Bad Glass

“They aren’t planning any more expeditions into the hospital,” Danny said, shaking his head. “Everyone’s frustrated. We aren’t getting anywhere, running into walls and cliff faces everywhere we turn. And we have no idea what to do next.” After a moment of thoughtful silence, he raised his glass and smiled. “Let’s drink to the military—science and religion, but with guns!”

Amanda laughed. “Hear, hear!” she said, raising her glass.

I took a small sip from my drink. I was already feeling tipsy, and if I wanted to stay conscious, I knew I’d have to take it easy.

Taylor scooted over to my side and clinked her glass against mine. She smiled at me. It was a warm smile, but there was a hint of a question in her steepled brow. “So tell me,” she said, keeping her voice low. “What happened with Floyd? Why’s he brooding?”

Before answering her question, I cast a quick glance around the room. Amanda, Mac, and Danny had moved closer to the fireplace; they were warming their hands and laughing, their voices rich and loud in the first flush of intoxication. Charlie was still in the kitchen. For the moment, Taylor and I had a certain amount of privacy. We’d found our own little world here, seated at the foot of the sofa.

“We followed Devon across the street,” I said, glancing over toward the living-room window. Right now, the window was nothing but a dark square blacked out by the night, but I remembered the view from across the street. Standing at his perch, Devon would have a clear view of our conversation. “He’s been spying on us, spying on the house. With binoculars.” I didn’t mention the radio. “But that’s not what bothered Floyd … We found something over there, under the house. Tunnels.”

Taylor nodded. There was concern on her face but no surprise. She skated right over the part about Devon’s spying, making me think she already knew, or at least suspected. “What did Floyd see?” she asked instead. “What did he see down there?”

The question caught me off guard. I’d been expecting questions, but nothing that direct. “I don’t know,” I said when I once again found my voice. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

She read the confusion on my face and patted me on the forearm. “That’s just what happens,” she said. “That’s what the city does. To each of us.”

She nodded toward my drink and smiled coyly. “Now drink up. Tomorrow we can worry. Tomorrow we can plan. Tonight …” Her smile grew, and she once again clinked her glass against mine. “Tonight we have booze.”

“Come on, Dean. Let’s go upstairs.” Her voice was a hushed whisper against my ear. An audible smile. “We should be together. The three of us.”

Taylor smiled and ran the back of her fingers across my cheek. I pulled away, laughing. I could feel hot blood rushing through my flesh. I was drunk, fucked up, and the whole situation seemed unreal.

Danny and Taylor each grabbed an arm and helped me to my feet. The room swayed for a moment, and then we headed for the stairs.

“You up for this?” Taylor whispered in my ear.

“Yeah,” I said with a surprised laugh. “I guess I am.”

We staggered into Taylor’s room, and my head spun in the darkness. Then Taylor struck a match and started lighting candles. There were a half dozen total, and she laughed as she stumbled about the room, from candle to candle, trying to keep the match lit.

Danny put his hand on my shoulder, and I turned to meet his grinning face. “You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. No. Never fooled around with any guys. I never had the inclination. No offense,” I added lamely.

“Well, it’s just like with girls,” he assured me.

“Only manlier,” Taylor said.

“Only better!” Danny corrected.

This struck me as extremely funny, and I started to giggle. I should have been nervous, I guess, given the situation and my white-bread upbringing, but I wasn’t feeling it. I wasn’t feeling much of anything. I was trapped inside an envelope of perfect, comfortable warmth, and nothing bad could reach me here. The feeling only seemed to grow as Taylor took my hand and pulled me down onto the bed.

Taylor propped herself up on one elbow and leaned out over my body. She used her free hand to stroke my face, tracing my unshaven jawline before moving up to my ear. Her touch was soft and tentative, but the act itself—her body over mine, the feel of her breath against my cheek—seemed incredibly intimate. My body responded to her touch, desire and need erupting like a bloom of heat inside my muscles. There was a dreamy look on Taylor’s face, and I reached out to pull her close, but she caught my hands and pushed them back down, moving to lift the sweatshirt off my chest.

The air was cold. Her hand was colder still as she moved it up and down my naked flesh.

There was a sudden pressure against my crotch, and I tensed in surprise. I looked up and found Danny sitting at the foot of the bed, his hand kneading the flesh beneath my jeans.

“Relax,” he said.