by Ashley Jade
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “We cool, man?”
For now. “Yeah.”
“What about Dylan? Are you done fucking with her yet?”
I smirk as I rev the engine. “If you really don’t want to be caught in the cross-fire, I suggest you stop asking me questions you won’t like the answers to.”
With that, I take off.
Chapter 20
Dylan
“Are you sure I look okay?” Sawyer tugs on the long turquoise sweater she’s wearing. “It’s still the first week of September, maybe the sweater is a bad idea.”
I twirl the last strand of her hair around the barrel of the curling iron. I almost squealed when she agreed to nix the headband and let me do her hair.
Sawyer might not think so, but she’s gorgeous. And with her new silky waves, she’s not just going to turn heads tonight.
She’s going to break necks.
Her outfit, on the other hand? Needs a little work. Usually I’m all for retro and vintage pieces, but the purple skirt she has on is higher than her waist and longer than her legs. The sweater is cute though and it’s just low enough that it gives a hint of her generous rack.
I chew my lip, pondering how I should answer. I wouldn’t be a good friend if I wasn’t honest with her, but I also don’t want her to hate me and feel insecure.
“Do you want the honest truth? Or a little white lie?”
She raises one freshly tweezed eyebrow. “Is that a trick question? I’ll take the truth for five-hundred, Alex.”
I place the curling iron down and pick up a tube of raspberry lip gloss. It’s perfect for her complexion.
“The truth is you’re beautiful.” I begin applying some to her lips. “You don’t need makeup or any of this stuff.” I blot the excess with a tissue. “But that skirt does nothing for your figure. It would be better utilized as kindling for my aunt’s fireplace.”
“Oh.” Her eyes dart around the room. “I didn’t bring any other clothes, I thought—”
Holding up a finger, I open my dresser drawer and take out a pair of leggings. “No worries. Try these.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. I appreciate the offer, but you’re like a size two. I’m a fourteen on a good day. There’s no way these will fit.”
Suppressing a groan, I throw them at her. “Leggings are designed to fit almost everyone. Try them on before you complain.”
She pouts. “Fine, but if they don’t fit, we’re stopping by my house on the way to Christian’s so I can grab another skirt.”
I turn around to give her some privacy. “Deal.”
“Have you figured out what you’re going to wear yet?” she calls out from behind me.
“Nope.”
I’m not going there to impress anyone; I’m strictly offering moral support to Sawyer.
I start combing through a stack of concert t-shirts. “Probably the usual. Jeans and a t-shirt.”
Why would I dip my dick in some dry, mediocre meatloaf when I already have a nice piece of filet mignon waiting for me whenever I want it?
I close my eyes as the cruel words I overheard Jace tell Oakley shoots through my skull like an arrow piercing its target.
I’ve struggled with normal hang-ups about my body and looks from time to time, just like most teenage girls. But for the most part, I’m pretty secure with myself.
However, Jace’s statement? It hurt.
It still does.
And while the rational part of my brain knows I shouldn’t put much stock in it…
The other part? Wants to make him choke on his words.
I throw the Rob Zombie shirt I was going to wear on the bed. “I’m not motherfucking meatloaf.”
“The singer or food?” Sawyer questions.
I spin around to face her. As predicted, the leggings fit. Paired with the teal sweater, and her long flowy hair, she looks awesome.
“The food. Although I prefer the singer. But never mind all that. You look hot.”
Her nose crinkles. “Are you sure? If I bend over, everyone is going to get an ass full of cellulite.”
“Sawyer.” I grab her by the shoulders. “Your ass is fine. The only ugly part about you is your self-esteem. Swear on my life, you’re classically beautiful. Like the love child of Adele and Sophia Loren. Anyone who thinks differently is either blind, jealous, or stupid and can go fuck themselves.”
“Holy crap.” For the first time tonight, she smiles. “Thanks. If managing indie rock bands doesn’t work out, you should seriously consider motivational speaking.” Her smile falters. “Now what were you saying before about meatloaf?”
I gave her the Cliff’s Notes version of my history with Jace when she picked me up from work, so she’s pretty much caught up on all the current drama. However, I never told her what I overheard the other night when Oakley gave me a ride home after my shift.
“Jace compared me to meatloaf.” When she looks confused I add, “The other night at my job, I overheard him tell Oakley that Britney was filet mignon…and I was mediocre meatloaf.”
She’s visibly outraged. “That pompous asswipe needs a lobotomy with an ice pick.”
I pick up the t-shirt off my bed and scrutinize it. “I know I should let it roll off my back…but…”
“You want to make him eat that black heart of his tonight,” she supplies with a wicked grin.
My grin matches hers. “So fucking bad.”
She checks her watch. “It’s just after nine, we still have plenty of time to get you all glammed up.”
“Are you sure? I’m not…” I swallow, trying to think of the right words to say without coming off wrong. “I’m not one of those vain girls who dress a certain way to get attention, and I don’t want you to think I am.”
Sawyer adjusts her glasses. “Dylan, you have a body I would legit kill to have. If you don’t put on something that gives Jace an instant boner and makes Britney want to claw your eyes out for looking ten times hotter than her, I’m never speaking to you again.”
Well, shit. “Okay, then. I guess we’re doing this.” I walk over to my bare-bones closet and grimace. “Only problem is, I don’t own anything that would give Britney a run for her money.”
I sold some of my more expensive clothes on eBay during my dad’s first week of jail. It wasn’t an issue for me since most were hand-me-downs disguised as gifts from the stepmonster, but they certainly would have come in handy tonight.
My friend stands next to me and whistles. “You’re right. The leggings you loaned me are about the dressiest thing you have.” There’s a mischievous gleam in her eye when she looks at me. “But your aunt might have something. She looks like she knows a thing or two about fashion.”
“She does. In high school, she was basically a Britney without the capital B.”
“Talk about irony. On the bright side, you two could practically pass for twin—”
A knock on the door cuts her off.
“Come in,” we both yell at the same time.
A moment later my aunt Crystal waltzes in holding up a necklace. “Hey, girls. Can one of you help me out? Wayne and I are catching a late-night movie in a bit, so I figured I’d get ready while he’s finishing up some phone calls in his office.”
“Sure.” I move behind her so I can fasten her necklace.
She looks at Sawyer. “Oh, wow, look at you. You’re like a completely different girl from when you walked in. I love your hair.”
Sawyer beams. “Thanks.” She looks at me. “Are you going to ask her, or should I?”
She can be awfully pushy when she wants something.
My aunt looks nervous. “Ask me what?”
“I was wondering if I could borrow an outfit for tonight.”
She looks surprised. “Of course. I mean, I’m not sure I have anything that fits your style but—”
“That’s exactly what we’re looking for,” Sawyer chimes in. “Dylan needs something sexy en
ough to make Britney keel over from jealousy and Jace from horniness.”
Subtle, Sawyer. Real subtle.
My aunt’s eyes widen. “I see.” She waves a hand, ushering us out of my room. “Between the three of us, I’m sure we’ll find something.”
Chapter 21
Dylan
Two hours later, I’m sitting in Sawyer’s car wearing more makeup and less clothes than I ever have in public before.
Tipping my head, I check to make sure my boobs haven’t popped out of the lacey black halter-top I borrowed from my aunt.
Since Crystal and Sawyer couldn’t come to an agreement regarding leather pants versus a miniskirt, I opted for a pair of my tight-fitting jeans.
“I have an extra sweater in my back seat, do you want it?”
“No thanks. I’m good.”
I’m not fidgeting because I’m cold, it’s my nerves. Britney’s more pissed than ever since I tried to get her in trouble, so there’s no telling how she’ll react or what she’ll do when she sees me.
I pull out my phone and text Oakley for the tenth time tonight.
As usual, it goes unanswered.
Sawyer sighs. “It’s after eleven. I have to be home by one-thirty. We should probably head in without him.”
I grab my purse off the floor. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
“Wait.” She squints as she peers through her windshield. “I think that’s him. He’s parked a few cars down from us. Talking to some guy.”
I follow her line of sight, and sure enough, Oakley’s in his car having what looks like a very tense conversation with someone I can’t recall ever seeing before.
I open my door. “Let’s go.”
Sawyer follows behind as I scurry down the street to where he’s parked.
He’s so sidetracked he doesn’t see us approach.
I knock on his window. “Hey. Remember me?”
He rolls his window down and curses. “My bad. I forgot. I’ll meet you in a few.”
The guy next to him diverts his attention from Oakley to me. The threatening look in his eyes as he looks me up and down makes me inwardly shiver.
“Who’s this?”
I don’t know what to make of Oakley’s expression. “No one. Just a friend.”
Yeah, Oakley’s definitely not acting like his strange, easy-going self.
I’m not sure what the deal is with the two of them, but I don’t like it one bit.
I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m his cousin.” I raise an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”
Oakley tenses. “No. Go inside. I’ll catch up with you in a little while.”
Sawyer tugs on my elbow. “Come on. We can go wait in my car until he’s finished.”
Begrudgingly, I follow her lead.
“What do you think that was about?” Sawyer asks as we get back into her van.
“I honestly have no idea.”
“Maybe that’s who he gets his weed from?”
I shake my head. “Doubtful. I was with him when he used a fake ID and picked some up at a smoke shop the other night.”
Shooting my gaze up the road to where he is, I watch their exchange.
Oakley’s doing most of the talking and he’s using his hands a lot, like whatever he’s saying has him riled up.
The other guy sits stoic with a grim expression.
That is until he leans over the center console and whispers something in Oak’s ear.
Oakley nods solemnly and the hand around his steering wheel flexes then clenches before he closes his eyes.
“I wonder if…” Sawyer starts to say until she stops herself. “Never mind.”
“What?”
If Sawyer has a theory on what might be transpiring here, I’m all ears.
“Do you think maybe…” Her voice trails off and she draws in a breath. “Do you think he might be…gay?”
To say I’m thrown would be an understatement. “The guy he’s with? Or Oakley?”
She picks at her cuticles. “I don’t know...both? I’m probably wrong, but your cousin and Hayley were practically attached at the hip last year, and now it’s like she doesn’t even exist. He’s also way more stoned than he used to be…as if he’s trying to escape from whatever is bothering him.” She shrugs. “I’m probably reading too much into it.”
I think about her theory. It’s not entirely out of the question. “No. You might be onto something. I caught him watching porn once, but his eyes were closed, so he wasn’t really watching it, you know? It was basically background noise—and if my ex is anything to go on—that’s not normal for guys.” I sit up straight. “He also didn’t object to or deny the rumor Jace started about us hooking up.”
I watch as the guy gets out of Oakley’s car and jogs to another one farther down the street. Oakley watches him the whole time. Almost like he misses him already. “They had a moment before. The guy whispered something to him, and Oakley looked like whatever he said hurt.”
Sawyer’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, you’re right. Not to mention, that guy didn’t like you very much, but he relaxed when you said you were his cousin. Maybe he’s upset Oakley’s pretending to be something he’s not and he was afraid you were his new beard.” Sawyer clutches her chest. “Look—Oakley’s watching him drive off. He can’t keep his eyes off him.” She sighs. “They’re like star-crossed lovers. A modern-day Romeo and Juliet. Only…Romeo and Romeo.” Her face falls. “He’s obviously scared to come out. We have to be there for him, Dylan. He has to know he has people who will love and support him no matter what his sexuality is.”
I agree. “Yeah, definitely. I mean, we’re family.” My heart sinks. “He said something about his dad not caring about other people’s happiness the other day. Maybe he tried to tell my uncle, and he refused to support him. But he doesn’t need Wayne’s support. He has me. And you.”
Her voice wobbles. “We won’t turn our backs on him.”
We’re so wrapped up in our conversation we both jump when Oakley knocks on the window.
“You guys ready to blow this popsicle stand?”
Sawyer and I exchange a glance as we exit her van.
Then, before I can talk myself out of it. I wrap my arms around him. “I know we didn’t start off on the right foot, but I need you to know I’m here for you.”
Oakley freezes. “Uh. Thanks.”
I hug him tighter. “I mean it, Oak. We’re family. Whatever you’re going through, I’ve got your back. You’re not alone.”
Sawyer joins our group hug. “I’m here for you, too.” She points to the sky. “And so is he. God loves all his children.”
Oakley’s mouth drops open. “What the fuck are you two smoking, and can I please have some?”
“We just want you to know how much we support you,” Sawyer says before she looks at me and mouths, ‘He’s not ready yet.’
I nod. We can’t push him. He’ll come out whenever he feels the time is right.
And we’ll be here for him when he does.
Oakley clears his throat. “As nice as this little love fest is, there’s a bottle of whiskey with my name on it inside.”
His eyes are trained on me as we all break apart. “Nice shirt.”
My mind flits back to the closet and the suggestion he made about me needing to make a trip to Victoria’s Secret. Perhaps he enjoys going there himself?
“Thanks. Maybe, we can go shopping sometime?”
“Dylan,” Sawyer hisses. “Don’t stereotype him.”
Crap, she’s right. “I’m so sorry. It’s totally cool if shopping isn’t your thing. We can do whatever you want.”
He pops the collar of his shirt. “I mean, I do have a dope sense of fashion.” He slings an arm around my shoulders and another one around Sawyer’s, leading us to the Mediterranean-style villa that’s bumping house music. “But we can talk more about that later. First, let me give you two the run down. Some skeevy dudes are here, so always make and pour your own drinks. If you set i
t down, leave it and make another one. Christian stocks enough booze to keep a third world country drunk for months.”
I’m not a drinker, but good to know.
“People fuck on the second floor. If a bedroom door is closed, take it somewhere else or wait your turn for a free one.” He pauses. “Also, don’t drink the punch.”
Sawyer swivels her head to look at him. “Because it’s spiked?”
“No,” Oakley answers with a grin. “Because Cole once got so drunk, he thought it was a urinal.”
“Gross,” Sawyer says, echoing my thoughts.
He laughs to himself as we approach the entrance. “Nah. He kept calling it the golden nectar of the gods and daring people to take a sip. It was funny as fuck…until a few chicks fell for it and asked why it was warm and tasted funny.” His eyebrows dance. “Then it was hysterical.”
Sawyer and I exchange another appalled glance as he turns the knob.
The moment Oakley opens the front door, it’s utter pandemonium.
There’s a monsoon of people in various areas of the house, and everyone we pass has a red Solo cup in their hands.
To the right of us, some people are dancing and having a good time, while others are trying to dance and having a terrible time.
A few couples are fighting…others are making out on whatever surface they can find.
I can tell Sawyer is even more overwhelmed than I am because her jaw damn near hit the floor the second we walked in.
“Is it always like this?” she questions.
“What?” Oakley shouts above the music as he makes a beeline for a table full of liquor.
“I said, is it always like this?”
Oakley splashes a generous helping of amber liquid in a cup. “Sometimes. It dies down a little as the night goes on. You’ll see.”
Sawyer takes an empty cup from the stack and peruses the table. “Is there anything here with an alcohol percentage under five?”
Oakley takes a long swig before reaching for the whiskey again. “Fuck if I know.”
I spot a half-empty bottle of soda hidden behind a pitcher and grab it. “Here.”