Author's Note: Hiiii. I swear I'm not dead! I also plan to get back into writing, although it may take a bit. I'm sorry to those who expected a chapter of Danse Macabre. I've been pretty out of it (had some issues with my mom, but I'll detail that later on my profile page). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one-shot! :D

AN 2.0: Quick note about Flip Cup. It's a game for those who can legally drink (although not always played by those who can XD). :P Anyway, the game I have here is slightly different. Each person has two cups, one with beer and one without. When the game starts, it has two teams that are racing to finish first. The first person on each team starts, grabs the empty cup and sets it upside down on the edge of the table, and attempt to flip it so that it lands correctly. If it does, the next person goes. If not, they have to take the cup with beer, and pass the beer along to the next person in a kiss (aka, put the beer in your mouth, don't swallow, kiss the second person, and let them have it in a kiss). xD Gross, but anyway. The next person goes, etc., until the end. Whichever team finishes first, wins. :)

A deviant from the typical Flip Cup.

But, anyway, read on!

Sex & Flip Cup
by MaeMaes

Skank. Hussy. Whore.

Emmaline stood before the foldout table, squashed between the male of her dreams and the ass of her nightmares. It was a game of Sex and Flip Cup, three alcoholics versus three horny teens – or maybe they were all horny alcoholics. The rest of the crowd had dispersed and gone back inside the house for some blessed AC after the first three games.

Meanwhile, sweat trickled down her back in the Miami heat. She ignored the itch in her hands that wanted to send the cup in front of her sailing into the pool behind her.

Were the cups... shifting? Or were her eyes crossing on their own?

Shaking her head, she blinked away the blurriness.

Damn it. She'd had a couple cups of beer by this point, but no matter how much she attempted to fumble the cup, it always landed perfectly. Upside down. If this kept up, she'd be too drunk to remember anything tomorrow morning.

Slut. Tramp. Tart.

All this hassle for a kiss.

She just needed a crap landing. One bad landing of the cup and she could reap the kiss of her dreams! Faulty landing, toss the contents of the cup into her mouth, turn to her right, and pass the beer off through a kiss.

Glancing to the side, she studied Ryan's profile.

Ryan Phillis. Serious demeanor, gorgeous amber eyes, flawless skin, perfection made human.

She'd joined the game of Sex and Flip Cup, a sexually depraved teenager hoping for romance at the bottom of a plastic red cup and on the lips of her crush.

And did she get a kiss?

Had her lips met his with fiery passion?


Not even second-hand Bud Lite?


Five turns into the game, and her lands had been perfect each time. Meaning, she didn't get to drink a mouthful of beer. Meaning, she didn't get to grab Ryan by the shoulders and give him the kiss of his lifetime. Meaning, she didn't get to exchange spit with him.

Instead, she kept getting lip-locked with Logan. The imbecile to her left: Logan Delaney.

What the hell!

She watched as Logan's turn came, urging the cup he flipped to land upside down. It teetered on the rim, wobbling around before hitting the table.

On its side!

Come on. Was this for real?

Glaring at the grinning blond, she'd bet her Mustang that he was messing up his flips on purpose.

Logan picked up the other cup and tilted his head back, taking a mouthful of beer and turned to her with cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. He waggled his eyebrows and leaned forward, settling his hands on her hips.

Wincing, she met his lips with hesitation. Oh, the humiliation. He failed at Flip Cup, and she was bearing the consequences.

And the Bud Lite slipping into her mouth was just gross. Gross. It slid down her throat, warm. It didn't matter that the kisses were a little nice, or that his lips were soft and maybe even a bit exciting. She just hoped Logan didn't have any kind of viral mouth disease. Mono. Herpes. Whatever.

Although, with this fifth kiss, it may be too late to think about all that.

Christ, how much beer could he keep in his mouth? The kiss seemed to take forever. Or maybe that was her lapse in judgment of time?

What in the world had she been thinking, volunteering to get in on this perverted game?

So, she wanted to exchange a romantic kiss with Ryan. She wanted to show up on his libido's map of Things I Want and Will Ravage.

But at the price of Logan's second-hand beer and—and—

Had his tongue just entered her mouth?

Emmaline seized Logan's shirt, bunching the material in her fists and shoved him away.

"Logan Delaney! What the hell are you doing?"

Well, ideally, that's what she would have said. However, it came out in a rush of syllables:

"Logan Daneey! Whattha hell ayou doing?"

Real attractive, eh? Emmaline had control of her brain processes, but seemed to lack the motor functions needed to speak.

And to place the cherry on top, as soon as she shoved him away, she'd lost her balance in her three-inch heels, and toppled against Ryan.

To her horror, the perfect man with his perfect musculature, and what should have been his perfect balance, stumbled backwards with her still in his arms. What should have been a perfect way to start the perfect lip lock (so what if it resulted with their heads colliding against the patio and a potential concussion?), instead led to Ryan's fumble on the edge of the pool, and the largest splash Cherry Oak Estates had ever seen. Right into the deep end of Patty Hughes' Olympic-sized swimming pool.

Holy, holy, holy shit!

Emmaline clawed her way up toward the surface of the pool, panic setting in as her inability to swim took her nowhere.

Bubbles spewed from her mouth as she floated underwater.

Where was Ryan? He wasn't behind her anymore. It was just ice-cold water, and the strangling mess that was her hair. At least the shock left her quite sober.

Is this how she would die?

From the burning sensation permeating her lungs? A virgin? A floozy with aspirations of a ripped hymen, courtesy of Ryan's little friend? At a second-rate booze party?


As if.

As soon as Emmaline descended to the bottom of the pool, she kicked her feet out, her heels scraping against the Diamond Brite concrete. She pushed up, flailing her arms above her head, searching for the edge of the pool.

A warm hand caught hers, lifted her out and held her while she gasped for air and spat out water.

Her savior!

Trying to blink the water out of her eyes, she expected Ryan to be holding her up. Instead, she found herself caught against Logan's chest, her hands clinging to his biceps as if they'd been patented GLAD Cling Wrap. Wheezing for oxygen, she hoped the sound covered up the squeeze she gave his arms.

Mmm, biceps.

Alright, so clearly hormones had invaded her brain. And, ah, there was Ryan, climbing out of the pool like it was no big deal.

"Shit, what the fuck?"

Ryan, the golden boy, cursing?

He ran his palms over his face, went to wipe it on his sleeve, then cursed again when he realized that, too, was wet.


Emmaline blinked up at Ryan, his brown hair appearing black. His eyes narrowed in disgust as he looked Emmaline up and down.

"Next time, watch where you're stepping, got it? God, I hate drunks." Slicking away the water from his hair, he shrugged out of the open button-down he'd been wearing.

Normally, Emmaline would have admired his physique as he wore only a wife-beater. Instead, she backed away from both boys. Taking her time to enunciate while keeping her rising indignation from exploding into a sarcastic reply, she said clearly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run into you."

She never expected him to be so easily angry. He'd always seemed like the calm and courteous kind of guy.

As she walked away – two thumbs up for being mature! – she heard him mutter something like, "Dumb bitch."

Her temper snapped.

Whirling around to give him a piece of her mind, she thought the world dipped. That, or she was hallucinating. Or maybe now she couldn't hear correctly either?

Logan pushed Ryan by the shoulders, straight back into the pool. And as Ryan the Rude came back up, spluttering, cursing, and giving Logan the evil eye, Emmaline couldn't help but laugh.

"Delaney! I'm going to kick your ass at practice! Fuck this." For the second time, Ryan pulled himself out of the pool, muttering. Shaking off the water, he glared at Logan before heading into the house.

Emmaline wasn't sure if Logan had done that on her behalf, or just because Ryan had annoyed him as well. Maybe it was the latter. It seemed much too nice to assume the former was true.

"Come on, Emma, let's ditch Flip Cup. Plus, you need some dry clothes unless you like showing off your zebra-print bra." With a smirk, Logan kept his blue-eyed stare at chest level. Her chest level.

Glancing down, Emmaline hmphed slowly, "S'a fashion statement." So what if he could see the outline of her bra? People had seen far less on South Beach, where the girls ran topless. And it wasn't as if there was a crowd to put on a show for. Their opponents were nowhere to be found – probably gone inside so that she and the other two boys would have to clear away the mess.

"Yeah, well, unless you want your nipples to be a fashion statement…" His shirt dropped onto her head as she turned to retort. Startled, she plucked the material off her face, wallowing in the spicy scent of his cologne.

Logan, the lecherous kissing machine, was being nice? And thoughtful?

No. Emmaline stomped on the warm and fluffy emotions that settled at the bottom of her heart. She refused to acknowledge them!

She gave him her back and pulled off her wet tank top.

"So, is it typically this easy to get you out of your clothes?"

"Is it typically this easy to get you to strip out of yours?" she countered. Ooh, motor functions have returned, ladies and gentlemen. Maybe it was still slurry around the edges, but it made sense.

Hurrying, she pulled on his shirt.

"If it's you, sure," he murmured in a quiet voice.

"Hah! Fat chance. You probably say that to all the women, you Casanova." She faced him, wringing the water out of her tank top, and grinned.

Smiling, Logan pulled her toward him. "If I'm Casanova, I only wrote those 'memoirs' to make you jealous."

"Astounding! You do know your historical figures." Laughing, Emmaline couldn't resist the urge to tease him.

Her smile faded as his hands slid around her waist. She looked up at him and had to curb the urge to nibble on his bottom lip.

Oh, libido, be still. Who knew where his penis had been? Aside from in his pants and currently dancing around in her head?

"I only want to study one figure tonight."

The pads of his thumbs slipped underneath the hem of her shirt, rubbing circles along the skin of her waist.



She stared at him, not sure how to reply. Not sure she wanted to. Was it the beer making her feel like this, or was this all Logan? Could she even blame all this on tipsiness anymore?

Th-thump. Th-thump.


Why was her heart beating so quickly? He wasn't Ryan. This was Logan.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.


Then her thoughts froze when he pecked her on the lips with the lightest of kisses.


Her brain short-circuited.

The attempt to re-wire resulted in:

"Logan Delaney, what do you want with me?" she whispered. She couldn't tear her gaze from his lips. Well, the full bottom one.

Being held tight against Logan's hard body definitely wasn't the worst thing that could have happened this night.

"What can I say, Emma? I joined the game because I wanted a kiss. And look at the bargain I got." Grinning, one had slid down her back to settle at her waist – cursed hand, it should have gone lower – while the other massaged her neck.

"So, you're saying you messed up the flips on purpose?"

He nodded unabashedly.

Narrowing her eyes, Emmaline laughed.

"You slut."

And leaned forward for a proper kiss.

Author's Note: Let me know what you think. :) I wrote it to get some writing/creativity out of my system. Who knows where those two are going to end up tonight? ;)