“I know. But still, it’d be nice if you could interact with the crowd, maybe try to work on that shyness of yours.”

I look away. “It’s not shyness.”

“Then what is it?” I don’t answer, so he goes on, “Yet another thing you don’t want to talk about. I get it, Jersey.” His nickname for me is quite annoying, but I’m beginning to get used to it. “Fine. If you won’t talk, then we’re going to play.” He stands up, gripping my arm and lifting me in the process.

“Play? W-what are you talking about?” I stand up straight, looking up at him.

“We’re going to play beer pong.”

I widen my eyes reflexively. “I don’t drink, remember?”

“Yes, that’s why I’ll be doing the drinking.” He thumbs his chest, smiling widely at me.

I cross my arms, drop my hip, and smack my lips. “Sorry. I’ve never played before. Guess you’re out of luck.”

Logan reaches down, places both his hands on my shoulders, and smiles. “You’re gonna learn today.” He impersonates Kevin Hart. Logan takes my laugh as an okay, twists my body to face the lake house, and leads me toward the party.

The rules to beer pong—well, I think they may be made-up by the guys—are that there are two teams of two people each with six Solo cups on each end of a rectangular table. Each cup is filled halfway with beer. Each player gets one Ping-Pong ball and one throw per round. The object is to get your ball into one of the opposing team’s cups. If the other team shoots the ball into one of your cups, you have to chug that drink and vice versa. The first team to sink their ball into all the opposing team’s cups wins. The team that loses has to drink the winning team’s remaining filled cups. But there’s a catch. The losing team has to take three shots of vodka as well.

This is what I call alcohol poisoning just waiting to happen.

“All right,” Bryson announces from the other end of the table. “Since Jenna doesn’t drink, we'll shift the rules slightly. Jenna and Logan are on the same team, but Logan does all the drinking. Jenna tosses the ball. Same with Blair and me.”

Logan and I are against Blair Mega Bitch and Bryson. I’m hoping to do an amazing job because I want to beat Blair point-blank. Also, I really don’t want Logan drinking all that alcohol by himself.

“Does everyone get the rules?” Bryson yells over the loud music. Logan and I nod. So does Blair. “All right, Blair, you’re first. Do me proud, babe.”

My teeth find my inner cheek and chew as I take in every movement Blair makes. She positions her body as if she’s about to perform a squat. She puts her game face on—serious. You would think she’s in a real championship match. She lifts her hand, fingers gripping the tiny orange ball, and flexes her wrist back and forth to loosen it up.

Logan’s hand finds its way to my waist, his lips lightly brushing the curve of my ear. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll do great,” he whispers encouragingly.

By this point, our table on the deck is surrounded by partiers. And if Logan’s hand didn’t feel so damn right against my waist, I would’ve brushed it off. Instead I leave it there. Blair Mega Bitch finally tosses the ball, and I flinch as it taps the edge of one of our cups then bounces off. I smile in relief.

“It’s okay, babe. That was just a warm-up,” Bryson encourages her.

I go next and miss too. Blair and I go back and forth two more rounds, missing, until she finally makes the first shot. Logan grabs the cup and, with the ball still in it, chugs the beer down. He smiles at me, flashes a wink, and nods his head before saying, “It’s all right. I’ve played this dozens of times. It doesn’t faze me.” But it fazes me.

I take extra measures to focus and it works. I make the next shot. I turn to face Logan, jumping up and down as I do. His wide grin and gleaming eyes show his affection for me.

I bite my lip, face Blair’s scowl, and put on my poker face.

Game on.

“All right…this is good, we still have a shot. You got this, Jersey,” Logan slurs. I raise my brow, completely and utterly sure that we’re going to lose. We lost the first round, which made the boys competitive, so they decided on best out of three. That’s a lot of drinking on their part. We won one round and Bryson and Blair won the other. This is now the third round and both Logan and Bryson are completely trashed. The opposing team definitely has better odds. They only have one cup left to win and I have three.

I toss the ball and make it in a cup. Bryson drinks. Blair takes her turn, tossing and missing. I go again and make the second in. The crowd around us—all highly intoxicated as well—whistles and cheers loudly. Bryson chugs. This is our last chance. One cup left for each of us. I want to win because there’s no way Logan can have another drink. I’m afraid he’ll pass out. Several cups of beers and three shots is no good, even for a heavy drinker.

Nervously, and with complete focus, I aim and shoot. Dammit. I miss. Blair takes her turn, shooting and landing it. While everyone, including Blair and Bryson, shouts and screams—a bit overly dramatic if you ask me—all I can do is look at Logan, who has the largest grin smacked across his handsome face. He sloppily lifts his right hand up to give me a high five. “We didn’t win,” I say.

“So?” He shrugs. “You played and that, my Jersey Girl, is a celebration in and of itself.”

He just called me his Jersey Girl, emphasizing the “my.” I can’t help but smile. Bryson, now beside us, places their last cup next to our last cup along with three shot glasses filled with vodka. Logan’s hooded eyes graze over the shot glasses and he cringes. I’m not sure why, but something in me just can’t do it. I just can’t let him. I quickly grab both red Solo cups and chug down one of the beers.

More whistles and cheering.

Beer is disgusting. I can’t fathom why people actually drink this for enjoyment.

I chug the second without another thought, gagging a bit at the end.

“W-what are you doing, Jersey?” Logan stumbles forward.

A hand tugs at my arm. “Yeah. What the hell are you doing, Jenna?” Charlie’s beside me now, looking at me like I have five heads.

I shrug her off, smirk, and grip two of the three shot glasses. Saluting Logan, I tell myself this is for him. I bring the glass to my lips, tilt my head and gulp down the burning liquid. Logan laughs at my face, which I’m sure is twisted in disgust. “Jenna…you don’t have to drink it,” Charlie says.

“I’m blending in, just like everyone else,” I say, taking the second shot, which I almost spit back out. I feel a burning in the pit of my stomach and wonder again why people drink this for fun.

Wetting my lips and already feeling sick to my stomach, I reach for the third shot glass, but a hand stops me. I look up at Logan, who slowly shakes his head. He grabs it for himself instead and gulps it down. I hear Charlie mumble something under her breath as she stomps off. I’ll deal with her in the morning. Right now, I can’t keep my eyes off of Logan and the look he’s giving me.

There’s no humor. Just Logan and his stormy blue eyes, scorching deep within me, trying to figure something out. He slowly steps forward. I tilt my head back to look up at him as his eyes scroll down over my face. What is this look, Logan? He rests his hands on my waist and gently pulls me in, my body against his. “Why did you do that?” he murmurs, low enough so only I can hear.

“Because believe it or not, I care enough that I don’t want you to have alcohol poisoning,” I try to joke. But I fail miserably, too consumed with how close Logan is and how his hands curve comfortably along my hips.

“You care about me?” He’s still giving me that unknown look.

Something is stuck in my throat and I try to swallow it back. “Um, I care enough about the alcohol poisoning thingy.” Thingy?