Fight Or Flight (Tempted Series Generation 2.0)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  That earns me a smile…a gorgeous fucking smile that I feel deep inside my chest. It’s so powerful that the ache starts to ease some, and I start to wonder if she misses me as much as I miss her. Does she miss the late-night trips to the kitchen and the feel of my arms wrapped around her? What about my lips? Does she miss them as much as I miss hers?

  Doubtful.

  She just lost her mom.

  That’s the only person she misses.

  Not the lovesick fool standing beside her.

  “Truce,” she agrees.

  One word. That’s all it takes for me to be able to breathe again. Well, not really, but it sure feels that way. I wasn’t kidding, man, this week has been rough. It’s not like I could talk to anyone about it either. No one is pro Brooklyn and Eric, and no one knows I’m about to sign my life over to my country. Everyone looks at me and sees some stupid kid who acts before he thinks and makes a goddamn mess out of everything he touches.

  They’re not all that wrong either. The proof is in my track record.

  Secretly meet with a recruiter, check.

  Lie to everyone you know about deciding to join the Army, check.

  Fail your road test, again and again, check.

  Rob your uncle’s car and crash it, check.

  Fall for the girl you swore you’d protect at all costs, check.

  Scare the fuck out of the girl while she’s grieving her mom, check, check, check.

  Let’s see what else we can add, shall we?

  The lunch lady clears her throat, drawing both mine and Brooklyn’s attention to the food that sits under the heated lamps. Scrunching her nose, she goes with the turkey burger and we make our way down the line. She grabs two apples, a snack-size package of Oreos, and a bottle of water. I add a carton of milk to her tray because she can’t wash the cookies down with water—that would be a sin.

  Once we reach the checkout, she turns to me.

  “Can you open the front zipper of my bag? I think I shoved my lunch card in there this morning.”

  Instead of digging into her bag for the card, I grab mine from my pocket and hand it to the lady. She swipes it and I take Brooklyn’s tray. Meeting her confused gaze, I tip my chin toward the packed lunchroom.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  A faint blush covers her cheeks and a memory of her straddling me in the back seat of her mom’s car flashes before me. Her cheeks were a pretty shade of pink then, too.

  It’s probably not in my best interest to be thinking about that right now.

  If I’m going to save this thing of ours, I can’t be thinking about all the ways I might get those cheeks to blush. That being said, I make a mental note of how much she really liked it when I played with her boobs. Those cheeks were on fire!

  Fuck me.

  I’m hopeless.

  Clearing my throat, I shrug my shoulders.

  “It’s not a big deal. Where do you want to sit?”

  Oh, great, I suddenly sound like Alvin from the chipmunks.

  “Anywhere is fine,” she replies.

  I lead her to a quiet corner of the lunchroom, ignoring all the curious stares. This school is too fucking small. Everyone knows everyone’s business and before Brooklyn even stepped foot in these halls, they knew her story. But that’s probably not the reason they’re staring. In four years, I’ve never had lunch alone with a girl. I’ve never whipped out my spending card or carried someone’s tray.

  I tame the urge to yell Apocalypse and focus on Brook, watching as she takes a seat on one of the empty benches. Like the doting boyfriend I’m not, I set her lunch down in front of her before moving to the bench across from her.

  “Did you eat lunch?” she asks, ripping the bun off her burger.

  Another mental note—I hate small talk. It’s why I reach into my back pocket for a quarter. Of course, I don’t have one.

  Satan’s really getting his kicks today.

  “Yeah, I had the same thing,” I mumble.

  She eyes the burger for a moment before bending her head and giving it a whiff. I laugh when I really want to reach across the table and kiss her, tell her I’ve missed her and demand she stop avoiding me. I want to go back to normal—whatever that is.

  “It’s really not bad,” I assure her.

  Her eyes find mine, and she lifts the burger to her mouth. You know you’re a sad sack of shit when you’re envious of a processed piece of meat. Before I embarrass myself, I pretend to look around the lunchroom. I purposely avoid Danny’s table, though.

  There’s only so much a guy can take.

  I drag my eyes back to her just as she licks her lips and I suppress a groan. I pissed the wrong motherfucker off somewhere. Sighing, I comb my fingers through my hair and contemplate what to say next. I don’t want to upset her by asking how she’s doing. I know she cries herself to sleep every night. I know this because I had to start paying Anthony again to keep tabs on her. Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to kick the door to her bedroom in? Seven.

  “So, how is your first day going?” I ask, sounding more like Theodore than Alvin this time.

  She eyes me strangely and I force a smile. Chipmunks sing and dance—they gotta smile too.

  “It’s okay, I guess. Oh, Robert is in one of my classes.”

  Of course he is. When God was handing out luck, he gave it all to the second born Montgomery.

  “I have three junior classes that I have to make up, and he’s in one of them.”

  “Can I see your schedule?”

  She fishes it out of her backpack and hands it to me before taking a bite of her apple. My eyes scan the paper hoping to find at least one class we have together but…nada.

  She opens the bag of Oreos and holds them out to me. I don’t know if it’s a peace offering or what, but I take a cookie and open the carton of milk. It’s too full, so I take a hefty gulp before dropping the cookie into the milk. She tears the plastic covering off the spork and once she’s got it free she hands it to me. I push the cookie deeper into the milk with the spork, giving it a good ‘ol dunk. Then I slide the carton back, watch her scoop it out, and pop it into her mouth.

  A sense of pride washes over me and a grin spreads across my lips.

  I taught her that.

  Me, Eric, the long-lost chipmunk.

  “Your mom told me your road test is today after school,” she says with her mouth full of deliciousness. She pauses midchew and covers her mouth with her hand. “What? Do I have cookie on my face or something?”

  Busted.

  “I just like watching you,” I answer honestly. No sense in lying when I was openly gawking at her. I hand her back her schedule. “Yeah, on the road test thing. Third time is a charm,” I say.

  I continue to stare at her, waiting for more small talk, and soon that pretty shade of pink touches her cheeks as she draws her lower lip between her teeth.

  She diverts her eyes back to the tray and whispers, “Want a ride?”

  Fuck yes.

  To hell with the road test, runaway with me.

  Alright, calm down, buddy.

  It’s talk like that that got us into this mess.

  I school my features and try to remain indifferent.

  “You drove here? I thought my mom took you in today.”

  “She followed me,” she reveals. “When she mentioned it was your road test, I asked if it would be okay if I drove you. You can use my mom’s—er, my car, to take the test. Who knows, it might bring you luck.”

  She shrugs a shoulder and a small smile creeps onto her lips.

  She definitely misses me too.

  “It’s worth a shot,” I tell her, still grinning like the lovesick fool that I am.

  Fuck it.

  A wise man once said own it and that’s what I’m going to do.

  I saunter away from Brook’s car, holding the slip of paper the instructor handed me before he exited the passenger seat. Brook spots me immediately and crosses the street. Once she hits
the double yellow lines, she picks up the pace and starts running toward me. The sight knocks me on my ass, and I think about what I said to her that night in her mom’s room.

  I meant every word.

  I want her to be the girl who runs to me. The girl I lift in my arms and hold close after completing basic combat training.

  The person who keeps me fighting.

  The one I can’t wait to get back home to.

  The woman who, after a long deployment, kisses me with all she’s got.

  She comes to a skidding halt in front of me and searches my eyes.

  “Well?”

  I wonder if she’d knock me out if I kissed her right now. When she grabs my shirt, I think I might have a decent shot at keeping my jaw intact if I go in for the kill.

  “Eric! Don’t keep me in suspense, did you pass or not?”

  She tugs my t-shirt and I wrap my arms around her waist. Her eyes narrow slightly as she looks up at me and I smile down at her. I feel victorious and it has nothing to do with the piece of paper in my hand, it’s because she’s back in my arms.

  “I passed.”

  She releases my shirt and the grin she gives me is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Her arms wind around my neck and she jumps on me. She fucking jumps on me. I mean, her legs wrap around my waist and everything. I didn’t even have to go to war to get her in my arms like this.

  “I knew it,” she whispers, tightening her hold on me. My hands travel down her back and I press her even closer to me, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I don’t know if this is a temporary high or what, but for now, I’m going to hang on with everything I got.

  After all, one hundred and thirteen days isn’t a lot of time.

  The clock is ticking.

  It’s do or die.

  Fight or flight.

  Nineteen

  Brooklyn

  Last night I dreamt of my mom. It was the first time since she passed that she visited me in my dreams, and when I woke, my faith in her was restored. She might not be here physically, but my mom is with me spiritually, pushing me to take chances and reminding me life is too short to be fearful.

  I suppose that’s what gave me the courage to ask Lauren if I could take Eric to his road test appointment after school. The last week has been awful without him by my side. I felt as though I didn’t just lose my mother, but I lost him too—pretty ironic considering that’s why I pushed him away in the first place. I was so scared of feeling the loss of him when he left for bootcamp that I didn’t realize losing him while he’s still here with me would be an even greater void. Eric wasn’t just some boy I was in danger of falling for, he was my friend. My only friend to be honest and I needed him to remind me of all the things I seemed to forget.

  Be brave.

  Be strong.

  Be a hurricane.

  I needed— no; I need him to remind me of all those things because I have four months to become them. When Eric leaves for basic training, he’s going to be tried and tested. He’s going to miss his home and the people he loves. He’s going to question his decision and doubt his abilities. He’s not going to be the pillar of strength I’ve come to rely on. The script is going to flip, and it will be my chance to even the score.

  My chance to be what he needs.

  A pretty little hurricane waiting for her soldier to come home.

  “Hey, what do you say we go out and celebrate?”

  I turn my head at the sound of his voice, taking in the way he looks behind the wheel. After we left the road test site, I handed him the keys to my car. It was no BMW, but he was legally allowed to drive it. He grinned at me and those butterflies that had been dormant for a week returned and they were stronger than ever.

  “Nothing crazy,” he clarifies. “We can go for pizza or something.”

  “Sure,” I say. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything to celebrate and pizza sounds amazing. That turkey burger at school was the pits. Thank God for Oreos.

  He tears his eyes from the road and gives me a lopsided grin. I missed everything about Eric, but I think I missed his smile most. Some people associate home with a scent or a place, maybe even an object—but these last couple of weeks I have come to think of Eric’s smile as home.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I reply softly. He removes his hand from the steering wheel and reaches for mine, our fingers interlock and it’s a perfect fit, but I knew that already. I was just too scared to admit it.

  A couple of minutes later he turns into the driveway and we get out of the car. He grabs my hand again, and that’s exactly how we walk into the house.

  “I’m going to take a quick shower and then we’ll go,” he says.

  While I’m just as anxious to spend time with him, I think he’s forgetting something.

  “You might want to share your good news with your parents, no?”

  He smiles sheepishly.

  Yeah, I really missed his smile.

  “Yeah, I should probably do that too,” he laughs, but he doesn’t try to do that. In fact, neither of us moves an inch. We stand there for a minute just staring at one another. Finally, I find the courage to make the first move.

  Be brave.

  Be strong.

  Be a hurricane.

  Reaching up on my tiptoes, I press my lips to his cheek. It’s a quick peck but there’s plenty more where that came from, I just think we need to have a discussion before any of that can happen. You know—the discussion he probably wanted to have a week ago, but I tucked tail and ran before he could.

  The sound of someone clearing their throat forces us apart and we both turn to see Riggs. Oh, and while we’re at it, we should probably figure out how we’re going to explain all of this to his parents too—that would be helpful. But judging by the scowl on his face now doesn’t appear to be a good time to have that discussion.

  “I need to speak with Eric, alone,” Riggs says roughly as he glares at his son. I’m not sure what Eric has done, but it must be bad because I’ve never seen Riggs so angry. The tone of his voice is menacing too, and I quickly unravel myself from Eric.

  The hugging will have to wait.

  “Sure, I’ll just go upstairs,” I say, quickly. I look from Eric to Riggs, but his eyes never leave his son’s face. If Eric is intimidated by his dad’s fury, he doesn’t show it. He winks at me and before I can make a dash for the stairs, he grabs my hand, holding me in place.

  “I’ll come and get you when we’re done and we’ll be on our way,” he promises.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Riggs growls. “Living room. Now.”

  Oh, boy. The Tiger means business.

  Turning to his father, Eric releases my hand.

  “What’s wrong?” he questions, but Riggs doesn’t respond. Instead, he cups the back of Eric’s neck and jerks him forward. I’m a little shocked by the action and take that as my cue to scram. I’m brave and all that, but I’m still a work in progress. I barely make it down the hallway before I hear Riggs hollering in the living room.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” he barks.

  I should go upstairs and mind my business, but instead, I lean against the wall and strain to listen to them to argue.

  I know, I know, eavesdropping is a horrible thing.

  But what if it’s about me? I never gave Eric a chance to tell me what happened the night my mom passed. What if this has something to do with that? Maybe he found out we never really had a flat after all.

  “I mean, it’s debatable, but for me to answer that truthfully, I’m going to need a little more information,” Eric tells him.

  “Cut the smart aleck shit, Eric,” Riggs warns.

  They’re silent for a moment, and then I hear Lauren’s voice.

  “A funny thing happened today when I went up to the school. I registered Brooklyn, and after a meeting with the guidance counselor, I met with the college advisor. We got Brooklyn all sorted out, and I figured while I was there, I should pro
bably check on my son. Things have been crazy around here and I haven’t followed up on your college applications.”

  Phew. It’s not about us. That’s a good thing, right? I can go upstairs and leave them to it.

  Right.

  So why am I still standing here?

  “Shit,” Eric hisses.

  “Yeah, shit,” Riggs says. “You didn’t apply to a single fucking college. I hate to burst your bubble, kid, but you can’t make a living off your good looks. Trust me, I’ve tried,” he says.

  “You have?” Lauren questions, sniffling.

  “Oh, don’t sound so shocked, Kitten, you dropped out of nursing school and were shaking your ass at a bar called the Pink Pussycat when I met you,” Riggs reminds her. “We tried, and we failed.”

  Hmm…sounds like an interesting story.

  “I think we’re veering off topic here,” Lauren says.

  “Right, back to this dope,” Riggs sneers. “Explain yourself.”

  “I’m not going to college,” Eric confesses.

  I bring my hand to my mouth.

  Oh, God, he’s going to tell them.

  “The fuck you’re not,” Riggs roars. “Do you know how many times I had to drive that bus so you and your siblings could go to college.”

  I lower my hand and narrow my eyes. Riggs drives a bus? How did I not know that?

  “You don’t drive a bus.”

  I’m confused, but I don’t think that’s really hard to be around here. The Montgomery’s are cool and all, but they’re a strange bunch.

  “That’s not the point. You’re going to college. Pick one, apply, and register. If they don’t accept you, we’ll send Uncle Gangster in, but you gotta make a fucking attempt before we get that goon involved.”

  I really need to find out more about this Uncle Gangster character too. He’s a hot commodity around these parts, and I feel like I’ve overlooked him.

  “Riggs, baby, I think you should sit this one out. You’re turning purple,” Lauren says.

  He’s going to be green in a few minutes.

  Army green, to be exact.

  “Have kids, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. They fucking lied,” Riggs shouts. Again, I lift my hand to my mouth, but this time it’s to muffle a laugh.