Don't own Life with Derek. Do own my plot.
It's a lame party; even the highest point is far below the most boring of Derek-bashes. Still, Ryan's a friend, and since Casey threw a fit about it being her turn to have the car Derek couldn't have gone somewhere else anyway (he waited at least twenty minutes for her to make the crucial shoe decision and they idled for a further ten in the Davis's driveway while Emily tracked down the right purse. Girls!) It's a lame party but even lame parties have their benefits.
After most of the guests have gone the remaining few gather in the living room, sprawling on the Johnson's truly extensive collection of floor pillows. Everyone is sleepy and full of good food but no one is drunk (Ryan's parents stayed home, the party stayed dry), and the lights are dim. The mellowest tracks of somebody's ipod play quietly beneath the lazy conversation, the room is warm and full of good feeling. Derek would never admit it but he loves moments like these. His parties, while perfect in every other aspect, never simmer down into drowsy contentedness.
Then someone proposes a game of spin-the-bottle. The suggestion is lamer than the rest of the evening put together (what are they, twelve?), but the cushions are gathered into a rough circle and an appropriate vessel placed in the center.
Kissing Sam is a disgusting sacrifice that Derek's nonetheless willing to make for rules which create the possibility of hot girl-on-girl action. After he finishes grimacing he takes his turn and the bottle wobbles and twists and drags to a stop. Drags to a stop, pointing straight at Casey.
Derek's immediate protests trigger a hubbub of shouted opinions. The predominant belief is that the stepsiblings aren't actually related and as they didn't even meet until two years ago there's no cause for ick at all. Casey looks up at him and the light, catching on the curve of her cheek, just glows.
Derek watches in a daze as she sways across the circle and stumbles down beside him. She leans forward and the curtain of her hair shuts out the rest of the room, satin strands sliding across his face. Casey smells like honey, amber dark and druggingly sweet. Her lips rest against his for one moment, two, and then the soft warm pressure disappears as she wobbles back to her cushion. She spins the bottle and Justin Blake struts forward to pull her into a passionate embrace while the normal flow of conversation resumes around them.
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