Welcome to the world of Alex and Beck. Two friends and almost lovers who never really stood a chance in high school. Fortunately for both of them, high school is long past.

I'll be writing this novel for Nano, so it will be published warts and all. 

Nothing good ever came out of a midnight game of Trivial Pursuit and a massive bottle of vodka. He stood at my door, the bottle hooked between two fingers and the game tucked underneath his arm. He wore a smirk and a look of confidence, in addition to the jeans that hugged and loosened in all the right places. I sighed and swung the door open wider so he could come in.

“A midnight rendezvous wasn’t part of the deal,” I said in exasperation.

Beck stepped in behind me and closed the door softly. “Actually,” he said in the low tone that always managed to make the hair stand up on the back of my neck, “I don’t believe we narrowed our bets down to timing.”

“Remind me to remedy that.”

Two excruciating weeks ago I agreed to a completely insane deal with Beck. We had a convoluted history, he and I. For me, I wouldn’t have minded never seeing him again. For him, he seemed to have something to prove and possibly a debt to settle. Plus, he admitted he liked me. In more than a friend way. Which, when I sat and thought about it, was a little bit awesome. And a whole lot terrifying.

My feelings about him were muddled. I couldn’t deny an overwhelming physical pull between us, and every single time we were in close quarters together I got nervous and tongue-tied. After a decade I’d finally forgiven him for the almost unforgivable stunt he’d pulled in high school.

It wasn’t easy and I still wasn’t a hundred percent over it, but he’d offered me several sincere apologies and I finally realized it wasn’t Beck, it was me. I’d been angry at myself for not being able to move on. After being away from him for so long only to have him unexpectedly pop back into my life, it jolted me right back into high school and it took me awhile to shake myself free of that feeling.

I was no longer Alexandria Jewitt, braces wearing nerd. I was a business owner. A home owner. A secret stash of stock owner. And I had thought I was overwhelmingly over Beckett Dean.

I watched as Beck walked his unnerving walk over to my kitchen table and set his loot in the middle only to stare at me expectantly.

“This is probably a terrible idea.” But it didn’t stop me from heading to the refrigerator and pulling out a scarcely used 6 pack of Coke. I plopped it on the table next to the vodka and went over to the cabinet for some tumblers.

A small smile played on Beck’s lips as he watched me. “It probably is a terrible idea.” He opened the lid on the game and started to set up the game. I nervously adjusted my pajama top and ran a finger through my newly shorn hair before I sat at the table.

I watched him as he unfolded the board and set up the cards. My heart was beating out a slow, pounding rhythm. Beck was in my house. After midnight.

But I was the dumb ass who’d let him in.

I’d suffered insomnia ever since college so I was still up tonight when my doorbell rang. Seeing Beck standing there on my front step made me want to do several things. Run. Hug him. Smack him. And most of all just stare at him, drinking in all those features I’d been so enamored with as a girl, and now as a grown woman.

Beck passed the box containing the scoring pies over to me. I blew out a breath, decided to just go with it, and chose the blue one. Beck picked a green one and we both set our pieces in the circle in the middle of the game board.

“What are we betting for?” I asked, wanting to make a hundred percent sure this wasn’t something weird like Strip Trivial Pursuit.

Beck raised one of his eyebrows, the depths of his green eyes sparkling as he debated my questions. He leaned back, steepled his fingers together and studied me.

“I’ll take it easy on you this time. Same rules we decided before. If you win, I’ll throw a party for you and your friends and serve you wearing a French maid costume.”

And this was the reason I’d chosen to take Beck up on this absolutely insane betting game. I could not pass up the chance to crush Beck and humiliate him a little bit. After all, he was signing up for this, and I’d never signed up for what he’d done to me.

I stared at him for a second wondering what his angle was. He was smart, even though he downplayed it as much as he could. And I knew he knew I wouldn’t be able to tell him no. Beck always enjoyed my over competitiveness in high school. No reason to think that had changed.

“You know I’m going to crush you, right?”

Beck chuckled. My entire body tensed at the slow, liquid sound, but I forced a polite smile on my face.

“It depends on how much you know about 80’s rock stars and football stats. I could surprise you.”

I cracked my knuckles and gave him a wolfish grin. “You underestimate my ability to know tons of useless shit.”

“Game on then, Alex.” He opened the vodka bottle. I opened the Coke bottle.

Beck rolled the dice.

I swallowed nervously.

“Game on, Beck,” I said with barely a tremble in my voice.

#

Beck had conveniently managed to forget to tell me the vodka wasn’t just for sipping purposes. Every time someone got an answer wrong, the loser had to take a swallow of vodka, which made my choice of the tumbler glasses an amazingly dumb ass move. A sip of vodka in a shot glass was no big deal, whereas a sip of vodka in a wide tumbler was a completely different ball game.

Although I was killing Beck in the game, my first slip up came during a golf question.

I thought golf was a completely useless sport. Grown men in weird ass pants swinging at a tiny ball and people yelling inane things like, “FORE,” I nodded off if I even passed the golf channel aimlessly remote surfing on my television, much less If I had to actually watch it. My answer to all things golf was either, “Tiger Woods!” or if the question was before 1996, “Jack Nicklaus!” Because in my world, there are apparently only two golfers.

But in Beck’s world, golf was the end all be all. He scoffed in disgust at my answer, which made me question his hotness, but whatever. Jack Nicklaus was not the right answer for the sports wedge win, so I hesitantly held my tumbler up for Beck to pour.

A wicked grin slid onto his face and I jerked my cup away. Vodka sloshed onto the game board. “A swallow! Not a tumbler full.” I eyed him with suspicion. “Got it?”

An innocent look appeared on his face. “Really, Alex. Ye of little faith.” Warmth suffused my hand holding the cup as he grabbed it and pulled it toward him. He poured a quick slosh in and let go of my hand.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, but my gaze was drawn to the clear liquid in my cup. I’d gotten out the Coke for nothing. I hadn’t done shots since college and my experience was so bad I’d sworn never to do them again.

It’s not a shot, I told myself. It’s a sip. A larger sip than I would like, granted, but still just a sip. I tilted the glass back and let the liquid slide down my throat.

Burning warmth suffused my face, but I refrained from grimacing as I swallowed. I hoped there weren’t too many more moments like that. I was a lightweight. Beck, on the other hand, was already three swallows of vodka in and didn’t look even slightly phased.

Just a few more for me and I’d be face down in a pile of Trivial Pursuit pieces.

Beck rolled the dice and landed on the entertainment area. I laughed maniacally and pulled the card, hoping for something Paris Hilton or Britney Spears based. No way would he get either of those.

I held the card up at nose level and snorted. Not in a million years would he get this.

I scooted the bottle of vodka closer to me and reached for Beck’s glass.

He made a tsking noise and shoved my hand away. “Read the card, woman,” he growled.

I gave him the stink eye. “The lyrics ‘The taste of your lips, I’m on a ride’ are from which Britney Spears’ singles?” I delighted in watching his face pale. “Baby, One More Time. Oops, I did it again or Toxic?”

His mouth gaped like a fish starved of oxygen and then twisted into an aggravated frown. He reached over and took the bottle from my hands and poured his own swallow.

I crowed with laughter. “Drink up, Bitch!” I shouted and grabbed the die.

Six spaces later, my leftover laughter died. Sports.

Again.

Beck reached over and snagged my glass before I could get to it and poured out some more booze.

“Presumptuous much?” I growled in annoyance.

In response he shoved the glass over to me.

“What Baltimore Orioles manager was ejected from a record 91-”

I didn’t even give him time to finish. I downed the booze in a single swallow and smacked the glass down on the table.

His chuckle drowned out my grumbling. I was up by three pieces to Beck’s one. I still felt fine, but if my luck held out, in ten minutes I’d be feeling the burn of the vodka all the way down to my sock clad toes. I tossed the dice back to Beck and let him have his turn.

#

Two hours later I was high stepping to the hall closet to get Beck a blanket while trying to concentrate on my depth perception. Four walls later, I was rubbing a newly forming knot on my head and struggling to reach the soft beige blanket right in front of me.

But the important thing was I won.

A sloppy grin spread over my face as I stumbled back to the couch where Beck lay sprawled out and shitfaced.