Sorority Girls With Guns by Cat Caruthers Page B

Biff!“
    "Wait! We don't mean a real one!" I hiss as she starts to get up. "Please just hear us out.  You said you'd help your friends, and all we want to do is teach this rich bitch of a frat boy a lesson."
" And it's not a real sex tape?"
I relax a little. Apparently , I really am the talented actress no one believes I am. "Not a real one, no. And not embarrassing to you. In fact, we can make sure no one sees your face."
    Tiffany plays with the zipper pull on her hoodie.  “Okay. What do you want to do?”
    “ We want to make what looks like a sex tape to hold over Ball-Bearing-Balls’ head,” Morgan says.
    “ Why do you need me?” Tiffany asks.
    “ Because I told him off royally today,” Morgan says. “He’ll be suspicious if I suddenly want to sleep with him again, don’t you think?”
    “ And I was there when she told him off,” I add. “But you weren't. We're going to be in the tape too, but we need you to lure him back to the motel.”
    “ I see.” Tiffany smooths her hair. “So how do we make a no-sex sex tape?”
    “ He’ll do most of the work for you.” I gesture out the window, where a bonfire indicates an early start to cocktail hour. “Once he gets very, very trashed, you start flirting with him. It won’t take much. Tell  him your room is closer and lead him back there-“
    “ To Richard's room, of course,” Morgan says. “We made him get a single instead of sharing since he's supposed to be living like a rich person. I asked if we could borrow his bigger room for our plan to deal with you, money free, and he agreed..”
    “ We’ll be hanging out in the bathroom, ready to take video on both our phones,” I continue. “But feel free to use yours as well for an additional copy.”
    “ Get him drunker,” Morgan says, scanning the room to make sure no one is close enough to overhear. “Pop the cork on a bottle of wine or something. I’m sure we can find something cheap. Pretend to be drinking a lot yourself, but don’t.”
    “ When he’s close to passing out, you’ll climb on top, start raining kisses down his neck or some other take-it-slow stall tactic,” I say. “Then you’ll start rocking back and forth, like you’re actually doing it.”
    “ I doubt this will happen, but what if he actually manages to get it up?” Tiffany asks.
    “ Fair question.” I shrug. “Just continue to tease him. Tell him you want to show him some special technique you learned, one time at band camp or whatever, then down another shot. How much you wanna bet he’ll do the same?”
    “ And then what do we do?”
    Morgan and I exchange mischievous grins. “Then the fun really starts,” I say.
    Chapter Twelve
    Biff is every bit the drunken fool we left this morning (which seems like decades ago, it was so fucking early). Tiffany and Biff are stumbling through the doorway, weaving like Lindsey Lohan fresh out of rehab.
    I’m relieved that my time in the tiny bathroom with Morgan is almost over. I have never heard anyone talk so much about AP classes and how hard it is to finish at the head of every class she’s in. Seriously, if she’s the head of every class, who the fuck else would want to hear about it?
    Tiffany is playing her part remarkably well, considering how little rehearsal she had. She’s sloshing cheap champagne (and when I say cheap, I mean, like, mouthwash in a glass bottle) into plastic cups so generously provided by the Roach Motel. As she slips into giggly-and-goofy mode, she pulls off her t-shirt and falls onto Biff, who’s sprawled on his back like a beached whale. Or Chris Christie.
    “ You want another glass?” Claire knocks back her mouthwash/champagne, taking care to slosh most of it onto her face – or Biff. “Oh, let me clean that up.” She leans over and starts licking at Biff’s shirt. I wonder if she knows about all the toxic chemicals used in dry cleaning these days. Then I realize Biff probably hasn't gotten around to having that shirt cleaned in