A Son of Carver (Carver High #2)

by Haven Francis

  I can feel Summer staring at me, but I can’t look at her. I can’t believe I just said all that corny shit out loud. “You’re such a good man, Nash,” is all she says.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who believes that.”

  “She’ll see it too, if she doesn’t already. Just be patient – she wants to dislike you, she really does, but just keep doing whatever you’re doing and she’ll have no choice but to accept that you’re good for her.”

  “That sounds like more work than it’s worth.”

  “Is it work? Being there for her? Listening to her talk about her life?”

  “It’s work having to constantly be nice to her and getting nowhere.”

  “Seems like you are getting somewhere. Unless… where exactly are you trying to go?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know what that means. Do you want to date her? Do you want to have sex with her? Are you just trying to be her friend?”

  I seriously consider her question. All I know is that I’m trying to get her to change her mind about me. Because, as Summer pointed out to me earlier in the week, if I can get my biggest hater to like me than maybe I’m not the asshole that everyone, including myself, thinks I am.

  But it’s more than that.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her truthfully. “I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about Presley.”

  “Are you attracted to her?”

  I snort at that. “Have you seen her?”

  “Yes, Nash, I have. And I think she’s beautiful, but I don’t think everyone sees what you do when they look at her.”

  “Well, yeah, I mean you have to get past the perpetual scowl on her face, but…”

  “You’re the only one she scowls at. And that’s not what I’m talking about. She’s doesn’t look like your standard pretty girl, which in this town would be Tatum – tall, thin, tan, blonde hair, tight clothes, perfect smile.”

  “What are you saying? You don’t think she’s my type because I was with Tatum?”

  “I’m saying Tatum’s pretty much everyone’s type. Any guy would look at her and think, that girl is hot. Right?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Most guys don’t think that when they look at Presley. They see her glasses and the red streak in her hair and the stud in her nose. They see her baggy black clothes. They see someone who’s different and different isn’t most guy’s type.”

  “I don’t know how anyone could look at that girl and not be turned on, but even if you’re right, I’m not seeing your point.”

  “Sometimes I worry about you, Nash,” she says, the disappointment clear in her voice. “She’s you’re type. She’s your particular brand of sexy. You look at her and you see a beautiful girl with a beautiful body and you’re sexually attracted to her – no matter what she’s wearing, or what color her hair is, or if she’s got her glasses on or off – it doesn’t matter. You think she’s hot all the time.”

  “She is hot all the time.”

  “Ugh. To you.”

  “Okay fine, so back to your question, yes, I’m extremely attracted to her.”

  “I don’t even remember where I was going with this,” she complains, cracking a fresh beer.

  “You were trying to figure out where I’m trying to go with her,” I stupidly remind her.

  “Thank you. Okay, so you’re attracted to her – do you want to have sex with her?”

  “Sometimes I worry about you Summer,” I say, mocking her. “Of course I want to have sex with her.”

  “Are you sure about that? She’s a virgin. Sex means more to her than just sex. Do you really want to have sex with her?”

  “Is that supposed to deter me? Of course I want to have sex with her. Of course I want to be the first guy to know what it feels like to be inside of her, the first guy that watches her have an orgasm. I want to be the one who shows her how good sex can be.”

  She’s quiet. For too long. I finally look at her. “Nash?”

  “What?”

  “I think maybe you’re starting to fall in love with her,” she says, no hint of humor in her voice.

  “Jesus Christ, Summer. You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Nash,” she whispers. “Don’t be mad. It’s a good thing.”

  “It’s not a thing.”

  “Okay,” she tells me, letting it go. But I know she thinks she’s right. Which she’s not. In love with her. What the fuck.

  “You want to get out of here?” I ask her, suddenly feeling suffocated by the wide open space we’re in the middle of.

  “Sure,” she says through an exasperated breath.

  Summer and I are both quiet on the drive to Tatum’s house where tonight’s festivities are taking place. I’m not really in a social mood but Tatum’s parties aren’t really parties. The entire class is definitely not invited and it’s usually not even Tatum who’s throwing the party – it’s her mom or older sister.

  I park my truck but don’t get out. Summer doesn’t either. “Are you mad at me?” she asks.

  “Of course I’m not mad at you,” I tell her, running my hands through my hair.

  “Are you mad because you think I might be right?”

  “No, Summer. I don’t even know what that means. I don’t even know what being in love with someone feels like.”

  “What about Tatum?”

  “I generally tell myself that if I had been in love with her she would have been enough for me. That’s supposed to be part of it, right?”

  “Right. They’re pretty much the only person you can think about. And their happiness means more to you than your own.”

  I pinch my eyes closed. Tatum’s happiness never meant more to me than my own. That was the whole reason I sabotaged, not only her and Brandon, but myself too. “Then no, Summer, I’ve never been in love. Not even with Tatum,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “Think about it Nash, about how you really feel about Presley… because I’m not sure I believe you.” She gets out of my truck, leaving me alone with my fucked up thoughts. And her leading words.

  I’m not an idiot – I know what she’s trying to tell me. Yes, Presley is about all I’ve been thinking about lately, but there are dozens of reasons why- none of which involve the L word. But the happiness thing… that one’s messing with my head because, honest to god, seeing her happy that day in my pole barn and knowing I had something to do with it was the happiest I’ve been in a long time.

  I’ve been telling myself I’m on a mission to make her like me, but when I think back on the last couple of weeks, the times that have gotten the adrenaline running through my body and suddenly the world looks all sunny and fantastic and I’m excited to get out of bed in the morning are not the times I’ve felt like she’s finally starting to like me, but the times when I’ve got her smiling or laughing or looking all peaceful.

  The times I’ve made her happy.

  God damn it. I’ve got to stop hanging around Summer.

  I get out of my truck, slamming the door too hard, before heading into Tatum’s house. I don’t realize, until I’m through the door and see Tatum’s mom with a huge smile on her face when she sees me, that this is the first time I’ve been here since our breakup.

  I used to spend just about every night here. Trish, Tatum’s mom, used to make me coffee every morning. This used to be my life. But now it’s Brandon’s. And that should be bothering me a whole hell of a lot more than it actually is. And I’m not gonna think about why that is.

  Trish wraps me up in her arms and says, “Oh my Nashy, I’ve missed you so damn much.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask, retuning her hug.

  “Of course. Waking up to you in your jeans and not much else was my favorite way to spend my mornings. Your buddy Brandon’s always fully dressed,” she says with disappointment. And again, her drunken words should send me into a rage, but they don’t. I just laugh at her predatory ass.

&nb
sp; “I aim to please,” I tell her. “How are you doing?”

  “Nuh,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Hanging in there, like always. Me and my girls.”

  And, as if on cue, Tally, Tatum’s older sister, is by my side, grabbing onto my bicep and dragging me into the living room. “Thank god you showed up. This party is lame.” She gets me to the middle of the living room, wraps her hands around my neck and starts grinding me like the professional dancer she is. “Aren’t you glad my sister dumped you? Now you get to dance with me properly,” she says with a laugh.

  I hold onto her as best I can, but I’m not about to bump and grind the girl. Yeah, she’s hot, but it’s Tally. Tatum’s sister who I’ve known since I was five.

  “Yeah? You think I’m better off without her?” I laugh.

  “Probably not,” she says with a shrug. “What I can’t figure out is if she’s better off without you.”

  I look over Tally’s shoulder to where Brandon is standing with Tatum wrapped up in his arms. He’s looking at her like I never did – like she’s the center of his world. And she’s looking at him like she never looked at me – like she feels the same way.

  “She’s definitely better off without me,” I tell Tally with a smile. “But I’m not so sure about Summer. As much as I love you rubbing your good all over me, I’m gonna go check on her.”

  “Boo,” she says, before releasing me, carrying on with her well-practiced moves, driving every guy that’s here to the brink of insanity, I’m sure.

  I turn to go find Summer but the first thing I see is Presley sitting on the couch. Or, more accurately, sitting on Angel who’s sitting on the couch.

  I know I should ignore it, but I can’t. I walk my ass to them and make myself comfortable in their space, throwing my arm up on the back of the couch, way too close to Angel and not close enough at all to Presley. “How are you kids doing?” I ask, brightly.

  Angel gives me a condescending laugh like he knows exactly what I’m up to. “We’re great, Nash. How about you?”

  “What I really meant to say was, how are you doing, Presley?” I stare directly at her now, trying to gauge her reaction to my presence. She looks annoyed. Of course she does.

  “Did you need something, Nash?” she asks, expectant eyebrows raised. Annnd… here we go. Back to bitch mode. Which is how she treats me when there are people around to see her.

  “Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” I tell her with a smile. “And remind you that you don’t have to be the best for anyone, you know what I mean?”

  She flares her nostrils and turns her eyes into laser beams. “That’s excellent, random, advice. Did you get that off your inspirational calendar?”

  Angel snickers as he runs his jewelry covered hand up and down her thigh. “No, Presley. Actually, the quote on today’s calendar was,if your best qualities makes you unqualified to be someone’s sex buddy then maybe you shouldn’t take the job. Or, maybe you should. What the hell do I know, right?” I stand up and head to Tatum’s kitchen, passing Summer and her friends on the way to the back door.

  I sit on the back steps and try to calm myself down. Shit. I can’t believe I just said that to her. Any progress I’ve made with the friend thing just got hurled out the god damn window. But seriously, if she’s willing to be that kid’s fuck buddy then she’s not who I thought she was and I probably don’t want her in my life anyway.

  The back door opens and, assuming it’s Summer, I say. “You’ve gotta stop messing with my head. I just said some totally inappropriate crap to her and I’m one hundred percent blaming you.”

  “To who?” Presley asks. Shit. She comes and sits by me and I’m shocked into silence by the fact that she’s not totally losing her shit on me right now. “If it’s me who you said some totally inappropriate crap to, I’m not sure I agree with you.”

  I finally grow a pair and look at her. She’s giving me an unsure smile. “Who the hell are you and why do you look so much like Presley?” I ask her.

  “Remember… taking this starting over friendship thing seriously this time? Yes, I’m pissed at you, but because we’re friends, I’m willing to consider that you did that because you’re worried about me; because normal people care about their friends and look out for them. And I’m starting to think you are a normal person who cares about his friends. So let’s talk about it.”

  Again, shocked into total confusion. “Talk about what?”

  “What you just said to me, in front of Angel.”

  “It’s none of my damn business.”

  She barks out a sarcastic laugh. “None of your damn business? I agree, but you just made it your damn business so now you’re stuck talking to me about it. I don’t know how you and your friends communicate, but when it’s clear that one of my friends has an issue with me I prefer to deal with it like an adult. Which means talking about it. So, tell me Nash, why you felt the need to come over and embarrass me in front of the guy you know I’m interested in?”

  “Jesus, I’ve got to start hanging out with dudes again. You and Summer are killing me.”

  “Is that who you were addressing when I walked out here? Were the two of you discussing me again?”

  That topic’s even more horrifying than the Angel one, so I ignore it and go back to her previous question. “Did you and Angel come to some kind of agreement?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Were you sitting on his lap, letting him put his hands all over you, because you’ve agreed to be his fuck buddy or has he changed his ways and deemed you good enough to date?”

  “I shouldn’t have ever told you anything about the two of us. You don’t need to worry about him. You don’t need to worry about me. You don’t have to worry about me with him. I’m a big girl, I know who I am and who I’m not, and I can handle myself.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Because it wasn’t worthy of a response. Had you asked me, politely, if Angel and I had a chance to talk about our relationship, I would have told you that, yes, I went to his place last night and told him that Cole and I officially broke up and that I was interested in seeing where things could go between the two of us. But that I had no intention of having sex with him, much less doing it without attachment.”

  Summer was right. It’s possible that Summer was right, because the thought of her, alone with him, is making me angry and I’m having and extremely hard time stopping the words from coming out of my mouth that would tell her that she’s too damn good for him and that there are guys, like me for example, that can treat her right. “And what did he say?” I manage to mutter in her direction.

  “He said he was cool with that.”

  “Cool with that?”

  “Yes, Nash. He wants to try and date me.”

  “Like it’s a damn chore? That’s what you want, some guy who’s willing to try and date you? What the hell is wrong with that kid? You better have told him that you would try not to rip his balls off but that you probably wouldn’t succeed.”

  She laughs, a laugh I know well because I do it to her all the time – she finds me amusing. “You know that’s not what he meant.”

  “You better not be stupid enough to believe it’s not exactly what he meant.”

  “Don’t, Nash. I’m out here trying to fix things with you when I could be in there with him. So don’t make me feel like crap. You don’t need to call me names. Maybe he’s not practiced in the art of flattery, but there’s something to be said for honesty.”

  “Ha,” I bark out a laugh, “because I haven’t been completely honest with you about everything?”

  “That’s not what I said. It’s not a competition, I’m not comparing the two of you, all I’m saying is that, he might not be as eloquent as you, but at least he’s being honest with me. I don’t want him to tell me this is going to be easy for him when I know it’s not. And I’m not taking it personally because I know it’s an issue he has with himself and not with me and if he�
�s finally willing to deal with it just to have a shot with me, then I’m choosing to see it as a compliment, not an insult.”

  All I can do is shake my head. Personally, I think she’s blind but what the hell do I know. “Do what you gotta do, Presley. Honestly, I hope I’m wrong about him. I hope he treats you right. But if he doesn’t, you need to let me know because I will kick his skinny little ass.”

  “Sometimes you shock the shit out of me, you know that Nash?”

  “Go be with your boy,” I tell her, not able to look her in the eye.

  She leans into me, I can feel her body brush against my arm and her hand around my neck. It excites the hell out of me, way more than it should. Then she puts her fat, soft lips on my face and kisses me, her thumb dragging across the back of my neck as she does it. I can hear her release a breath and feel the moisture being transferred from her lips to my cheek. The whole thing takes a couple of seconds at best, but the way my body is taking in every touch she’s giving me makes it feel like the world is paused for a minute.

  She’s gone, and I’m immobile on the back step. I close my eyes and memorize the way she felt, the sounds she made and the scent on her skin.

  And then I let myself be pissed off. Because she kissed me on the cheek and then left me to go be with another man. And I feel like I just got completely screwed over. I feel like I just lost something huge and none of it makes any fucking sense.

  8

  Am I gonna see you later?

  The text from my boyfriend or trial boyfriend or whatever Angel is, says and I smile hugely. Because I’m happy. Like, genuinely, at least eighty seven percent happy.