by Rachel Rust
So I brilliantly said nothing. Staring at my jeans, as Nathan stared at me, no doubt thinking I was a complete idiot.
Chapter Fourteen
He’s Not a Hugger…?
Next to me, Lydia fidgeted in her chair, pulling at her shirt, crossing and re-crossing her legs. With every twitch from her, my short fuse grew shorter and shorter.
Across the yard, Lance was now chatting up another group of people. They all laughed and looked back my way.
I didn’t give a shit about what Lance said to me, but the fact that he’d dragged Lydia into the middle of it, trying to pit her again me, making her feel uncomfortable … blood throbbed hot down my arms. My fists clenched, feeling the phantom, yet satisfying thump of my knuckles hitting the flesh of Lance’s face.
The urge to punch Lance wasn’t new. Lance had used my legal fuckups as material for front page newspaper articles in the past.
I couldn’t blame him—people liked reading a good story—but those articles only perpetuated the town’s one-sided view of me. Just once I wanted something good written about me—my time on the basketball court, my work on the ranch. But those articles never came.
My thoughts of Lance were interrupted by a buzz of a phone. Lydia dug hers out from her pocket and read a text. “I have to go home and study,” she said to no one in particular, her voice quiet. She then uncrossed her legs and stood up. “I guess I’ll see you in school on Monday.”
Stop! My mind spun for something—anything—that would keep her from leaving my vicinity anytime soon. Or ever. “Did you walk here?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“I can walk you home if you want.” I exhaled my breath slowly. Lance had given her several legitimate reasons to avoid my company.
“Okay,” she replied with a smile, and my body relaxed in relief.
Taya and Nina came around the table to say good-bye to Lydia. They hugged. I never understood why girls always hugged each other. As if they didn’t see one another every day, or even multiple times a day. I couldn’t remember the last time I hugged anyone—aside from Liliana, who tended to ram into me full force. Before leaving Colorado, my Uncle Rodney had given me a few hard pats on the back as he lectured me on passing vehicles while pulling a trailer. And when I had gotten back to the rez a couple nights ago, my Aunt Heather had tried for a hug, but I had successfully avoided her.
Daniel walked my way, and I had absolutely no urge to hug him.
“Dude,” Daniel whispered, eyebrows raised. His eyes drifted over to Lydia. “Out of all girls, you had to choose that one? Alex’s been chasin’ her skirt since she moved here last year.”
“I know,” I said, glancing at Alex who was watching Lydia hug Taya. “But I don’t think she’s interested.”
“Looks like she found someone else to be interested in,” Daniel said with an elbow jab to my ribs. The sharp pain made me flinch.
Lydia stepped back from Taya and waited, watching me with expectant eyes. “Ready?” she asked.
You have no idea.
We turned away from our friends and walked down the driveway toward the sidewalk. The late evening sun electrified Lydia’s orange hair. It was a magnet for my eyes, and I wasn’t sure I could stop staring. But when I did manage to pull my eyes off her hair, they traveled down her body. Tits, waist, hips, ass. I wouldn’t mind hugging her.
She caught me staring at her ass. I fumbled for something to say, but came up empty.
God, she must think I’m a complete tool.
Chapter Fifteen
She Just Doesn’t Care
Rays of late-evening sun filtered through the trees, creating erratic and ever-changing patterns of sunlight and shade on the sidewalk. Three houses down from Taya’s, two middle-aged people sat in the grass off the sidewalk—a man and a woman, each with a paintbrush in-hand. Back and forth their brushes stroked, spreading white over what appeared to be blue spray paint on their fence. I barely made out the last three letters of a word—bag—before the woman’s wide brush voided it out. I thought of the possibilities; douchebag, assbag, shitbag. Did people actually use words like that? The couple frowned at Nathan and me as we walked past.
After one more driveway, we turned right onto Second Avenue. “So—” we said in unison, then cut ourselves off with a laugh.
“Go ahead,” I said.
“No, you first.”
I waited a moment before finally speaking, “Do you know if they found out who’s been spray painting stuff and smashing windows?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Doesn’t seem like they know much about the Pit Stop shooting either,” I said. “It’s a lot of crime for such a tiny town.”
“People around here are used to it.”
“They’re used to people getting shot?” I blurted out the words with more anger than intended.
Nathan opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if searching for the words. “No, I just … what happened to Mike Iron Horse sucks. I don’t think anyone’s ever been shot before. I just meant they’re used to other stuff, like people shooting out windows and spray paint. Stuff like that.” We walked another half a block before Nathan looked over at me again. “Must’ve been one hell of a night, the shooting. Daniel says you work there?”
“Used to work there. Until bullets and cops showed up.”
Nathan chuckled softly. “At least the cops are earning their pay. Usually they just drink free coffee at The Shack and stop people for going thirty-one in a thirty.”
“Thirty-one in a thirty? Do you know this from experience?”
“Oh, I’ve been pulled over plenty of times, but I’m usually doing more than thirty-one.”
“I’ve never gotten a speeding ticket before,” I said.
His lip curled up.
At the next corner, we went straight, toward a faded yellow house. Lance’s house.
“Why don’t you and Lance get along?” I asked.
“Lots of reasons.”
“Name one.”
Nathan sighed quietly, as if trying to keep his disdain for my persistence to himself, but it was just audible enough for my ears.
“Lance’s mom owns a hair salon,” he said, “and I might’ve stolen her sign and spray painted her driveway a few years ago.” He sounded as though he wanted to do anything in that moment other than relive his past. “She lives on a corner, so instead of sticking to the sidewalk we’d cut through the grass on our bikes. It pissed her off and she yelled at a bunch of us. Why I decided to retaliate … I don’t know.” He kicked a small tree branch out of his way. It skidded to a stop along the edge of the street. “Lance and I have never gotten along. He’s a total prick, but I’m sure me messing up his mom’s business didn’t help either.”
“Yeah, probably not.”
Nathan looked down at me. “He was right though. Most people in this town don’t like me. If you wanna tell me to get lost, I’d understand.”
My mind spun, as Lance’s words rattle around my head. Vandal, trespasser, arson. It wasn’t entirely clear to me who I was allowing to walk me home, but with a glimpse of Nathan’s arms—and the half-grin he gave when he caught me looking at them—I was okay with his company. Whoever he was.
My feet stopped, and Nathan halted right next to me.
“When I first moved here last year, I cried myself to sleep for a week,” I told him. “And then I met Nina and Taya and things got okay. But it never got better than okay.” I had no idea where my sudden spew of honesty was coming from, but the train had already left the station and there was no stopping it. “This town sucks, and I’ve been bored off my ass for the past year, missing Minneapolis, missing my old life.” I took a deep breath, and nearly mentioned my bum knee and lost future plans, but I didn’t want any pity. All I wanted in that moment was him walking next to me—right or wrong. “I’ve been waiting for something awesome to happen and it never did … until now. So, you’re right, I could tell you to get lost, but I don’t want to, and I
don’t think you do either.”
Nathan’s deep eyes stayed on mine as he took two solid steps my direction.
Chapter Sixteen
He’s Cool-ish
Inches from her face, traces of lemonade and coconut lingered in my nose. Her chest heaved. Her lips were nicely shaped, opened enough that a glimpse of her white teeth peeked through. With a racing heart, my body swayed toward her, only to snap back at the sound of car tires of asphalt.
We both turned our heads as Chet Rollins drove by in his black-and-white cruiser.
Lydia took a step back. Annoyance sliced through me, and I had never hated Rollins more than in that moment. And that was saying a hell of a lot.
Rollins parked his cop car a block up, and then went to the front door of a small blue house. As he waited for someone to answer the door, he stared back at Lydia and me.
“What street do you live on?” I asked her.
“Blane.”
“We can cut through the alley.” I nodded across the street. “It’s a shortcut over to your block.” Going through the alley wasn’t a shortcut; it was just the best anti-Rollins route I could think of on the spot.
The alley was narrow with garages lined up and down the lengths of both sides. I shuffled a foot forward, and my heart nearly stopped. Slipping between my fingers was the soft, warm flesh of Lydia’s fingers. Instinctively, mine curled up over hers, careful not to squeeze her tiny hand too hard. We locked eyes, and she gave me a small smile. Something inside thawed. If she had asked me to off someone, I would’ve sign on the dotted line.
I led her across the street and into the alley. The alley garages were old, with their upper horizontal frames sagging. Most had chipped paint and dented fiberglass doors. Weeds and dented garbage cans filled the spaces between the run-down structures.
At the end of the alley we turned right, onto Blane Street. “My house is right down here,” Lydia said, nodding straight ahead.
I knew Thorn Creek well. In grade school, I had ridden my bike all around and had friends on nearly every block. My number of friends had dwindled dramatically since then, but I could still find my way around town blindfolded. Or sneaking around in the dark, trying to avoid being seen. That I was pretty good at, too.
Lydia’s neighborhood was known as Snob Slope. Situated on the town’s only incline, the houses were not new or large, but they were well maintained. No dented garbage cans or chipped paint to be seen.
“This is my house,” she said, pointing to a one-story white house with a small, sloped front yard. Her red SUV sat in the driveway.
She stopped and faced me, dropping her hand from mine. My heart sank.
“Thanks for walking me,” she said. “I’ll come watch you play tomorrow night.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t—”
“I want to.” She smiled broadly. “I’ll cheer for you.”
I smiled back as her words plowed into me. A rare moment of positive honesty. Her naiveté was hard to dismiss, but to have someone in the bleachers who truly wanted me there was all I needed to feel—if only for a second—glad to be back playing basketball again for Coach Donnelly.
Lydia took two steps back, giving me a little wave.
“See ya tomorrow,” I said, as cool as I could. Inside, I was a swirling mess of hormones, two seconds from going full-blown moron.
She bit her bottom lip, and it was all I could do to not rush her and press my lips—and my entire body—to hers. She walked up the driveway, her jeans doing a fantastic job of highlighting her ass. Just before entering the house, she gave me another grin.
Damn, I needed to kiss that girl.
Chapter Seventeen
She Has Lofty Plans
On Saturday night, loud cheers erupted, making me cower. At my old high school in Minneapolis, sports were a big deal, but only with fellow students and parents of players. In Thorn Creek, the entire town gathered around, standing shoulder to shoulder, waiting outside the gym doors to catch a glimpse of the boys’ basketball players. And the fact that they had annihilated the Shadville Bulldogs seemed to bring even more excitement to the crowd.
Cheering reverberated through the crisp October air, telling me the taller folks in the crowd had spotted the players coming out. I stood on my tip toes to peer over the shoulder of the boy in front of me.
And then I saw him. The teenage guy from the Pit Stop the night of the shooting. Just ahead, in the crowd.
Pain seared through my right foot as the boy in front of me stepped back onto my toe. Grimacing, I yanked myself free and veered to the right. The unknown guy was just a few people in front of me. He had turned to face the gym doors, and I could now only see the back of his short black hair, but I knew it was him.
“Excuse me,” I said to no one in particular, trying to shove my way through the vat of humans. No one moved. I pushed harder through the shoulders and arms, but he was swallowed by the crowd which had begun swaying forward, rushing up to the exiting players.
He was gone.
I twirled around, searching for him. Left. Right. Behind me. Up by the doors.
Gone.
As I turned to get one more look around, a hand grabbed mine and Nathan appeared. “Did you see him?” I blurted out.
Nathan’s eyebrows scrunched. “See who?”
Heat flushed across my face. I was an idiot. “Nothing, never mind.” Nathan continued starting at me, and I shook my head a bit. It was the police’s job to track that kid down, not mine. I had survived a hail of bullets. I had given them a list of customers. I had been helpful. My job was done. Hands washed clean. My eyes canvassed Nathan’s chest in front of me, and thoughts of the Pit Stop shooting washed away. What other teenage boy? There were far better things to concentrate on. I smiled up at him. “Good game!”
“Thanks.”
Despite my inner voice telling me I was grinning like an idiot, I couldn’t stop. Donnelly had put Nathan in towards the end of the first quarter. Regardless of whatever the townsfolk thought of him, they certainly were okay with him racking up points for their team and had cheered for every basket. I waited for a singular burst of arrogance, but it never came. Nathan had scored a third of the team’s fifty-seven points, yet he remained composed with modesty, despite the back slaps thumped upon him.
Nathan’s fingers grasped tighter to mine, and he slumped a bit, bringing his face closer to me, shutting away the loud crowd. My stomach flipped. He was warm and smelled good. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked.
I bit my lip, which made him smile. “Nothing, why?”
“Do you wanna go get something to eat?”
“I’d like that.”
“All right. I have one of my uncle’s trucks, so I’ll drive this time.”
“Good, ’cause you owe me a ride, remember?”
Nathan’s lips spread into an ever-so-slight grin. “I meant that I owe you a ride in my Camaro.”
“Oh, well, that would be…”
My thoughts and words went adrift as Nathan stood up straight, gazing down at me from his full height. Confidence wafted off him as his deep gaze latched onto mine and didn’t let go. I straightened my spine, not even coming close to competing with his stature. The butterflies in my stomach were intoxicatingly intimidated.
“Is everything all right here?” a terse female voice asked. Next to us stood a thin woman dressed in a navy blazer and matching skinny trousers. Principal Jackson. The severity of her short, highly-styled bleached-white hair always made my skin prickle. She gave me a curious look. Her eyes then narrowed at Nathan, and her gaze fell to our clasped hands. “Lydia, right?” she asked me. I nodded. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” I said. “Why?”
Nathan smirked. “Because you’re with me.”
Jackson glared at him. “Certainly not, Mr. Stone, I was just making sure you kids—”
Nathan grabbed my hand tighter. “Let’s go.” He led me away from Principal Jackson.
I giggled as we stepped into the parking lot. “I can’t believe we just did that!”
“What? Never pissed off a principal before?”
“No.” I laughed.
He didn’t respond with words, just a smile as he led me to a large silver pickup. He drove us out of the parking lot and down Broadway Street—the main thoroughfare through downtown Thorn Creek. The gray clapboard exterior and worn-out charm of The Shack restaurant made it look like it belonged on Cape Cod, not the middle of South Dakota. The interior walls were bold greens and blues, topped with a blacked-out loft-like ceiling. My mom’s super-crush, Dave Matthews, crooned overhead.
Nina’s mom, Alice, seated Nathan and me at a table near a window overlooking Broadway Street. I split my time between studying the menu and studying the defined ridges of Nathan’s forearms. I wondered how much of that strength came from handling basketballs. Or maybe he used his weight room lunchtime to actually lift weights. It didn’t really matter why he had muscles, only that he did. And that they were only two feet in front of me.
The server came by to take our order, forcing my eyes from the lure of Nathan’s upper extremities. We both ordered bacon cheeseburgers. I didn’t know if there were any statistics on people connecting through common food, but the fact that we both liked our red meat topped with gooey cheese and bacon couldn’t be a bad thing.