Why anyone thinks it’s amusing to equate everything I do with my family’s occupation is beyond me. Half the time, I don’t think West even gets the jokes he makes. Instead of answering or even arguing, I brush past him.
He grabs my arm as everyone moves away but him. He holds out my thermos and I half expect him to dump it on my head. My knees wobble as I take it. I mutter my thanks and try to walk away, but he won’t let me.
“Seriously. What are you drinking?”
“Taking a survey?”I tip up my chin.
“No.” His dark gaze moves over my face, landing on my lips and staying. “Just want to know what gets you going in the morning.”
He says all this without the usual bite to his words, and it stuns me so much that I blurt, “Hot chocolate with cinnamon.”
“Have you already had some?”
Unsure of where this is going, I search the hallway for a friendly face, but all I see is Charlie glaring at me. Great. P.E. is going to be sooo much fun today.
“Have you?”West asks again, pulling my attention back to him.
“Yes.”
He mutters something in Spanish under his breath and pulls me closer. My chest grazes his arm and we both suck in a breath.
“West!” Charlie screeches, and I don’t blame her. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think West Diaz wanted to kiss me.
Even worse, I want him to kiss me.
His gaze snaps to mine, and that familiar smirk appears. He lets go of my arm, winking and pointing at me, as he walks backwards. “Later, lawn girl.” He turns, all that natural athleticism keeping him on his toes, even as students rush past him.
My face flames and tears prick at my eyes. Although I’ve never been ashamed of what my daddy does, I want a hole to open up in the floor and swallow me.
“Don’t forget you’re mowing my lawn tomorrow,” Charlie calls out, giggling with her group of friends. Well, except for Julia—she’s a straddler. Cheerleader and friend of anyone she deems acceptable, which is anyone who isn’t Charlie. But they’re cousins, so it’s hard for her to not hang out with her at school.
Suddenly, Julia breaks rank and marches over to me, ponytail swinging so wildly that her bow looks like it’s getting ready to take flight at any moment.
“Love your skirt, cutie,” she exclaims, linking arms with me. “Tell me where you found it and we’ll go there this afternoon.” She lowers her voice. “Ignore them. Pretend we’re friends.”
“Pretend?” I’d been at Forrestville High for three months and hadn’t made a single friend. Everything was so different from my last school, and I missed being on the coast, near the water.
“I really do like your skirt, and we really will go there this afternoon,” she says with a big grin. “Smile and chin up, cutie.”
Well, cutie was better than lawn girl. I did as she asked, she picked me up after school, and from that point forward, Julia and I were friends.
Taking a deep breath, I pour the hot chocolate down the drain and throw away the cup. I have everyone I’ll ever need in my life.
Weston Diaz has a snowball’s chance in hell of convincing me otherwise.
Chapter Three
West
“I didn’t mean to kiss her,” I say to Parker, lining up my next shot.
We’re at The Double Deuce, the club he and his brother run. It’s a couple of hours before the evening crowd rushes in so we’ve taken advantage of the empty pool tables.
Parker waits for his turn, leaning against the wall as he strategizes. “How do you not mean to kiss a girl? Did you accidentally fall onto her lips? Over and over again?”
“Ha, ha.” I jab the stick at the cue ball, sinking the seven ball into the side pocket. “You know what I mean, bro. She was crying, and then she said I want you.”
Parker rolls his eyes. “I doubt McKenzie said that.”
“She said it. I heard her,” I insist. “It’s not like I going around kissing females for the hell of it.”
“Maybe you didn’t let her finish her sentence.” He raises his voice to mimic McKenzie’s. “I want you to drop dead. I want your dick to wither and rot off.”
“Ouch.” Making a face, I cover my junk with my hand. “Below the belt is so not cool.”
“So what happened after you,” Parker makes air quotes, “accidentally kissed her?”
“Nothing,” I mumble.
“Yeah, right.”
“Nothing happened, because I left, before she could call the cops on me.” I say, throwing the stick on the table.
“What did you expect—for her to forgive you and then y’all fall into bed?” Parker hangs up my stick and turns his attention back to me.
Heat creeps up my neck, because in spite of my noble words to McKenzie, that’s exactly what I would have liked to happen. In two years, I’ve never forgotten how she tasted, the sexy little noises she made when my fingers touched—I shake my head.
Parker taps the end of his stick on the hardwood floor. “Yeah, maybe you need to rethink this quest of yours, and face the facts.”
My jaw clenches. “And those would be?”
“She’s not going to forgive you, and the best thing you can take away from this is that you didn’t do something completely stupid in high school like sleep with her, and then never talk to her again.”
My gaze skitters away.
“Oh shit, West. Tell me you didn’t.” This time his stick goes sailing.
“I can’t.”
“At least tell me you weren’t her first.”
“That’s not really any of your business.” My skin feels all tight, hot and cold. Amazing what the body can do in the space of a couple of seconds.
“If you weren’t my best friend, I’d beat the crap out of you and never speak to you again.”
“Good to know that a woman won’t ever come between us,” I growl.
“Watch it,” Parker snaps and I look at him. His green eyes are narrowed at me. “Dude, I don’t even know you anymore.”
My eyes close briefly as he walks away. He thinks I’m a user, that I’m just like the men that come sniffing around his mom, and that is the one thing that would put me on his shit list.
“Damn it,” I mutter, plopping down in the nearest chair. Now I have two people to convince that I’m not an asshole.
Christmas miracle, anyone?
***
By the time I get home, the sun is setting. I pull into the circular drive and park. To my surprise, McKenzie’s dad is directing a couple of guys as they string lights at the roofline.
“Weston,” Mr. Walsh says with a genuine smile. “Merry Christmas. How’s Georgetown? Soccer season start, yet?”
Apparently, McKenzie never shared what high school was like for her, or I doubt very much I’d be on the receiving end of such genial conversation.
Ted Walsh is a linebacker of a guy, with a neck the size of one of my thighs. His features are harsh, his attitude friendly and open.
Everyone knows him, likes and respects him and his business, except for my friends and me. All we saw was some guy mowing our lawns and shoveling dog shit. Yeah, we weren’t privileged little pricks at all.
“Yes, sir. In August.” I rub the back of my neck. “Made it all the way to Nationals before we were shut out.”
“That far, huh?” I can tell he has no idea that soccer even has a National Championship. “Get any air time?”
“A little.” He’s totally a football fan, like most men around here. Their view of soccer is confined to little kids kicking a ball around a makeshift field. Something they do before they’re old enough to play real sports. “So, how’s business going?”
“Slow right now, but it’ll pick up in the spring. McKenzie has ideas though, like this one, that’ll help get us through the winter.”
At the mention of his daughter, I glance at the guys working so efficiently while they decorate my house. “She’s a smart one.”
“Ted, just the man I want to see
,” my dad says as he joins us, shaking Mr. Walsh’s hand. He’s still in his work uniform, dark slacks, striped tie loose, and top two buttons of his tailored shirt undone. There’s a lipstick stain on his cheek, from my mother. She always gives him a kiss as soon as he walks through the door, no matter what.
It’s a part of their ritual, and, if I have to be honest, it’s one I like. My parents are in love, I have a really good life, and yet, I felt a need to bully one small female in high school.
God, I’m pathetic loser. No, I’m worse than that. I’m a predatory pathetic loser.
I half listen to my dad and Mr. Walsh talk, interjecting only when I’m directly addressed.
The two men, each on a ladder, look down at us, their dark eyes and skin so like mine that I automatically greet them like I would my cousins down in Texas.
They exchange a look, then whisper hello, before resuming their work. It’s not unusual for me to get that look when I’m at home, or in a setting I’m not expected, equal to everyone else. My father isn’t in construction, or any other labor job that you’ll usually find my kind in around here.
He’s an investment banker, his head filled with facts and figures, and other people’s money. My mom doesn’t clean houses, not even her own. We have maids for that. But she does cook, and takes extreme pride in it.
As for me, I’m expected to follow in my dad’s footsteps and work in banking, at some firm in Charlotte, have two point five kids, and live in this neighborhood, while attending Mass every Saturday.
My soccer scholarship is nothing but extra icing on the cake that had been baked and decorated for me before I was born. I’m fourth generation Mexican-American, and the most discrimination I’ve dealt with is the occasional profile by cops.
Yeah, it pisses me off, but I have it better than the two guys climbing down their ladders.
Money and the right address solve a lot of problems.
“…party, Christmas Eve. You and McKenzie should come. We open presents at midnight,” I hear my dad say, pulling me back into their conversation. “Then eat and drink, until morning.”
“McKenzie’s the one in charge of what we do at Christmas, so let me check with her,” Mr. Walsh says. He shifts from side to side. “Let me get back to work, so these guys can get home to their families at a decent hour. I need to get home at a decent hour, or Mac will have my head.”
After McKenzie and I had sex the first time and most likely the last time ever, I held her in my arms while she told me about her mom, about her leaving without a word to anyone. She’d been thirteen, and after two years, when her dad realized his wife wasn’t coming back, he’d packed up and moved here.
The memories had been too fresh there.
Wasn’t it just awesome of me to make Forrestville especially welcoming for her? If I could pay Beckham to repeatedly kick me in the throat, I would.
After saying good-bye, I follow my dad inside. “So nice to have you home, son.”
“It’s nice to be home.” And it is. The only real drawback to Georgetown is the distance. It’s an eight-hour drive from here to there, although that same drawback is the perfect excuse for only coming home on holidays and special occasions.
I can’t tell my parents that my guilt keeps me away, that the knowledge McKenzie is still here, going to community college while living at home, makes it impossible for me to even consider coming home more often or for longer than a weekend.
Last summer I’d spent all but a week in Texas, with my extended family, until I had to be back to campus for practice.
Coward, I sneer at my reflection in a mirror as we pass by it.
My mother is waiting for us at the kitchen table, a smile on her face. A big, look-who-is-here type of smile. The table is set for four instead of three, and I look at my dad in confusion. For a moment, I have this weird notion that McKenzie is here, sitting at the table.
Charlie appears, wearing a pale pink Georgetown shirt with her sorority letters printed on the sleeves. She moves to stand beside my mother. Her pale hair is up in a perfect ponytail, brown eyes soft, and a commercial-worthy smile on her face.
“I hope you don’t mind, West, but I—”
My mother gives Charlie a hug, and I cringe inside. “Of course he doesn’t mind. Why would he mind his beautiful girlfriend eating here? You’re family, Charlotte.”
Not anymore, I want to say. But I don’t. Charlie and I haven’t informed our parents that we broke up over Fall Break. Okay, so Charlie insisted we wait until after the holiday, because our parents were such good friends and spent a lot of time together at parties.
Reluctantly, I had agreed, because I knew it would be a shock to everyone. I knew our parents expected me to propose to her, despite our off-again on-again relationship. I hate disappointing my parents, and I know that this break-up will do exactly that. They love Charlie.
With the exception of how she treated McKenzie in high school, Charlie isn’t a bitch, she’s not a cheater, attends Mass regularly, and she willingly does a lot of community service projects. Basically, everything my parents could ever want in a future daughter-in-law.
But I can’t explain exactly why we can’t get our stuff together to consistently be a couple. I mean, I am attracted to her—she’s a hot girl, after all—but that extra something isn’t there. Pop Rocks don’t zing around in my stomach when I see her; my palms don’t get sweaty; my knees don’t get weak.
And I’m pretty sure she feels the same way. We’re like habits for each other, benign habits that neither us can shake. Until now.
“What do the two of you have planned while you’re home?” my mom asks as we all sit down to the table, Charlie directly across from me.
Before I can answer, Charlie pipes up, “The usual: see old friends, The Oaks’ Christmas and New Year’s Eve parties, and whatever else West has up his sleeve.” She gives me a conspiratorial smile, and I, instead of calling her a liar, smile faintly before digging into my food.
Throughout the meal, Charlie and my parents keep up a steady stream of chatter. But I’m too lost inside my head to even attempt to contribute. My mind’s on McKenzie.
Someone kicks me under the table. I wince, rub my shin, and look up.
Charlie raises her brows at me. “Walk me to my car?”
Not really, I want to say, but I walk with her anyway.
“You could have put in some effort, West,” she says, her hips swinging as she walks in front of me. She pauses by the side door and turns to face me. I stop a few feet away. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
Actually, I do. “I don’t want to wait until after New Year’s to tell our parents. I think we should tell them now.”
“No way. You agreed to the plan. We’re sticking to it.”
“Why? I’m not buying you anything, if that’s what you’re after.” Yeah, a little unfair of me, but I’m desperate to make her change her mind. Being an asshole usually does it.
She makes a face. “You won’t piss me off enough to change my mind.”
The hell I won’t. “Then I’ll break the news.” Reputation is everything to Charlie. She always liked to say she was the one breaking up with me, and the one who decided that we were getting back together. For the most part, I didn’t mind that it appeared she led me around by my dick, because sex was always an integral part of our relationship.
And because I’m a moron led around by my dick.
But not anymore.
McKenzie is more important than anything else. I just wished it hadn’t taken me so long to realize it.
Charlie’s lips thin. “Fine, we’ll tell everyone, but can you at least wait until after The Oaks Christmas Party?”
Going to our country club’s Christmas party seemed benign enough and it would take place next Friday night. “You have a deal if you agree that in the meantime, you don’t expect me to be your date for anything else.”
“Slumming for the holidays?” she asks in a sickly sweet voice.
Jaw clenching, I ignore her jab at McKenzie. Unfortunately, I’d gotten drunk one night and confessed everything to Charlie, right down to—ugh. I don’t even want think about what I said to her. Hell, I don’t even remember half of what I said to her.
“Do we have a deal or not?”
She tips her nose in the air. “Fine. See you on the twenty-first, seven o’clock. Tux required. I prefer orchids.”
As she walks out the door, I grimace. She’ll be lucky if I don’t give her dead roses as a corsage. I don’t get this animosity she has for McKenzie.
Guys aren’t like this. Reasons for not liking another dude are clear and involve one of three things: he slept with your girl, your mom, or your sister. Other than that, I’m cool with most guys, ignoring the assholes, and not holding a grudge to last the centuries.
I shuffle back to my room, locking my door behind me and crashing on my bed. Tucking my ear buds into my ears, I crank up Imagine Dragons and let my mind run.
For three years, I tortured McKenzie Walsh. That’s five hundred and forty days, three thousand seven hundred and eighty hours of hell, if I count each hour we were in school together. Fate was kind enough to put us in every class together, including art.
How in the hell do I make that up to her? How in the hell do I make up for taking her virginity and walking away the next day, back to Charlie and my buddies—all over my guilt for being drunk when it happened, and the possible damage to my image for allowing it to happen?
And how in the hell do I forgive myself for ruining an innocent girl’s life, with my selfish wants?
Chapter Four
McKenzie
“You want me to accept his apology?” I ask Julia. “Are you high?”
“No.” Julia shakes her blond head. “But if you do, he’ll probably stop showing up at work.”
“Probably stop isn’t very reassuring,” I grumble, collapsing on my bed.
Julia flops down beside me. “It’s not my job to reassure you, it’s my job to tell you the truth.”
All For You (Boys of the South) Page 2