it, that ripped chest with a line of chest hair leading the eye down.

I glanced over at Emily guiltily, but she hadn't noticed my inspection. Nobody had. I let my mind wander in some naughty little fantasies. It cost me when Ethan said, "Chips, waterfall." I looked down and saw the ace on the table and the two people to my left drinking. I hurriedly put my cup to my lips.

When the long chug by everyone was done, I was ordered, "Penalty, delay of game," and took a big swallow. The thoughts lingered. When my turn came around, I barely saw the card I flipped.

"Ooh, jok-ah for the lady!" Mark said.

I looked at the picture of the man in baggy pants, and a thought came to me. I leaned around the person behind us and pulled Ethan's ear to my mouth.

"Two a.m. Same place. Same outfit as last time," I breathed, my vocal cords barely moving I was so quiet. I felt him stiffen.

"What!" demanded several people, Emily included. I grinned.

"Not sayin'. Maybe I'm having him pull a prank on you."

She looked like she wanted to argue, so I turned to Ethan. "Do you feel I violated the 'nothing crazy' thing?" He shook his head vigorously. I turned to the rest of the circle. "Is there a rule that says I have to tell?"

Emily and one other said yes. Seven people said no, laughing as somewhat-buzzed people do at a novelty. "Majority rules."

She grumped a bit. She told her brother, "If you fuck with my stuff, I'll kill you."

We called it a night after the second game. Marta was borderline as well as the guy who lost the second game. I was okay, and both Fraziers were in better shape than I was.

Sitting at their counter, I gestured at the Johnny Walker bottle. "You owe me five; I owe you three. From the drive."

"Really?" At my shrug, she considered. "I don't think I can do five right now without passing out."

I considered for a millisecond whether that was a good idea, given my plans. Then my brain kicked in and I felt guilty for even thinking it. "How about my three cancels three of yours?"

The truth was, not only didn't I want her blacked out because ... like, blacking out, duh ... but I also didn't want a secret this big hanging between us. On the other hand, a little something to ease that conversation was okay.

"Okay. Not this crap though. Tequila."

She lined up five glasses. "My two, and one social for all." I could see Ethan was pleased to be included. The first two went down while we waited. Then we salted our hands and each took a lime.

"Arriba, abajo, al centro, pa' dentro," two of us chanted with the accompanying motions and then lick, swallow, suck.

"You gotta learn that phrase to be allowed into college," Emily teased her brother.

At 1:47, my watch vibrated gently against my wrist. I slid out of the bed and stripped off the shorts I was wearing. "Same outfit," I'd said.

Kneeling on the floor next to Emily's side, I shook her gently. When her eyes opened, I said, "Em, there's something I want to tell you."

It was an uncomfortable minute or two; she was not on board. Then she realized she'd run out of arguments after, "But he's my brother."

"And I think he's super cute," I replied, as mildly as I could. We stared at each other for a long moment. "I won; let me collect my winnings. Play the Game with me, Em." I let her hear the capital just as I had when she'd said it to me in the Airstream. "He's okay with it or he would've said it was too crazy. Do you honestly think an eighteen-year-old guy who doesn't date isn't excited about this?"

I waited for her to process it. I remembered processing her saying, "Fuck: your father." I wondered if she remembered the same. Though there was a difference: married men were off-limits, we both agreed on that, but Ethan wasn't married.

"Don't fuck with my brother."

I knew she wanted it to mean "don't fuck my brother," no preposition. What came out was permission from a protective sister.

"Never. I'm your friend."

He's late, I thought when I didn't see a line of light under the bathroom door at the end of the hall. I'd deliberately picked two, not four like the last time we met. Long enough for some of the alcohol to leave his system, not so long that he'd stay up from excitement and then crash from exhaustion.

Did he pass out? I felt a huge letdown about the half an hour I'd spent lying in bed, nerving myself up to be someone I kinda wanted to be but hadn't been in the past.

Then, as I moved down the hallway, I saw movement in the darkness. The bathroom light flicked on, just as harsh as it had been last time. I studied the man in front of me, blatantly this time. He was wearing the same plaid pajama pants, slung low on those runner's hips. Below them were two bare feet; above them, a solid yard of naked man.

My gaze rose to his face. He hadn't shaved; that was good. The hair, tousled, like it had been combed with fingers after lying on a pillow.

His eyes weren't meeting mine. I knew why. I was in a plain white T-shirt like last time, well-washed and thin, and the same French-cut panties that were anything but opaque. I'd checked myself out in the mirror when I got ready for bed. I knew that any kind of bright light would reveal the two dark circles on my chest and the equally dark triangle between my legs. And Ethan had just enough liquid courage in him to not even pretend he wasn't looking. I noticed what I hadn't last time, the fullness at the front of his pants.

"We meet again," I said. Deliberately lame, deserving of the forced chuckle, an icebreaker.

Part of me was self-conscious, seeing his eyes come up to my face for the laugh, then drop again, then back up, jittering between what was polite and what was exciting. The other part of me was over showing my boobs, and on my way to being over showing the rest.

"It's okay to look. I am." I was. "I like what I see. Do you?"

Now the eyes met mine firmly, nerd-cool specs glinting in the overhead. "Yes."

I reached out and his hand rose to meet mine. "Come on. Back to the living room. Emily doesn't need to hear." His gaze flew up over my shoulder, staring down the hall toward his sister's door.

"Of course she's awake," I confirmed. "She knew I went out. She's cool enough about this." I didn't want to think about her lying there, imagining us, because it brought a little thrill, and that brought a vestigial bit of shame. The little bit of my mind that couldn't help but think of her took comfort, though, in her words: "everyone who plays our game has got some exhibitionist."

Meet Ryan. I set that reminder again. Let her know that, once we walk out the loft door on Fridays, I know that she's underneath a thirty-five-year-old guy. Or above—that also works visually.

Unbidden, my thoughts turned to another couple having sex. "I just wanted to thank you for leaving the camper neat," I'd said to Therese in a fake-reason phone call.

"Umm ..." The hesitation was monumental. "Did you guys go back to the basement?"

"Eventually. But we stayed for quite a while and finished the game."

"Did we ... Were we ..." She couldn't finish it.

"Were you quiet? No, sorry, hon. You two were not quiet. It's okay. I won't tell any of your friends"—did she hear the subtle emphasis on "I" and "your"?— "and I swear no pics or recordings."

I took a great deal of pleasure in her moan of embarrassment. Closure is underrated sometimes.

Now, my reverie was broken as Ethan's attention pulled from his sister's door back to me. He turned toward the stairs. I drifted in his wake. As we went, I watched his movements. Steady. Acceptably sober. Excellent.

In the living room, I steered us toward the counter. The tequila bottle was still out; the lime wasn't completely withered. "Pour one each."

As he started to cut new pieces of lime, I said. "Last time, I checked out your ass as you walked back to your room." His eyes snapped up at that. I feared for his fingers and pointed for him to pay attention to the knife. "The first time I was with a guy was my senior prom. I think Elf on a Shelf dolls are pervy in a bad way." I gestured at the figure sitting in the bookcase across the room.

He had stopped cutting and was just staring at me.

"Two truths and a lie, Ethan. Which is the lie?"

He remained silent.

"Which?" I insisted.

"You checking out my ass."

"Bzzz. I did check out your ass. I do think Elf on a Shelf is fucked up because it tells kids they have no privacy. I lied about my first time. It was at his prom, not mine. I win one. Your turn. Why are your decorations still up anyway?"

"One what?"

"One whatever I say. But why are your decorations still up?"

"Ems and I are supposed to get them down before my parents come home. We've been lazy."

"Okay. Your turn. Two truths and a lie." I took the knife from the slack fingers and finished cutting lime wedges myself. That was done in about five seconds, and I waited expectantly.

Fuck, that grin is cute! I thought when it appeared.

"My favorite football team is the Eagles. I like to go snow—"

"Bzzz. Stop right there." He did. "I know you've noticed that I'm sitting here in clothes that don't hide much. If you haven't noticed, I've been checking out your abs and maybe some other things." I saw the color leap into his face. "So, I don't want to hear about your favorite hobbies and fantasy football league. I want to hear about you." As an afterthought, I added, "Though other kinds of fantasies are okay."

It took a long moment for the color to fade. A thoughtful pause, then the smile came back.

"I spent that whole night thinking about the fact that your clothes didn't hide much. Tonight, I made up shit about nothing to do because I wanted to be in the game with you. My girlfriend broke up with me four weeks ago, so this isn't cheating."