I could only nod mutely and flicked out my tongue to lick his lips. He groaned in barely restrained hunger, holding us back from destroying each other in the entry of his family’s house.
“Where?”
“My place,” I said, feeling like I had at Chance’s party. Tempting fate. Stripping my chest bare and daring River to plunge a knife straight into my heart. “I’m in the guesthouse. It’s private.”
River’s eyes filled with thoughts and I wondered if it was too much, too soon for him.
Tell me to fuck off, River. Kick me out of your house, out of your life, once and for all…
He inhaled deep and tilted his chin.
“What time?”
Chapter Twelve
“What are you going to do?” Holden asked. And then I was grabbing him, kissing him. His tongue was in my mouth and mine was in his, and something lost in me came home…
“Hey, Whitmore? You still with us?”
I blinked out of the hazy, heated thoughts and into the glaring white light of the Burger Barn. At 7pm on a Saturday night, the restaurant was loud with the voices of dozens of conversations, and the hiss and spit of meat on a broiler.
Chance, Mikey, Donte, and I took up a booth made for eight, sitting spread out, arms resting on the backs of the seating. Baskets of fries and burgers were strewn between tall milkshake glasses.
“Dude, what’s with the dopey-ass grin?” Donte asked. “You getting some action we don’t know about?”
Chance perked up. “Oh, damn, are you? That’d explain why you’ve been acting so weird lately.”
Shit.
Mikey leaned in eagerly. “Spill it, Whitmore. Who is she?”
“Anyone we know? Give us a clue.”
A clue…
Holden Parish, in the band room, with his lead pipe.
A crazed laugh nearly burst out of me and I covered it with a coughing fit. I reached for my water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sure about that?” Donte asked. “You looked about ready to rub one off right here at the table a minute ago.”
“Fuck you,” I said, my laughter dying. I leaned back in my seat, casual as hell, and forced myself to say the words. “There’s no one.”
“I call bullshit,” Chance said loud enough that a mom at a nearby table gave him a warning look. “Something’s going on. And it’s not new, either.”
“Since Homecoming, at least,” Donte said. “Maybe earlier. The party…”
He watched me with sharp dark eyes. He was smarter than the other two boneheads, and I cursed myself for being so careless.
“Yep, Homecoming.” Chance said. “When our King ditched the Queen in front of the whole school. I still can’t get over that shit.”
Mikey nodded. “Epic.”
“For the last fucking time, nothing happened at Homecoming,” I said. “I just wasn’t up to it.”
It would’ve been easy to lie and say my mom hadn’t been feeling well, but I wasn’t going to be a complete scumbag and use her to cover my cowardice.
“You sure you’re not hiding some piece on the side?”
“Christ sake.” I grit my teeth. “There’s no one.”
My stomach felt as if I’d swallowed a stone. My friends’ insinuations were like buckets of cold water, reminding me of what was real life and what were only timeouts.
“Maybe you’ve got blue balls,” Mikey said in a serious tone. “It’s a real medical thing.” His smile turned oily. “That’s what I tell my dates, anyway.”
“And it works?” Chance asked.
“Hell, yes, it works,” Mikey said. “I tell’em all sorts of shit when they’re in my Jeep. I mean, if they’ve gone that far, they’re obviously ready to give up the goods. Most girls just need some incentive.”
Chance looked like he was mentally taking notes. I felt sick.
“You’re a fucking animal, Grimaldi,” Donte said.
Mikey looked to me. “You could’ve had that sweet Violet McNamara. Talk about a cherry ready to be—”
“Fuck off,” I said loudly, earning another death glare from the mom. I lowered my voice. “Don’t talk about Violet like that. She’s cool.”
“Then why’d you bail on her?” His eyes widened as a thought occurred to him. “You tap that ass and it was no good?”
“Dude,” Donte said with a short, embarrassed laugh.
“Or are you tapping her now?” Chance asked. “Is she the mystery chick?”
My skin heated and I struggled to keep my tone even. “There is no mystery. I’ve been concentrating on my college apps. Dad’s riding my ass about putting in for early acceptance.”
Chance snorted. “Like the Big Ten aren’t begging for you, Whitmore.”
“They are,” I said, slipping on my King of the World mask. “We want to see who begs hardest.”
Christ, I was sick of my own bullshit, but the others laughed. Mercifully, the conversation moved on to the playoffs and who was going to the Super Bowl that year while I picked at the remnants of my food.
I imagined the looks on my friends’ faces if I told them it was Holden Parish who was making me hard under the table. How they’d laugh at me. At him. How they’d think I was joking. And when they learned I wasn’t—how they’d been sharing a locker room with me for years—they’d pick me apart like a pack of dogs. We had gay kids on campus, of course, but football was an entirely different game and it was too late for me to suddenly change the rules.
It’s impossible.
My gaze swung out to the restaurant. It was packed, every table filled with moms, dads, kids. I tried to imagine my life ten years from now. Working with Dad at the shop, restoring cars and taking my own family to dinner here. I tried to imagine what that family looked like and couldn’t do it. No wife, but no husband either. Just a blank space.
