and I could hear Bon Jovi wailing through the speakers.
Jake Weston.
21
Jake
She looked dejected, tired. Like someone who had been knocked down one too many times. I wanted to fix it. To work the kinks out of those slumped shoulders, tell her everything would work out.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I thought you might want one of these,” I said holding up the six pack I’d pulled out of the fridge.
Marley nodded solemnly. “I do. I really do.”
I pulled in next to her car and popped the hatch on my SUV. A little late-night tailgating in the high school parking lot with a pretty girl would go far in reminding me I hadn’t entirely lost my rebellious ways.
She finished stuffing things into her car and joined me. I sat, patting the lip of the hatch next to me.
Marley obliged. I twisted the top off a beer and handed it to her.
“Did you bring me pity beer because you feel sorry for me?”
“Why would I feel sorry for you?” I asked, incredulous.
“Because we lost. Badly. They put the second-string JV in against us. And we still lost.”
I winced. “Thems the breaks in sports. You should be celebrating.”
She looked at me skeptically with those pretty brown eyes.
“Celebrating what?”
“Right now, Coach Vince is standing in a shower that’s gone cold and scrubbing his misogynistic skin.”
That brought a ghost of a smile to her face, but it was gone just as quickly.
“Do you know what my sister does for a living?” she asked.
“I have no clue. Macramé shit and sell it on Etsy?”
She laughed, and I decided I wanted to hear the sound again.
“She works for a human rights organization and applies for grants to bring refugees to the U.S. for life-saving surgeries.”
“Cool.”
“I hypothetically dye teenagers red.”
“I don’t think you’re grasping the pure poetic justice of what you just pulled off…if it was indeed you. I still haven’t heard an actual confession.”
“I’m admitting to nothing,” she said, taking a sip of the beer. “But tell me more about this poetic justice.”
“Vince Snavely is a sniveling, steroid-eating weasel. The only thing he cares about is winning, and he imparts that lovely wisdom on impressionable teenage boys.”
“Huh. He really does look like a weasel,” Marley said.
“Come on. Admit it. Tell me you did it. It’ll make you feel better,” I told her, nudging her with my elbow. I liked the way it felt when our skin brushed. There was something chemical there. A reaction every single time.
She sighed. “When am I going to learn that pranks never make me feel better?”
I had a feeling she was thinking back to Homecoming our senior year. People still talked about it. “Still waiting for a confession.”
“How do I know I can trust you? Are you a narc?”
“I brought you beer that I’m drinking on school property,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but maybe you’re wearing a wire,” she joked.
“Do you want me to take off my shirt?” I offered.
She paused mid-swallow and coughed.
“Because I’d be willing to do it. If it convinces you to trust me.”
“Keep your shirt on, Flirty McGee.”
Playfully, I tugged at the hem of my t-shirt and watched her eyes follow the movement.
“Marley, do I need to remind you that you’re not the only one with prankster cajones? Remember junior year when I built a ramp and jumped the principal’s car with my bike?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Oh, that was you?” she asked innocently.
Damn right it was me.
She looked me up and down. “You don’t look much like that guy anymore. You look…well-behaved. Like a Boy Scout.”
It was an insult, and we both knew it. “I may portray myself to be an upstanding adult during school hours. But I assure you, after school I’m a little rougher around the edges.”
“Hmm.” She considered me, then shook her head. “Nope. Don’t buy it. There’s no sign of the teenage rebel.”
Challenge accepted. “Allow me to reacquaint you with him.” I leaned into her space, happy when she didn’t retreat. I remembered that about her. She didn’t back down or give up.
“Oh, so you’re going to kiss me?” she asked. Her tone was lighter now, her eyes sparkled.
“Yeah. Get ready.”
“I’m ready. Impress me.”
I started to lean in, slow. Building the anticipation. She parted her lips, and I could hear that little intake of breath. Almost like a whisper. Oh, I was going to enjoy this. Marley put a hand on my chest, and I stopped just an inch shy of her mouth.