pitched the keg beer in the garbage can, and I tapped Kylie’s arm on the way by.
“I’m going outside.”
Her eyes lit up when she assessed the situation, and she gave me a rousing double thumbs-up. “Okay! Have fun!” she sang out, way louder than I would have liked, before turning back to her court of panting guys.
“What the hell is Kylie supposed to be? A rubber glove?” Tyler asked when he let go of my hand to pull open the screen door at the back of the house, waiting for me to pass.
“She’s a banana.”
He snorted. “That’s a stretch. She needs a stuffed monkey to make it believable.”
“Oh, that would make it believable?” I asked, amused. “Because that’s all yellow spandex with a big zipper needs to be convincing as fruit?”
“Smart-ass.”
I couldn’t argue that. “What is going on with her and Nathan?”
He shrugged, heading down the rotting wooden steps to the yard, which was mostly dead grass and dirt, with plumbing parts jutting up like toilet tombstones. “I don’t know. None of my business.”
Such a guy response.
Tyler approached a very short guy with a nervous look on his face as he shifted uneasily in front of a leather jacket. “I’m back. Thanks, bro.” He fist bumped the guy, then bent over and retrieved his jacket. Under it was a twelve-pack of Bud Light.
I wasn’t sure how that was supposed to qualify as superior beer, but at least it was in bottles. Tyler pulled out three and used his key ring to pop the caps off. He handed one to the other guy and one to me. “Brandon, this is Rory. Don’t be a douche bag in front of her.”
“Hey,” he said to me, his eyes shifting, looking everywhere but at me. He took a long swallow of the beer, holding it at the very top of the bottle.
“Hi.” And that’s where it ended. I sucked at small talk.
Shivering from the breeze, I scanned the yard. It was dark, but the light from the back porch cast a yellow glow over the twenty or so people standing around, talking, drinking, laughing. Suddenly, a heavy jacket landed on my shoulders.
“Stick your arms through,” Tyler ordered, his leather jacket swallowing me as he wrapped it around my body.
“I’m fine,” I protested because it felt odd, too familiar, to wear his clothes.
“Just do it. You girls are never weather-ready. I swear to God, it makes no sense.”
I thought about protesting, but he was right. I was wearing a strapless minidress, and his jacket was warm and smelled like cigarettes and cologne. Feeling very girly, I put one arm through, then transferred my beer to the other hand and repeated the process. “I was going to be a Sexy Bearcat, but someone had already bought the tank top.”
He paused with a cigarette halfway to his mouth and smirked. “I would have paid money to see that.”
Never in this lifetime.
“Isn’t anyone worried about the cops showing up?” I asked, well aware that we were right out in the open, being illegal. The Shit Shack was surrounded by dilapidated houses and sketchy wig and liquor stores, but it still seemed to me like it wouldn’t be that hard for a cruiser to drive past and decide to liven up his Saturday night with a college-party bust.
Tyler, of course, looked unconcerned. “How old are you?”
“I turned twenty two weeks ago.”
“Damn, you’re older than I actually thought. But if the cops come, pitch your drink in the bushes, then cut through the back lot to my car.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-two, so I’m legal.”
For some reason, hearing that he was more than two years older than me made him even more unnerving. I had at least thought we were numerically in tandem. “I thought you were a sophomore.”
“I am. I worked for two years after high school to save up money, though eight bucks an hour at a shitty convenience store doesn’t add up to much.”
“I guess not.” It was a reminder to me that I was lucky that my dad was paying for the tuition my academic scholarship
“I’m going outside.”
Her eyes lit up when she assessed the situation, and she gave me a rousing double thumbs-up. “Okay! Have fun!” she sang out, way louder than I would have liked, before turning back to her court of panting guys.
“What the hell is Kylie supposed to be? A rubber glove?” Tyler asked when he let go of my hand to pull open the screen door at the back of the house, waiting for me to pass.
“She’s a banana.”
He snorted. “That’s a stretch. She needs a stuffed monkey to make it believable.”
“Oh, that would make it believable?” I asked, amused. “Because that’s all yellow spandex with a big zipper needs to be convincing as fruit?”
“Smart-ass.”
I couldn’t argue that. “What is going on with her and Nathan?”
He shrugged, heading down the rotting wooden steps to the yard, which was mostly dead grass and dirt, with plumbing parts jutting up like toilet tombstones. “I don’t know. None of my business.”
Such a guy response.
Tyler approached a very short guy with a nervous look on his face as he shifted uneasily in front of a leather jacket. “I’m back. Thanks, bro.” He fist bumped the guy, then bent over and retrieved his jacket. Under it was a twelve-pack of Bud Light.
I wasn’t sure how that was supposed to qualify as superior beer, but at least it was in bottles. Tyler pulled out three and used his key ring to pop the caps off. He handed one to the other guy and one to me. “Brandon, this is Rory. Don’t be a douche bag in front of her.”
“Hey,” he said to me, his eyes shifting, looking everywhere but at me. He took a long swallow of the beer, holding it at the very top of the bottle.
“Hi.” And that’s where it ended. I sucked at small talk.
Shivering from the breeze, I scanned the yard. It was dark, but the light from the back porch cast a yellow glow over the twenty or so people standing around, talking, drinking, laughing. Suddenly, a heavy jacket landed on my shoulders.
“Stick your arms through,” Tyler ordered, his leather jacket swallowing me as he wrapped it around my body.
“I’m fine,” I protested because it felt odd, too familiar, to wear his clothes.
“Just do it. You girls are never weather-ready. I swear to God, it makes no sense.”
I thought about protesting, but he was right. I was wearing a strapless minidress, and his jacket was warm and smelled like cigarettes and cologne. Feeling very girly, I put one arm through, then transferred my beer to the other hand and repeated the process. “I was going to be a Sexy Bearcat, but someone had already bought the tank top.”
He paused with a cigarette halfway to his mouth and smirked. “I would have paid money to see that.”
Never in this lifetime.
“Isn’t anyone worried about the cops showing up?” I asked, well aware that we were right out in the open, being illegal. The Shit Shack was surrounded by dilapidated houses and sketchy wig and liquor stores, but it still seemed to me like it wouldn’t be that hard for a cruiser to drive past and decide to liven up his Saturday night with a college-party bust.
Tyler, of course, looked unconcerned. “How old are you?”
“I turned twenty two weeks ago.”
“Damn, you’re older than I actually thought. But if the cops come, pitch your drink in the bushes, then cut through the back lot to my car.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-two, so I’m legal.”
For some reason, hearing that he was more than two years older than me made him even more unnerving. I had at least thought we were numerically in tandem. “I thought you were a sophomore.”
“I am. I worked for two years after high school to save up money, though eight bucks an hour at a shitty convenience store doesn’t add up to much.”
“I guess not.” It was a reminder to me that I was lucky that my dad was paying for the tuition my academic scholarship
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