Bikini?

"Why a bikini? Does she even swim?" Jake's thoughts were muddled and the offer was confusing.

Eric rolled his eyes. "The fuck was I supposed to say, wrapped in a towel? Covered artfully by leaves? Maybe I just wanted to distract you from asking for nudes of my sister?"

"I--"

"And of course she fucking swims, it's like--it's not her image or whatever. Always better than everyone. Devoted to the squad, good grades, everybody's pure innocent perfect princess. Elitist bitch." Eric seemed to be talking to himself. Maybe the weed was getting to him, too.

"Jesus, OK, let's see the bikini."

"Deal, but if I win I get to choose a different game. I'm getting kind of bored of Black Ops."

Jake blinked. Those stakes were unbalanced, but Eric didn't seem to think so. He was probably happy he downgraded from nudes to some sort of conservative swimsuit.

It was like a completely different person took over Eric's controller that game. His reaction time plummeted, he was fumbling button presses, he even "accidentally" picked the wrong loadout and got stuck with a gun he hated.

"Okay, that time I know you threw," Jake insisted after he won. "What kind of set-up is this? Did Janie put you up to something?"

Eric tossed his controller to the floor. "There's no fucking set-up, dude, you just beat me! You don't have to rub my nose in it. It's bad enough I have to get you my own sister's bikini shots."

He grabbed his phone and Jake thought he was gonna text Janie again, but he stood up and left the room instead. Jake heard voices talking through the wall, but couldn't quite get what they were saying.