Justin slouches like a worn-out coat. “I lost my standing at my old school for some stupid shit. My dad pulled some strings and got me into Briggs. Had to leave the right coast to get here, if you know what I mean.”
Harper leans back with a look of surprise. “I thought you transferred over because you missed me?”
“I did miss you. Why do you think I had to manipulate my way here? And here I am.” He dots her lips with a kiss and pulls back with his lids half-closed. “Doing what I do best—you.”
“Gross,” I say it under my breath, and Ava offers up another swift kick.
Grant looks at his watch. “We’d better get going or we’re going to miss out on what I have planned for the rest of the night.”
“It’s a surprise!” Ava trills as they wave and dash for the door.
Justin pulls Harper to her feet with the finesse of a cave man and grunts something about her being on top as they take off as well.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” I smirk at the empty chairs. “Go on,” I bark at the last man standing. “Scat. I know for a fact there’s a party at Beta house. Go get your groove on or whatever it is you’re calling it these days. The student store has been dutifully restocking their condom aisle all afternoon, and if you move fast, they might still have the variety dotted with miniature hearts on the shelves.”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head as if disgusted with the thought. “I don’t do hearts. In fact, I don’t do girls on this heart-dotted night in fear I’ll give someone the wrong impression.”
“Wow,” I marvel with a little too much glee. “So, you actually abstain on the busiest booty night of the year? I bet the little prince is glad to hear it. I’m assuming he’s yet to make his raw and bloodied debut. Hey, if you need the name of a good tampon, I can help you out with that.”
That goofy grin of his glides right off. “You’re a riot.”
“I warned you I was a ball.” I lift my PB and J to him as if offering up a toast.
He reaches over and snatches up the other half of my sandwich after already polishing off his own. “So, what are you doing tonight other than reading the fine print on your tampon box to see if it’s strong enough for a dude, yet made for a woman?”
“Now look who’s the riot.” I take a few aggressive swigs of my coffee, buying time to formulate some plan of action that doesn’t involve a wad of cotton that I impale myself with routinely. “I’m hanging out. Catching up on my favorite shows. And before you say it—yes, I really do know how to have a good time.”
His expression dims, and his lips twist into what amounts to a pout. “That does sound like a good time.”
“What are you up to?” It comes out a little quieter, with almost zero sarcastic inflection, and I’m beginning to worry about myself.
“My dad is selling the house I grew up in. I thought I’d swing by and say goodbye to my old room before they box it up and turn it into an open house showcase.”
“I take it old sweat socks and porn magazines don’t add much to a home’s value anymore.”
“Nope, the good old days are gone—in every single way.” He taps his hand over the table. “Come with me.”
“What?” I blink back my surprise. “What do you have planned?” I squint over at him as if I’m onto his wicked scheme, but really there’s nary a wicked scheme on the horizon.
“Nothing. I was just going to catch up on all of my favorite shows. All of my buddies are busy hooking up. Every girl on the planet is off-limits. That leaves—”
“Me.” AgirlI want to remind him but don’t.
Lawson drivesus to the far end of Hollow Brook, up into the switchbacks that lead to a population far less dense than that of the rest of the town. The only time I’ve ever been in the hills was the summers I spent by the pool at the Toberman’s house. I’ll never forget walking into their overgrown home for the very first time and thinking they lived in a museum—one that I would have happily traded the tiny hovel I grew up in for. I shake those hazy, crazy days of my childhood as far out of my mind as possible.
“Hey—I just thought of something.” I bounce in my seat as we continue to climb elevation into the starless night. “This is my first Valentine’s Day date.”
“It’s not a date, sweetheart.” Lawson doesn’t waste any time in making the correction. “I mean, you know, not like that. Just because I’m about to introduce you to the sock sculpture I’ve been working on for the last decade and a half doesn’t make us official.”
“If that sock sculpture talks back, then it’ll make us both certifiable.” I cringe inwardly at how lame that barb was. It’s as if the closer we get to Lawson’s not-so-humble abode, the more my sarcastic superpowers—which I truly covet—seem to wane. What kind of night will this be if I can’t have a little passive-aggressive fun with my most prized micropenis?
A part of me wants to fill him in on my internal ramblings, but I’m rendered tongue-tied by the fact I’m with a boy, miles from WB, on this, the most celebrated night for all things coital. That secret, tender part of me quivers at the idea of anything coital happening tonight—wait just a Whitney Briggs’ minute. I’m not into Lawson in that way. No way, no how. Am I?
We park up a steep driveway, and Lawson comes around and helps me navigate my way to the house without breaking a leg in the dark.
Instead of using a key, he rings the bell, and I find that both strange and formal.
“They’re newlyweds.” He shrugs. “After they got married, I came home and bumped into my dad wearing nothing but his boxers. That was enough to scar me for life. So the doorbell it is.”
