Chapter 3
Chapter three
Today
As soon as I left my mom’s I stopped and picked Zap like ants on a mission, moving around one another with ease and avoiding collisions.
Tailgates are down, chairs are pulled out, coolers packed to the top with drinks, I think there is a keg or two around here somewhere, and they definitely didn’t forget the beer pong tables.
Typical high school slash college kid shit.
Speaking of, there are a lot alumni here too; not just me creeping around with my boys.
The captain of the baseball team, from the class ahead of me, is sprawled out on the top of his truck cabin—leaning back on a palm with his letterman on, suck-starting a glass bottle.
Fucking loser. Who wears their letterman four years after they graduate?
Pricks who peaked in high school, that’s who.
A few cars down from him is the cheer squad huddling together and giggling at a pair of guys who are more my speed—the outcasts and aggies.
I would say cowboys but this isn’t the south, we don’t have the same climate here for southern influence like they do in say Texas or some shit.
Therefore Wranglers, tucked t-shirts, and baseball caps are as good as it gets.
I think one or two of them may show goats or something to that effect but that’s it, no ‘cows’ in sight.
Then there’s your run-of-the-mill students who don’t particularly belong to any group but have built their own little cliques.
They come for the beer and the stories to reminisce over later, sitting back and watching everyone like candy-cameras perched on the wall—tailor made for gossip.
Back in the day, that was me and my guys, the outcasts.
Even though I was on the football team, I didn’t spend my time around a bunch of jocks.
Why? There’s too much testosterone, typically synthetic, and unnecessary ego fights.
A lot of the same guys who play also lifted weights and when your state isn’t known for its football, you find notoriety elsewhere.
Me though? I played my ass off, managed my grades, and had fun.
That’s all there is to do in here anyway, other than get in trouble and I wasn’t quite there yet.
Sliding out of Delinquent, all three of us quickly hunt down a much-needed drink.
I opt for soda, the other two snag something mixed they won’t remember the name of later—err, they won’t remember the night.
As we wait for the vibe to pick up, we make our rounds, chatting up some guys we shared a few classes with and the occasional girl.
None of which are giving Wes the time of day, he’s going to have a long weekend at this rate.
Zap, however, keeps looking over his shoulder for someone specific which has me concerned for his tender heart.
Honestly, I don’t want to mull around and shoot the shit just to pass the time when I’m fully capable of sitting in the car and people watching.
The younger girls always make goo-goo eyes in my direction then attempt to chat me up, ask me questions about where I have been, how school is going, if they can go for a ride in the Civic, and it grates my nerves.
They see a face, whether it’s pretty or not is debatable, and someone who looks an awful lot like a ‘bad boy.’ Don’t get me wrong, I’m not innocent…
at all…but I’m not the type of bad they’re hoping for.
I’m just a leather jacket wearing, smooth talking, knuckle head who came back from college for one night—one girl.
“Heyyy Kalebbbb.” I hear someone croon, and I cringe.
Twisting at the waist, my heart picks up speed when I see Ivy but then it stalls when I notice Nadia isn’t with her. It’s just the three Stooges she claims as friends. Giving her a tight smile, I lift my cup to say hello and turn back to Wes with a quickness, groaning at the same time.
“Is she coming?”
“Who?” Zap asks.
“That soul sucking harpy, Ivy.”
“Oh yeah? She down for sucking my soul out of me?” Wes teases.
“Shut the fuck up, idiota. You know I can’t stand her ass.”
“Yeah yeah, you put up with her though.”
“It’s so good to see you, Rey.” Ivy purrs as the nightmare appears beside me, hooking her arm into the crook of mine. She beams like a rat that stole the cheese—she doesn’t get the courtesy of being the cat, fucking lunatic.
“Wish I could say the same, Ivy.” I bite back. Ready to chew on my tongue and spit the damn thing out if it keeps me from speaking with her. Matter of fact, I may just gnaw my arm off in the process; get her infuriating touch off of me.
“Oh now come on, that wasn’t very convincing.” She muses.
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
Shrugging out of her hold and vacating her proximity, I squeeze myself between Zap and Wes.
Zap isn’t interested in high school meat, my guy likes the cougars, but he sees something in her—unfortunately not a bullet.
This is the only disappointment I reserve for my friend, as he could do much better than Ivy, especially with the older girls.
Usually, if she isn’t at least ten years older than him, she won’t register on his radar.
Wes though, he’d fuck a porcupine if you told him which hole to hit.
Ivy huffs and pouts when she can’t get to me, crossing her arms over her chest as her bottom lip pokes out—bitch only makes passes at me when Nadia isn’t around.
I ought to tell her, watch Nadia beat her ass and grin like Cheshire when she cries to me for help.
Nadia and I split up when I left for college.
She wanted the break more than I did but if she demanded the winning lottery numbers, I would throat-punch someone over their prize-winning ticket.
In the end, I wasn’t sure why she needed the space when I thought we were doing so well together. Eventually it clicked, her abandonment issues. She had to control what happened with us or face a harsher ache when she looked in the mirror.
“I’m happy to see you though. You’re looking good too. College life is definitely your scene.” Ivy adds. Not so subtly reminding me she exists.
For fucks sake, someone come get this girl.
Wes steps in as Oliver and Wren try to redirect Ivy’s attention when I don’t reply to her.
They’re picking up what I’m throwing down even if the blind bimbo isn’t.
Unfortunately, they rather save her feelings than correct her behavior—same can’t be said for my friends, I’d drag them over hot coals if needed.
“Iv, let’s get a drink.” Wren pipes up, Oliver adding to it. “Yeah, maybe we can find some of that trashcan punch you like. I heard Tommy brought some to the last party and he’s sitting on his truck right now, he always has the good shit.”
“Oh yeah, that sounds great! Rey, do you want anything?” She asks, still vying for my attention. If Nadia knew how shitty her friend is being, let’s just say I’d watch that ass chewing before getting her out of here before someone tries to press charges.
“No. Oliver, when’s Nadia going to be here?” I ask, seeing Ivy bristle out of the corner of my eye—jealous cunt.
“She went home after the ceremony,” he answers with a shrug. “Wanted to get permission from her dad or something like that. You know how she walks on eggshells around him.”
Yeah…I do.
“Gotcha, thanks.”
Waving them off, I sigh to myself in disappointment.
Something tells me Nadia going home wasn’t the best thing to do, even if it was the smartest. I hate her dad, to put it lightly.
Her friends are a nuisance too, thankfully Nadia isn’t very impressionable, but her dad?
He sends me into a blinding rage. Out of the few disagreements we’ve had, they were always about him and how he treats her like dog shit.
I’ll bitch about it until I am blue in the face too; she deserves a family that will place her on a damn pedestal, encourage her when she needs it, and love her without any damn conditions.
Not one that has her scrubbing the running boards or bleaching the walls, or treating her like a personal slave—Cinderelli, Cinderelli, night and day, oh Cinderelli.
I need to busy myself or I’ll end up being pissy all night—ruin her celebration, whenever she gets here.
A loud rumbling growl catches my attention and pulls me away from where I stand scowling between Wes and Zap.
A devilish smile creeps across my face, arm hairs standing on end when my eyes land on the Challenger trying to crawl across the grass and park.
‘Bitch Maker’ is painted across the door skirt in an off white, almost blending in with the remainder of the pearl gloss.
Blacked out rims, heavy tint, and the hard thump of bass pulses from the stunning piece of machinery.
She’s built for the drag but I’ve had a few runs with her at my side; the sheer power sitting under her hood is what wet dreams are made of. All intake, torque, and raw horsepower.
Reaching the driver side, Sergio Fuentes pops the latch and swings it open with a hushed glide before stepping out.
In his typical getup: backwards ball cap, white t-shirt, and dark jeans, he waves inside the cab before the passenger door springs open and a girl climbs out, fixing her skirt, and walks off like it’s nothing.
Unsurprising, the guy always has girls falling on his dick.
He’s a player, not that it matters, they like it, he likes it, therefore it works.
His circuit and mine rarely cross and even if it did he can have his pick of women with the muscle he drives.