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“To Equatorial Guinea!” The last of the Model UN nerds cheer as they shuffle out of Ben’s room.
Devi raises her near-empty cup back at them, smiling tightly, and then heaves out a breath and collapses back against the mirror mounted above the desk as soon as the door falls closed behind them. “Being popular is a lot more work than I thought it’d be.”
Ben pops his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush poised between his lips, and raises his eyebrows.
She frowns at him. “Did you seriously start getting ready for bed in the middle of a party?”
He answers, but Devi can’t make out the words for all the mumbling.
She cocks her head at him. “What the shit did you just say to me?”
He starts repeating himself, but quickly thinks better of it, holding up a finger instead.
“I’m tired,” he says, emerging from the bathroom a minute later, his slacks having been traded for plaid pajama pants and his Oxford for a soft looking t-shirt. “And we have a big day tomorrow.”
She groans, kicking her leg out. It doesn’t even come close to reaching him as he pads past her, falling heavily back against the desk instead and sending a pang through her heel and ankle. “You’re not supposed to be thinking about tomorrow yet. It’s still tonight. And tonight rules.”
Ben pauses in his lap around the room, a stack of plastic cups in his hand. “Thought it was more work than you’d thought it’d be?”
She shrugs, swirling the last dregs of wine around and watching as they attempt to slosh up the sides of her cup. “Still rules to be adored.”
“What?” he asks, throwing the used cups in the trash with so much force, the liner sinks in on itself. “Paxton not doing a good enough job of making you feel that way himself?”
Devi leans forward, propping her chin up in her palm. “That’s, like, the twentieth time you’ve brought up Paxton tonight.”
Ben’s eye twitches. “So?”
“So,” she says, “that’s supposed to be my thing. Do you have a crush on him or something?”
Ben shakes his head but asks, “Doesn’t everyone?”
Devi blinks. And then a disbelieving laugh pops out of her. “Oh, my god. You have a crush on Paxton! You’re cranky about the thought of me sleeping with him because you’re jealous. This is officially the best day of my life.”
“First of all,” Ben says, mouth all twisted up as he grabs the wine bottle she’d done most of the work emptying off the desk beside her and moving it to the ground next to the trash can, “live a pathetic life much?”
She sits back against the mirror and crosses her eyes at him. “Good one.”
“Secondly, why are you still here? The party’s over. Go to bed, Devi.”
“No.”
His nostrils flare. “It’s nearly midnight.”
“Live a little, Gross.”
“I did. I robbed this hotel blind, and I formed an alliance with my long-standing enemy. Full day any way you look at it, and now I want to go to sleep.”
Maybe it’s the alcohol or that she’s crap at processing emotions she’s never felt before, but she’s suddenly pissed at herself for how badly she wants to stay in Ben’s room and she’s pissed at Ben for not wanting the same thing.
She downs the last of the wine in her cup and then slams it down on the desk.
“You know what?” she says, shoving herself off the desktop and wobbling a little when she lands. “I’ve changed the terms.”
He cranes his neck back, like their sudden proximity disgusts him. But he doesn’t step away. “The terms of what?”
“Our alliance,” she says, jabbing him in the chest. His t-shirt is, in fact, soft.
“We didn’t negotiate any terms,” he says, knocking her hand away. “We were interrupted, remember? By the Praise Devi Parade.”
Just like when they’d high-fived earlier that night, a zing of…of something travels up Devi’s arm at the contact, making her elbow sting like she’s just knocked her funny bone against something sharp.
“Fine,” she says and, intent on one-upping the sensation, takes a step closer to Ben. Make that happen again, she thinks, narrowing her eyes at him. I dare you. “Here’re my terms: I’ll support whatever bullshit you propose tomorrow and make you look good in front of my new fan club—”
Ben bares his teeth, stands his ground.
“—if you admit,” Devi continues, advancing further, “that the thing that really crawled up your butt this trip is that I’ve officially won by proving I’m more popular than you’re ever gonna be.”
He hmms, pretending to think it over. “See, I would,” he says after a second, eyes boring into hers, “but you were more right the first time. It’s jealousy.”
Devi’s stomach loses its engagement with gravity and floats up into her throat, which is just so much fucking worse than the funny bone feeling.
She shoves him away from her, both palms planted against his chest. “Asshole.”
He stumbles a step back, looking strangely blank for a second. Then, he starts to laugh. “What was that you said about officially winning?”
She’s pretty sure that the dizziness she feels isn’t entirely due to inebriation. “Fuck off, Ben.”
He shrugs. “And our alliance?”
She studies him for a moment. There’s something faintly disquieting about seeing him like this, before-bed subdued and not bothering to match her every outburst. It almost makes it seem plausible that he’d meant it, about being jealous.
Devi huffs, deflating. “You’re lucky I care more about world domination than making sure you don’t get what you want.”
“Careful, David,” he says. “You keep talking like that, and I’ll start to think we’re friends.”
And just like that, there’s a hard lump in her throat, though she could more easily explain the governing laws of thermodynamics than why that should be the case.
“I don’t know,” she says, and it only comes out sounding a little thicker than usual, thank fuck. “A real friend would have let me stay in their room as long as I want.”
He looks her over, and for a second, heart floating and elbows buzzing, she thinks he’s gonna tell her to stay.
Instead, he holds out his hand. “Allies, then.”
She ignores his hand, pretty sure that taking it would only bring on a renewed surge of anger, and she’s still reeling from the last one. “Allies,” she stresses, turning for the door. “At least for tomorrow.”
He makes a vaguely offended sound in the back of his throat, and she pauses with her fingers pressing on the handle of the door.
“Well, I might wake up and remember how unlikeable you are without the aid of wine, is all I’m saying.”
She wonders if she sounds as hopeful to his practiced ears as she does to her own.