The Loft Game: Scotty

"When's the next race?" I asked the stuffed dog.

"Yeah, they're a thing."

The stuffed dog did not suddenly start talking. That was an unexpected memory of Ryan's voice the night before. Suddenly, I was a lot more awake and a lot less silly.

Are we? The last thirty-six hours had been a hell of a lot of fun. And I couldn't bullshit around the fact that I'd just contemplated the prospect of more.

At the same time, memories of Ryan's comment brought back other memories from the club ... including imagining Brey paying off her bet with Hannah. And that immediately conjured fantasies of when I collected on that bet, because I damn well was going to.

An image of Owen's face staring up at me, waiting for ... An image of his face buried between her legs while I ... An image of her ...

As those flickered through my mind, never quite resolving, I felt the familiar heat spark in my gut.

You're not done with this new thing in your life yet. If ever.

I thought about the position Sara was in with Hunter, even though I wasn't exactly sure what that was. I thought about Mike and Megan, who no longer played in the main game, though clearly they had similar games of their own, and apparently just as wicked.

Things can get dicey with relationships and the main game. Maybe I needed to talk to them.

Well, you were gonna anyway 'cause you're nosey.

But in the meantime, I knew I needed to draw some lines. I wasn't a girl who cheated on a boyfriend. That was as ingrained in me as fairness.

Oh fuck, what if he's assumed ...?

"Hey," I said when he answered. "You on the road?"

"Yeah."

"Alone?"

"Sure." Ethan sounded puzzled.

"I wanted to talk to you about something." He didn't respond, so I went on. "I know I told you I'd go to prom with you. And if that's what you want, I still will. But I wanted to let you know that it's a hundred percent okay with me if you go with someone else."

There was a long moment filled only with road noise from my phone. Finally, "Are you saying you don't want to see me anymore?"

"Jeez! Didn't I just say I'd go?"

Oops. That came out wrong.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound that way. I'm feeling awkward and it just came out wrong."

"Okaaay." I could hear the tension still in his tone.

"Look. I would have no problem going to prom with you. And in case you're wondering, if that night ended in a hotel room, hell yeah I'd enjoy the shit out of that part." My voice was warm as I said that. It was the truth.

"But to be honest, the prom itself wouldn't be that much fun for me. I've been there, done that, and I wouldn't know anyone but you. I'd kinda just be arm candy. I think you might find the whole thing a lot more fun if you took some girl who knew everybody and for whom it was, like, her prom, if you get me?"

That wasn't some bullshit thing I made up. It was the absolute truth. Even though I enjoyed being with Ethan, hanging with a bunch of strangers as they talked about their shared four years and laughed at inside jokes wouldn't be the most fun thing in the world.

I waited to see if he would respond, but I guessed he was processing. There was one more important thing to say.

"And Ethan?"

"Yeah?" His voice was abstracted.

"What happens at prom, stays at prom. It doesn't have to affect anything. I had a pretty lit weekend."

Ethan was anything but an idiot. I was pretty sure that the message was delivered: Go get laid by some high school chick. But it doesn't mean this was the last time for us.

"Really lit." My voice was full of smiles because it had been, and I wanted him to know that. "And I'll be back in Jersey in the summer. Think about it."

He sounded less upset when we said goodbye, more like he didn't know what he was thinking. A little while later, I texted him.

≫ What happens at prom, stays at prom. But stories about what hypothetically happened at prom might be ... sexy?

I didn't really expect anything. He was far too bashful to talk about some possible roll in the hay with another girl. He didn't respond.

Late that night, my phone dinged. It was from Ethan, but there was no message, just a URL, "aa88.ly," and "charl/2Truth&1lie" after it. I clicked on the link.

Bright letters blared at me from the top of the screen:

Below that, a text box read:

You've been invited to play by ethan27 who says: "It's got a help page for the rules. Same stakes."

A green oval representing a poker table filled the screen. A graphic of a blonde's torso wearing a white shirt and black vest sat at the top holding a deck of cards. At the top left corner of the table were two face-down cards and a stack of poker chips: white, red, blue, and black. The label next to them read, "Ethan."

At the bottom, it said, "Sign in to see your cards."

I laughed in genuine pleasure. "Oh, Ethan, you are so fucked, and you don't even know it."

I hope you enjoyed Chips's latest escapades. —C