Of course. Me kissing girls is great, but him kissing guys is out of the question.

“What about you?” British Bombshell turns to Ashton, who’s sitting next to Mal. “Are you okay with snogging a bloke?”

Ashton gives a brief, nonchalant nod, sliding his gaze to Mal. Mal looks between British Bombshell and Ashton, his face blank. I realize I am holding my breath, waiting for his answer, when he opens his mouth.

“I don’t discriminate when it comes to hating and fucking.”

“Hallelujah!” Bombshell giggles.

I cross my jeans-clad legs, feeling my panties lined with wetness. I don’t know why the idea of him kissing Ashton is so erotically pleasing to me. Maybe because they’re both so aesthetically beautiful. Maybe because I know Mal hates Ashton, and that Mal is the kind of guy who can hate-fuck anyone into a coma, despite his eccentric, contradictory nature. And suddenly, I’m imagining Mal dicking Ashton from behind, and the air gets hot and heavy and incredibly thick in my lungs.

“Rory?” Callum turns to me.

“Hmm?”

“You’re fanning yourself. Is there an issue with the air conditioning?”

Shit. I drop my hand and steal a glance at Mal again. His purple eyes shine as they laser their way into my pupils. Busted.

Ashton is the first to spin the bottle. It lands on a Greek brunette. They both crawl on all fours, meeting halfway in the middle of the twelve-person circle. Knowing they’re about to set the bar for the rest of us, they grin at each other conspiratorially and plunge in with force.

Callum and I exchange looks when we realize it’s much more than just kissing. Richards’ hand slides into her shirt, and she cups his erection through his jeans as they kiss deeply. She lifts one of her legs and straddles him in the middle of the circle.

“All right,” Callum says in his cheerful tone. “Let’s break it off before someone gets pregnant.”

Everyone laughs nervously, and the flushed brunette scurries back to her spot. British Bombshell spins the bottle, eyeing Callum like he’s pizza to someone in ketosis, and sure enough, karma decides to spit in my face, and the bottle lands on him.

Maybe it’s because I don’t have the right to be angry, but I’m oddly okay with this outcome. It doesn’t even surprise me much. Mal says Kathleen has been messing with his life in a roundabout way since she died, and maybe he’s right. So many coincidences happen when we’re together. It’s like we’re sewn into one piece, entwined in the same pattern, on the same path, and every time someone else tries to get close to us, life rips it to shreds.

Callum searches my face—for approval or jealousy, I have no clue. My pulse escalates. There’s a ball of guilt the size of my fist lodged in my throat.