A Son of Carver (Carver High #2)

by Haven Francis

  “So,” Nash says, coming into photography class and straddling his stool with his big legs, “I think we’re losing focus here.”

  I turn to him, my face all screwed up. I don’t even want to know where he’s going with this.

  “You’re first critique totally sucked and our next one is in four days. I don’t want to get blamed for you failing this class but I’m concerned that you have no pictures of my home landscape. And you also totally failed to take any pictures of my race.”

  “Ugh,” I mutter, resting my head on my hand and looking up at him. “School is the last thing on my mind right now and you’re right, I don’t know if I have any good pictures from your life.”

  “Do you have any?”

  “Yeah, from that day you were working on your car.”

  “Let me see,” he says, holing out his hand for my camera.

  I hand it over to him, sliding on my glasses so I can look with him. I lean into him, telling myself it’s so that I can see and has nothing to do with needing to feel his hard, warm body connected to mine or a desire to smell him.

  He scrolls through the photos – mostly laughing because, I now realize, they’re silly and don’t represent him.

  “I like the calendar girl, and I look hot in the pictures you took of me, but there are none of my actual house or my family.”

  “Well you didn’t want me taking photos of your house and your dad and brother weren’t there.”

  “I know. We made a trip to Goodwill last night and cleaned up a little bit. And we’ll all be home tonight if you want to stop by.”

  I don’t know why, but I feel a little guilty telling him, “I told Angel he could come over tonight… you know, meet my mom or whatever.” He was waiting for me when I got to school this morning, asking me if I wanted to come to his place tonight since our “date” got cut short last night. I panicked and instead of just telling him no, I ended up inviting him to my house knowing my aunt would never allow us to be alone. He seemed excited but I’m completely dreading it. I’m sure Jolee and LeeAnn will totally make him feel like an asshole and embarrass the hell out of me.

  “First time your mom’s met him?”

  “Yeah,” I say with a tight smile, taking back my camera back that he’s offering and setting it on the table.

  “You don’t seem that thrilled about it.”

  “I’m not. It’s always awkward bringing people from my life into their home.”

  “You shouldn’t be intimidated by them. For now at least, it’s your house too.”

  “Ha,” I laugh. “That’s so not true. And I’m not intimidated by them, they just make me uncomfortable and, Jolee especially, makes me feel like I’m not wanted there so I just feel like I’m imposing. And honestly, no one’s gonna have fun hanging out with me there.”

  “I had fun hanging out there with you,” he says with a coy smile.

  “Something’s wrong with you, Nash, if your idea of fun is talking some crazy girl through her neurosis.”

  “Well that girl was you and I was in your bed,” he says too loud so I back hand him across his shoulder.

  Of course it doesn’t hurt him. He just laughs then says, “Were the two of you ever close?”

  “Who? Me and Jolee?”

  “Yeah. I mean, you’re only a year apart and you’re both only children… seems like there might have been a time when you were close.”

  “Well yeah… when we were kids. They used to come out and spend a month with us every summer and I actually liked hanging out with her.”

  “And then she turned into a jealous bitch?” he asks with a smile.

  “Jealous? Of what?”

  “What do you mean, of what? Of you – the prettier, more unique and talented one who was living in California with her nice, normal mom.”

  “Pft,” I practically spit on him. “You kind of nailed it on the head – I’ve always been the weird one, but she, obviously, was the pretty one. She and LeeAnn have always made sure I was well aware of that.”

  “Or maybe they saw how pretty you were and how well you were filling out and they felt the need to convince you that you weren’t as pretty as Jolee.”

  I laugh again. “I know you’ve made it your mission to be my life coach and general cheerleader and that it’s my fault because I keep sharing all my insecurities with you, but you’re so full of shit.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  “I love you Nash, but stop. Please. I can’t take any more of this right now,” I tell him, so seriously.

  “You love me?”

  “It’s an expression,” I tell him, my eyes rolling as far as they can.

  “No it’s not. You love me. Don’t feel bad… I love you too, Presley.”

  “I know. I’ve become your little wounded puppy dog you have to slather with love and affection.”

  “Actually, you’re my little kitty. And I don’t have to slather you with love and affection, I just want to.”

  “I should consider myself lucky, shouldn’t I? Any girl in this school would die happy, on the spot, after hearing words like that from you.”

  “Probably, but you’re the only one I would ever say this corny shit to.”

  “You are a total cornball,” I tell him with a smile.

  “You bring out the best in me, Kitty.”

  “The kitty thing’s kind of cute, but call me that around anyone and I will tear your tongue out.”

  “Damn, my kitty has claws,” he says with a goofy smile, and like he tends to do recently, he manages to detour my long train of depressing thoughts and make me laugh.

  Mr. Conroy interrupts to inform us of our assignment for the day. He wants a loose plan and itinerary for the rest of our photo presentations.

  I pull out the syllabus and read out loud the list of suggested pieces of our lives that we could focus on. I start a list for Nash, pretty easily coming up with his hobbies, favorite hangouts, places of refuge, friends and childhood haunts. The only two we’re stuck on is work and future landscapes. His job is also his main hangout at the moment, one of his havens… and is also illegal. And, for now, his future landscape is also his home landscape. But we have plenty to work with.

  Me, on the other hand… all I really have are friends and a job. And, again, I’m feeling pathetic. And, again, Nash manages to pull me out of it pretty easily, simply by laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask him.

  “I’m just picturing how my photo session with your friends is gonna go.”

  “God, that is gonna be awkward. Both of them will totally be scowling at you. I don’t know how the hell you’re gonna get beneath the surface on that one.”

  “For sure it’s gonna be awkward as hell. And the work photos aren’t going to be any better. Unless, you let me come in when you have one of your athletic uniforms on. That could be fun.”

  “No, absolutely not,” I tell him. Sunday is absolutely the only day he’ll be let into The End Zone with his camera. “Bambi will kick your ass if you even try it.” Oh crap. Why the hell did I say that?

  “Who’s Bambi?” he asks, totally confused. He knows all the girls that waitress there.

  “Bambi? What are you talking about? Who’s Bambi?”

  He shakes his head at me. “What the hell, Presley. You just said Bambi is gonna kick my ass.”

  “You’re mental. I never said that.”

  He narrows his eyes at me, a sly smile slowly creeping onto his mouth. “You’re Bambi, aren’t you?”

  I snap my head back so hard it actually hurts. “You’ve lost your mind.”

  “Holy shit, I love it. Is she like your alter-ego? Like your superhero waitress name? What kind of powers does she have?”

  I try not to, but I smile at him – he’s so damn excited. And what the hell is up with him not only knowing when I’m lying, but always knowing what I’m covering up?

  The bell rings and we both grab our bags and stand. He hasn’t stopped looking at me with his
goofy, excited grin. “I can’t believe I blew my cover. You have to swear on Ruby that you’ll never give me away,” I tell him, facetiously.

  “Never.”

  “Okay. Well, she can’t fly or anything,” I tell him as we head down the hall. “But she has the ability to tolerate gross men and disgusting comments.”

  He shakes his head at me. “That’s it?”

  “She’s okay with showing way too much skin?”

  “Those aren’t super hero skills.”

  “Fine. But if I tell you, and you repeat it, you will die a slow, horrible death.”

  He laughs. “Will she be the one killing me? Because I wouldn’t mind being tortured by her.”

  “Hopefully you’ll never find out.”

  “Nope, never… guarding her secrets with my life.”

  I look around, like I’m making sure no one can hear me. “She’s a shape shifter.”

  “Like a werewolf? That’s not sexy.”

  “Not a werewolf. At night, when all her sleazy customers are asleep, she transforms into an adorable kitty cat, climbs into their bedroom windows and pukes fur balls into their beds.”

  He laughs. “Jesus, so that’s where all that gross crap in my bed is coming from,” he says, wrapping an arm around me.

  I laugh too and lean into him, forgetting for a moment where we are, or more specifically, where we are headed. That is until I finally take my eyes off Nash and see Angel and Tatum waiting for me at my locker, both of them staring at me with confusion. Quickly, I wiggle out of Nash’s hold and take a step away from him.

  “What?” he asks. I don’t look at him but I hear him scoffing so I assume he knows why I’m suddenly treating him like he has leprosy. “I’ll see you later, Presley.”

  “Yep,” I lamely wave in his direction but, again, don’t look at him.

  “Well you two are looking awfully friendly,” Tatum says with an amused smile.

  “Why does he think he can just put his hands on any damn girl he wants to?” Angel says, wrapping his own arm around me and leading me to the cafeteria.

  “Because Presley is pretty much the only girl who’s ever told him he can’t put his hands on her. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it,” Tatum says.

  “I don’t know how you put up with his crap,” he mumbles to me.

  I feel like a total asshole. I stopped telling him to keep his hands off me a few days ago. Worse than that, I don’t mind it at all. And what is so bad it’s scary is that I think I need it. But, I remain mute with Angel and Tatum.

  Once we’re seated at the table, Tatum gives me a shit eating grin. “So, meeting the mom tonight?” Tatum says to me while wagging her eyebrows. “He must be doing alright in the boyfriend department.”

  “Did you have any doubts?” he says to her with a cocky grin.

  “Um, yeah. Of course I did, Mr. Relationships are a Pointless Waste of Time. Honestly, I’m just sitting back waiting for you to crash and burn.”

  “Nice, Tatum,” I tell her with a smile.

  “Oh, come on. I mean, you probably don’t want him to screw it up, and honestly for your sake I don’t really want him to either. But you remember how epic his anti-relationship speech was. Which, I’m pretty sure, was just a copout because he can’t admit that, until you showed up here, he couldn’t get anyone to date him.”

  “Clearly, we all know that’s not the truth,” he says. “And I totally accept your challenge. You can sit back and watch Presley fall in love with me because I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be the best boyfriend ever.”

  “So is this official?” Tatum asks, her eyes darting between me and Angel… for too long, because neither of us is saying anything. And then I say no at the same time he says yes. She laughs and says, “Looks like the two of you are already having communication problems.”

  I look at Angel and laugh.

  “I think we should make it official,” he whispers to me.

  And I panic. It wasn’t too long ago that these words would have made me extremely happy but clearly I have some personal issues I need to sort through before I can make a commitment like that. “I think we should give it another few weeks.”

  “You don’t want to be my girlfriend?” he asks, straddling the bench so he’s turned facing me, his hands wrapped around my side, a cute smile on his face.

  “I think you still need a little time to decide if you want to be someone’s boyfriend.”

  “I don’t want to be someone’s boyfriend. I want to be your boyfriend. But I’ll wait, as long as you need me to. But say the word and I’m all yours. Because I’m pretty sure I like this boyfriend thing. And I’m pretty sure I’ll be the best one you’ve ever had.”

  “I don’t really think there’s a ranking system for that.”

  He cocks his head at me.

  “I mean, I don’t actually think you can be the best boyfriend or win an award or anything.” Damn Nash and his stupid theories.

  “Well if there was, I’d make damn sure it was mine. I’m pretty good at winning awards.”

  “I know you are,” I tell him, my voice unintentionally tinged with annoyance.

  He doesn’t seem to notice though. “So prep me for tonight – what do I gotta do to make your mom like me?” he says at the same time that my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see a text from my mom asking if I’ll be home tonight, preceded by another text with a picture of Wonder Woman.

  What the hell?

  It’s not until I actually open it that I realize the Wonder Woman text is from Nash. And Angel is all up in my personal space.

  Remind you of anyone? If you were to paint this body, would you be disgusted?

  “What the hell does that mean?” Angel asks.

  I glance over at Nash who’s busy talking to Reggie Norris and not paying me any attention. I glance at the text, seeing that it was sent this morning during first period when my phone was shoved in my backpack. I close it down and shove it back in my pocket.

  “Seriously, Presley, what the hell is that about? He’s asking you if you want to paint her body? Is he picturing some sick threesome or… what the hell is that? I seriously can’t even dumb myself down enough to figure out what the hell he’s trying to accomplish there.”

  “I don’t know,” I tell him, but of course I do. He’s suggesting that I have the same figure as seventies sex icon Lynda Carter and that her body is obviously not gross, and therefore mine isn’t either. It’s not a come on and he’s not being a pig. He’s actually trying to help Angel out in a weird way. But what am I supposed to say to Angel? Last night, while lying in my bed, we had a conversation about how uncomfortable I am with you touching my body and so he’s just trying to convince me that girls with large breasts and big asses are actually attractive.

  “Just ignore him,” I mutter, guilt flowing fluidly through me.

  “Trust me, I’m trying. But between him putting his hands all over you and sending you creepy texts, it’s a little difficult. Are you gonna reply to that nonsense?”

  Oh, Jesus. “Let it go, Angel.” In an attempt to derail this conversation, I say loudly to Tatum, “How are the college applications going?”

  I hear Angel let out a frustrated breath but he doesn’t say anything.

  Tatum shrugs her shoulders and looks at Brandon. “I’m working on it.”

  “She’s gonna get in,” Brandon tells me with a huge smile, leaning over to kiss Tatum on the cheek. “Did you show Presley the essay?”

  “Essay?” I ask her, excited because she seems to be taking the college thing seriously and if I know her, she can get anything if she wants it bad enough.

  “It’s so good,” Brandon informs me. “And the reference letters from her teachers are pouring in. She’s got this on lock down.”

  I reach over and grab her hand, excited for her. “That’s so great, Tatum. I’m seriously so excited that you’re getting out of here.”

  “Don’t get too excited. I haven’t been ac
cepted yet and it’s still a long shot.”

  “But she’s coming, either way,” Brandon tells me.

  She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”

  He rolls his eyes back at her. “Yes, you do.”

  I know where this is going, so I turn back to Angel to avoid watching the make out session, but he’s not there. Seconds later my eyes find him just outside the cafeteria, pushing his hands into Nash’s chest. Oh, fuck.

  I’m out of my seat and running towards them before I can even think. When I get close I can hear Angel telling him, “It’s bad enough that she’s stuck in that class with you, you don’t need to go out of your way to make her uncomfortable by putting your damn hands on her. I don’t know what effect your creepy texts have on other girls but you’re freaking her the hell out and you seriously need to knock that shit off.”

  “Angel,” I scold when I reach them. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He runs his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, I know you can handle him but seriously asshole,” he says, his eyes back on Nash, “stop trying to fuck with her head and keep your damn hands off her.”

  Oh god, this is such a mess. I stand frozen, waiting for Nash to respond, but he just stands there, looking Angel in the eye, his hands shoved in his pockets, I’m sure to keep from knocking him out.

  He turns to me and I can see the hurt on his face and it kills me. “I didn’t realize I was offending you. I’m sorry if anything I’ve said, or any texts I’ve sent, have upset you… that obviously wasn’t what I was trying to do.”

  I stare back at him, trying to tell him with my eyes that he’s obviously not offending me… that Angel doesn’t understand our friendship. But with Angel standing next to me all I can say is, “It’s okay.”

  He narrows his eyes at me for a moment, then slowly nods his head. “Next time you have a problem with me, you can just let me know. You don’t need to send your boyfriend to put me in my place.”

  “Nash,” I mutter. I don’t know what else to say.

  “What?”

  I look between him and Angel and all I can do is shake my head. Nash turns and walks away and I don’t watch him go.