Page 21 of Saving Pookie

I nod at each person as I count heads in order, not including the crew: Tamra, Boone, Dixon, Braxton, Gunnar, Maverick, Avalon, and myself. Eight.

"One at a time, we say something we've never done," Gunnar continues. "If you've done that thing, you put a finger down. The first person to run out of fingers is the loser and wins the award for being the biggest degenerate."

Braxton claps his hands and grins. "That's a big word for a crayon-eating reject."

"I'll kick your fucking ass," Gunnar growls, the muscles in his throat pulling taut. "Until you strap up and survive boot camp, you don't get the honor."

Braxton raises his hands in equal parts protest and retreat.

"Watch your fucking mouth," Gunnar continues. "You soft California bitch."

Maverick caresses the back of Gunnar's neck, running a hand over his necklace. "Chill out, machine gun."

Gunnar jerks his head and straightens himself out, swallowing his rage with a chug of his beer. When he's finished, he crushes the can in his hand and tosses it behind him. "Let's fucking play."

I knew Gunnar was an ex-Marine, but he carries the baggage of a man who went to war not just once, but twice or thrice. From what I've gathered, he never went at all. In fact, if the rumors are true, he was thrown out of the Marines because he refused to tidy his bed, which seems the most ridiculous way to be discharged, so who the fuck knows if that's true. What I do know for certain is that he's never seen combat, and thank God, because whoever would've ended up on the boom-boom end of his gun wouldn't have stood a chance.

Avalon raises a cup of beer to the air. "I think we should let Pookie go first."

"I'm sure this'll be interesting," Gunnar mumbles under his breath.

And suddenly, I wish I had something a little stronger than water in my cup, but I sip on it anyway, hoping nobody will notice. All eyes are on me, though. All cameras too. My throat dries. There are plenty of things I've never done. So, I go with the first thing that pops into my head. "Never have I ever done meth."

The room quiets and stills, and it fucking feels like forever before Tamra breaks through the silence with the fakest laugh I think I've ever heard—a hyena being swallowed by a toothless lion. "The point of the game is to say something you've never done, but you're pretty sure other people have." She clamps a hand on my shoulder, her fingers digging through the fabric of my shirt. "Never have I ever worn a jockstrap."

I watch as all the men, in unison, lower a finger. That's not a surprise. What is surprising is watching Avalon do the same, hiding her face behind her cup of beer. I think I'm the only one who really notices her in that moment. If anyone else does, they say nothing.

Tamra shrieks with glee—clearly acting for the cameras—and elbows Boone, signifying it's his turn to play. Something about her being the only person left with a full stack of seven fingers burns a hole in my nervous system.

Boone's forest green eyes search the room as he clears his throat, the stubble on his chin rustling like fresh-cut grass. He's a wolf on the prowl, looking for a target. He settles on Gunnar. "Never have I ever been kicked out of the military."

Gunnar punches his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "We're playing dirty today, huh? Just wait."

"Sorry," Boone coos. "It's not personal."

Yeah, I don't know about that. It seems kind of personal. And yeah, Gunnar is a certified prick who bounces between two states of being—wanting to fight and wanting to fuck. I'm sure he gets off doing both at the same time.

Dixon claps his hands together and grins. "Never have I ever had my ass eaten."

He's met with quite a few glares.

"Be fucking serious," Maverick barks. "There's no way that's true."

Dixon shrugs, a broad smile swimming over his lips. "I'm being honest. You know my boy Mike; he's all bottom, all the time. You know how a lot of gay men refuse to go anywhere near a vagina? He feels that way about an ass."

Maverick shakes his head slowly, seemingly in disbelief. "You poor sonofabitch."

Fingers fall around the circle, with everyone losing one more appendage except for Dixon, Braxton, and me. In my relationship with Cameron, sex was about him. It was never about me. I've never really given too much thought about what I'd been missing.

Braxton taps the side of his drink, stealing the attention of everyone around him. "Never have I⁠—"

"Braxton," Tamra shouts, "Put your finger down."

His gaze tears to her, his mouth half-agape.

"Two weeks ago, I was halfway to your prostate with this tongue."

He moves his lips to protest but comes up empty. He settles on saying nothing at all. Instead, he sheepishly drops a finger. He takes no time moving the game along. "Never have I cheated on my girlfriend in Vegas."