My heart was racing. "Spill it, man. I swear I won't get mad."
Tyson leaned in, a little hesitant. "Alright, so at freshman orientation, we had this team-building game. A bunch of us lined up on a narrow bench, sorting ourselves by birthday. It was tight, so we had to hold hands, facing each other to shuffle to our spots. Someone—I don't even remember who—said when Kimmi slid past him, chest-to-chest, she lost her balance. One foot almost hit the ground, so he grabbed her to steady her. He could feel how soft she was. And get this—because of a mix-up with the dates, she had to slide back the other way, so he got another chance to hold her. He said it was, like, a world-class experience."
This was the first I'd heard of it, and it hit me like a truck. I remembered Kimmi mentioning she was in Alex's group for that camp, and their birthdays were only a few days apart—part of why they clicked so well. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced it was Alex. Picturing it sent a jolt through me, and—embarrassingly—my body reacted. Tyson and Alex, standing across from me, definitely noticed, exchanging a quick glance. I mumbled something about needing the bathroom and bolted, trying to cool off. Staring in the mirror, my mind raced with where this night could go. I was weirdly thrilled, but also terrified one wrong move could end things with Kimmi. I told myself to keep it together—no reckless moves.
Back in the living room, Kimmi was passed out on the couch. I glanced at her, saw no reaction, and scooped her up to carry her to the second-floor bedroom. To make her more comfortable, I helped her out of her clothes and bra, slipping her into a black spaghetti-strap nightdress that barely reached mid-thigh. With her flushed cheeks, she looked both sexy and adorable. Half-asleep, she mumbled, "You done drinking?" Wanting to reassure her—and, honestly, curious to dig for more—I lied, "They're gone." She nodded faintly and drifted back to sleep.
Downstairs, I peeked to see what Tyson and Alex were up to. They were in the garden, chatting and—get this—fiddling with Kimmi's bikini, still hanging out there. When I stepped out, they quickly dropped it and came back inside to keep drinking. I'll be real—my tolerance isn't bad, but these guys could drink. Sometimes, when they weren't looking, I'd sneakily dump my beer into the ice bucket. After they returned, though, they tag-teamed me with drinks, and I started feeling the buzz. Weirdly, they clammed up about Kimmi, like they had a silent agreement to drop it.
Then it hit me: instead of dragging this out with them dodging questions, why not play drunk and see what they'd do? So, I leaned into it, chugging a full glass, slurring my words, insisting I wasn't drunk while throwing my arms around them like we were best buds. I rambled about how they looked out for Kimmi at school, then faked stumbling to the bathroom to "puke." Truth is, I did puke—years of drinking taught me that if you don't get the alcohol out, you're either passing out or waking up in a haze.
When I came back, I sprawled on the couch, pretending to pass out. But as I lay there, real sleepiness hit. Tyson came over, nudged me a couple times, and got no response. They went back to drinking and chatting, but to my surprise, they didn't mention Kimmi at all. Within minutes, I actually dozed off for real.
Luckily, puking saved me from a full blackout. It was our first day in Thailand, probably just jet lag, so I only napped for maybe 30 minutes before stirring. When I was about to open my eyes, I realized the living room was pitch black—no sign of Tyson or Alex. Did they get bored and head back to their villa? Nope. As I reached the front door, I saw their shoes still there. They were still in the house. My heart started pounding as I tiptoed through the first floor, finding no trace of them. That left the second floor: the master bedroom with its bathroom (where Kimmi was sleeping), a guest room, and a guest bathroom.
As I crept up the stairs, I'd pass the guest bathroom first, then the guest room, with the master bedroom right across from it—where Kimmi was, alone.