Chapter Fifteen
“Why didn’t you want me to pick you up?” August asked as he steered us toward Wyatt ’s house.
I shrugged, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The question knotted my stomach. “I didn’t want to have that conversation with my father.”
He glanced at me, brow arched. “What conversation?”
I stared out the window at the passing streetlights. “He wouldn’t think it was appropriate for me to hang out with other guys while I have a boyfriend.”
August frowned, one hand drumming on the steering wheel. “Does he like Andy?”
My cheeks warmed as I nodded. “He kind of picked him out.”
August erupted in laughter, the sound so loud it startled me. He slumped against the seatback, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he gasped between chuckles, “but did you just say your father picked your boyfriend out?”
A reluctant laugh escaped me. “Yes. We go to his father’s church, and my dad found out Andy plays football and is going pre-med next year. To him, that’s the American-dream son-in-law. So when he told me he was in love with me last year, my dad was over the moon.”
August’s grin grew wicked. “Andy’s dad is the old creep who shoves bread in your mouth?” he’s nearly shouting with amusement.
I covered my mouth to stifle a giggle. “Unfortunately, yes.”
His entire frame shook as he sighed, “That’s so fucked.”
I forced a small smile, though my heart sledge-hammered in my chest. “You have no idea.” I said, though the words hurt to say.
The car jerked as he pulled into Wyatt ’s driveway, and my throat tightened. August’s pinky slid along the leather seat until it brushed mine making my breath hitch. “Do you want a code word in case something goes wrong?” he asked, voice soft.
I leaned back,tracing the veins protruding from his forearm with my gaze. “You mean a safeword?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.
He smiled, that coral flush creeping into his cheeks. “Yeah, Sin. Tell me your safeword.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Mitochondria.”
He laughed, the sound warm. “How are we supposed to work that into a sentence?”
“Super easy,” I said, slipping my hand into his. “Just say, ‘Hey Lola, remember when we were talking about mitochondria in the car earlier?’”
August tilted his head and offered me a lazy smile. “Alright, fine. Mitochondria.”
I beamed, though butterflies danced in my stomach. He noticed the flicker of nerves and squeezed my hand a little tighter.
“We’re just going to play a game,” he murmured, leaning close. “ It’s a bit complicated, but I’ll explain everything as we go.”
I nodded, heart pounding. I’d read some of the rules already, but the reality of it felt heavy. “I know some.”
His eyes widened. “You do?”
I shrugged. “I looked it up in fourth period. I intern in the library, so I get a lot of downtime.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a husky murmur. “You looked it up in a book? Or on your phone?”
“A book,” I confirmed, watching his reaction. “There are a few on the shelves.”
August licked his lips, his voice low and rough. “That’s so hot.”
Heat blossomed in my cheeks, but this time it was anticipation, not dread. I inched toward him, my pulse racing. “Wait until you see my character sheet.”
His pupils fluttered wide. He pressed a quick kiss to my knuckles, eyes sparkling. “I can’t wait.”
The smell of competing incense and something like varnish assaulted my senses as I made my way down the steep steps leading to Wyatt ’s basement.
Wyatt sneered, “How is she supposed to play when she doesn’t have a character?”
A boy and girl whose matching honey-colored eyes and dark ringlets made their relation obvious unfolded a table in the center of the room with smooth, practiced motions.
Penelope stood by another table, peeling cling film off a plastic dip container as she laughed at something the man beside her said.
His gentle features bore the telltale softness of Down syndrome. He seemed older than the rest of us, and I didn’t recognize him from school.
August shrugged, “We’ll make it work.”
Wyatt’s frown deepened. “We’re in the middle of a campaign, and I don’t have any extra miniatures for her.”
“I brought my own!” I chirped, handing August the bag of chips I’d carried. I plunged a hand into my bag and produced a sheet of character notes for Wyatt before my fingers made purchase on the tiny doll at the bottom.
Last year, for my birthday, Lindsey had brought me a cupcake with bright pink frosting, topped with a candle and an inch tall plastic Barbie figurine she had gotten from the dollar store and repainted to look like me.
The blonde hair turned brown, and the once purple dress was now matte brown, with Mary Janes in the same color painted over the platform heels.
Holding it out for Wyatt’s approval, I caught Penelope’s curious approach. “No way! That’s so sick!” she exclaimed, eyes bright.
I offered a polite smile as Penelope pivoted so the man with her could see the doll. His face split into a wide grin. “Our little sister collects barbies,” she said.
“Very cool,” he said, extending a large hand. “I’m Evan.”
I shook it and replied softly, “I’m Lola.”
He glanced at August. “Are you August’s girlfriend?”
I laughed, the sound light. “No, we’re just friends.”
Evan raised an eyebrow in August’s direction. “What are you waiting for?”
August exhaled slowly. “She has a boyfriend, Evan.” The way he said it made me feel like if Andy didn’t exist, August would’ve made me his without a second thought. Like this could’ve been a normal Friday night for me.
But, somehow, I knew that wasn’t true. That me having a boyfriend was the very last thing on the list of hurdles August thought were in his way.
Evan’s grin widened. “A boyfriend isn’t a husband.” His words were playful wisdom, and I laughed again.
“Evan!” Penelope hissed. He shrugged, then snagged the chip bag August still held and wandered off to the snack table.
Penelope looped her arm through mine. “Ignore my brother—he thinks he’s Cupid. I’m glad you’re here.” She tugged me away from Wyatt, who still looked put-out. I glanced back at August who gave me a reassuring smile.
“This is Angelica, and her brother, Ben.” Penelope said, waving between the two setting up the table.
Ben pulled a detailed printed map out, and was smoothing out the wrinkles as Angelica removed a clear bin full of miniature trees from an entertainment system pressed against the wall under a large flat screen.
“Guys, this is Lola,” Penelope announced.
“Are you two twins?” I asked, noting their flawless coffee-colored skin.
“I’m a year older,” Angelica said proudly.
Ben rolled his eyes. “She’s ten minutes older, but we were born on the cusp of New Years, so she likes to think she’s a year older.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty cool.”
“Only to her,” Ben muttered.
Angelica turned back to me. “Are you playing with us?”
I lifted the Barbie. “If Wyatt lets me.”
August stepped behind me. “Yes, she is.” He held out a plastic cup full of potato chips in offering. I shook my head.
“Sit by me,” he murmured, pulling a chair to the corner of the table.
I sat, hearing Wyatt huff on my other side. He gripped a large binder, jaw tight. Angelica queued a video on the TV: a misty forest, fireflies flickering as Celtic music drifted. Evan switched off the lights, and the room glowed green.
Wyatt’s voice rumbled beside me. “When we left off last week, the party was deep in the ruins, low on torches, and even lower on patience.”
I glanced at August, eyes wide. He was already looking at me with the most beautiful shade of coral spreading across the peaks of his devilishly handsome face.
I hadn’t known nerd hobbies could be this fun.
I learned Angelica was a lesbian—Evan had told me “just in case I knew any others.” Penelope suggested that there weren’t many gay people at our school.
I shrugged, “You’d be surprised.”
Angelica practically drooled when she begged, “Please tell me one of the Barbies is gay.”
I flashed her a conspiratorial grin.
“No!” she nearly tipped the table in her excitement. “I have to know who.” I pretended to zip my lips shut and tossed the imaginary key over my shoulder.
She leaned across her brother, jostling Penelope’s shoulder so hard she yelped. “I’m going to fuck one of the cheerleaders before we graduate,” Angelica declared like she owned a new planet. Ben gagged theatrically, and I laughed.
My Barbie lost a boot to quicksand, but August’s Aasimar swooped in and pulled her free, so not a total loss. At the end of the night, Wyatt said I’d done okay, which was more than I had expected from him.
The girls begged me to come back the next week; I said I’d think about it. Evan leaned in, whispering that August ought to buy a ring soon, and August blushed before asking what size ring I wore, teasing.
I ignored the image in my mind of me in a white dress, meeting August in his cargo jeans at the end of an aisle.
As August pulled out of Wyatt’s driveway, he asked: “Did you have fun?” The leather seat was warm beneath my hand where I’d been tracing its seam.
“I think that was the most fun I’ve ever had sober,” I admitted, and the engine’s hum felt cozy in the quiet.
He laughed, low and easy. “Do you usually drink with your friends?”
“Sometimes,” I shrugged; the sleeve of my denim jacket rustled.
“Don’t drink and drive.” He sounded half-joking until I caught his gaze flicking between my face and the dark road expectantly.
“I don’t.” I offered a small smile.
He exhaled. “You can call me if you ever need a ride.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you, August.” My voice was soft.
“Do what?”
“Make you drop your Saturday plans to pick me up from a party full of people you hate.”
He shrugged, eyes on the road. “I’d rather show up at a party I hate than have you wrapped around a telephone pole.” I winced at the mental image of twisted metal and shattered glass.
“Do you ever party on weekends?” I ventured, watching raindrops collect on the windshield.
He glanced at me like I’d asked if he ever grew a third arm. “I’ll be doing laundry tomorrow—and probably every Saturday for the rest of my life.”
I smiled, picturing him sorting whites and colors, folding each pair of jeans with military precision.
He flicked on the turn signal. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“The girls and I have a nail appointment in the morning. Then shopping, maybe a party Andy mentioned.” I pressed my forehead against the cool glass.
He nodded. “I love your nails.”
I looked down at my half-grown-out manicure and frowned. “You do?”
“I liked them when they were brown, but blue is nice too.” His voice was warm over the engine’s hum.
Streetlights flickered across his face. “How do you remember that? I haven’t had brown nails since junior year.”
“I told you I’m attentive,” he replied, a hint of pride in his tone. “Why did you switch?”
“It’s a tradition,” I said, voice low. “All the girls pick our polish color to match our boyfriend’s eyes.”
He nodded, thoughtful.
“Sorry,” I whispered, avoiding his gaze.
“For what?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t talk about him so much.”
August switched hands on the wheel, then reached over to lace his pinky with mine. His skin was warm causing my heart to flutter. “I told you it doesn’t bother me. Talk about him if you want. But if it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to.”
I stared at our linked fingers, the car’s interior smelling faintly of leather and rain. “I don’t know why I feel bad. He’s my boyfriend.” I said, maybe more to myself than him.
“Do you love him?” August asked, voice gentle.
“I don’t know.” I swallowed.
“Have you said it to each other?”
“We used to. I can’t remember the last time.” I admit.
He frowned, and my chest tightened. “Don’t say it,” I muttered.
“Say what?”
“Don’t say I deserve a boyfriend who tells me he loves me.”
He paused, then offered a crooked smile. “That’s not what I was going to say. Not in totality.” He glanced at me, mischief dancing in his eyes.
I tilted my head. “Then what were you going to say, in totality?”
He exhaled, rain pattering on the roof. “I was going to say you deserve to be loved.”