It’s a mission in itself just trying to get dressed. I have to stop every couple seconds to take a deep breath, and by the time Tiffani is laying on her car horn outside, I’m onlyjustready. I grab my wallet and mykeys, and then I stuff them into my pockets. That’s when I remember something from last night. I remembernothaving my keys, and I remember that girl opening the door for me.
Eden.
Eden let me in last night and saved me the humiliation of having Mom find me asleep on the lawn this morning.
I freeze in the hall, stopping right outside the door to the guest room. Or Eden’s room now, I guess. It’s closed, and I don’t know if she’s awake or not yet, but for a very, very split second, I lift my hand and contemplate knocking. I know I should thank her, but then I remember that look of disgust she had on her face last night, and I quickly drop my hand and keep on walking. Tiffani is waiting, and I doubt Eden wants to see me. So far, I don’t think she’s impressed, but no one ever is. I prefer it that way. When people don’t like you, they stay away from you.
Stealthily, I creep my way downstairs, glancing around over my shoulder to figure out where Mom and Dave are, but I can’t see them. The front door is in sight, so I make a clean break for it, throwing it open and quickening my pace across the lawn toward the neon red car that is waiting.
And as soon as I have opened the door and sat inside, Tiffani is running her eyes over me. “You look like shit,” she informs me, which is easy for her to say. Honestly, there is no way in hell she drank enough last night if she was actually able to get up early this morning to do her hair and makeup. She looks good, but I don’t have the energy to tell her. “You want me to walk around with you by my side looking like that?”
“Yeah, well, I feel like shit too,” I mutter. I yank my seatbelt over me and click it into place, slumping down against the passenger seat.I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. “My head is pounding, so please don’t talk to me.”
“Soboring,” Tiffani says, and I can just sense the dramatic eye roll as she begins to drive.
For once though, shedoesactually shut up. She remains silent on the drive downtown, though she keeps the radio on, and I’m sure I’m not just imagining the volume gradually increasing. It makes my headache even worse, and I have to roll the window down to let some fresh air into the car. I decide then, as I’m feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus twice, that I’m never getting as drunk as I did last night ever again. It’s not worth the blackout, it’s not worth this suffering. Next time, I’ll stop once I’ve had enough. Though that’s easier said than done.
“I know what’ll cure you,” Tiffani says, her voice teasing as we’re parking. I open one eye and look at her. “My mom’s going out tonight,” she continues, killing the engine and removing her seatbelt. She angles her body toward me, and I don’t miss the way she seductively bites down on her lower lip. “And I was thinking that me and you…”
I sit up. That’s one way to get my attention. “Me and you could what?” I urge, raising an eyebrow. I already know the answer. I just like hearing her say it. I love the way she blushes when she does.
“Maybe,” she murmurs, leaning in closer, “me and you could continue this?” She bats her eyelashes at me and presses her hand against my chest as her glossy lips find mine. It’s the same old routine. She tries to maintain dominance, but I’m stronger than her, and within a matter of seconds my hands are tangled in her hair, and I’m pulling at her lower lip with my teeth. She doesn’t offer too much, because she pushes away from me after less than a minute. “Hmm? What do you say?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
Tiffani’s not all bad. She’s hot, and she distracts me from all the other shitthat goes on in my head, and I know that I’m using her, but she’s using me too. We’ll most likely break up next summer after graduation once we’ve successfully dominated our high school for four years, then she’ll move on to college and find some other guy to partner up with to enhance her college experience. We know where we stand with one another, and we know exactly what this relationship is, so we’re on the same page.
And I’m cool with that. I don’t want to spend my life with her. In fact, I don’t think I want to spend my life with anyone. It’s not exactly something I’ve imagined, because I try not to think about the future too much. I don’t even know if I’ll still be here a few years from now, and honestly, it all seems way too hard to figure out. I’m not good enough for college. Not good enough to be anyone’s husband or father. Not good enough for anything, really. That’s why I take every day one day at a time, and I try to cope as best I can in the present.
Still feeling nauseous, I follow Tiffani toward the Third Street Promenade, Santa Monica’s second pride and joy after our pier and beach. It’s Saturday and the sun is out early for once, so the promenade is heaving with crowds dodging the freaky street performers and dipping in and out of clothing stores and food joints. Tiffani and I are soon doing the same.
We are hand in hand as she pulls me along behind her down the center of the promenade, her hips swinging in an effort to turn heads, but no one gives a shit. She does this a lot, and I let her, because it’s kind of amusing. I’m exhausted, but getting out of the house for some fresh air is definitely helping me feel a little better.
“What about these jeans?” Tiffani asks. We are in American Apparel and she waves a pair of jeans in front of my face for what feels like the fifteenth time already. I don’t know how they can be any different from all the other pairs.
“I…honestly…don’t know.” I don’t care either. I’m leaning back against a rack of discounted tops, scanning the people in the store, because I am bored out of my fucking mind, when I spot some fitting rooms over in the far corner. There’s a sign stuck to the door stating that these fitting rooms are closed, but it’s not exactly clothes I intend to take with me.
I glance back at Tiffani, who is posing in front of a mirror as she holds the pair of jeans against her body, tilting her head from side to side. I step toward her, reaching for her waist. “Why wait until tonight?” I mumble against the back of her ear as I press my body firmly against hers and brush my lips over the soft skin of her neck. “Why can’t we continue…right now?”
“Tyler!” Tiffani twirls around and whips me with the pair of jeans she’s holding, her lips parted and her cheeks red. I know she’s down though. I can see the mischief behind the dramatic, horrified expression she has.
“Come on.” I snatch the jeans from her and toss them onto the nearest table, then reach for her hand and swiftly pull her toward those closed fitting rooms. I need to stay on her good side, and there is nothing she loves more than feeling wanted. Even when it’s for all the wrong reasons.
I glance around us, scouring the store in search of staff, but the coast is clear. No one is around, so I go ahead and push open the door to the fitting rooms, pulling Tiffani with me.
“God, this is a bad idea,” she mumbles, squeezing my hand. “Sucha bad idea…”
I spin around to face her and press my mouth against hers, mostly just to shut her up before she freaks and backs out. I kiss her hard, both of us fighting for that dominance again, and I push her back intoa cubicle, pulling the curtain closed behind us. She hooks her arms around the back of my neck, holding me close while I wrap a hand into her hair. We’re never all that gentle with one another, and if I get the chance to pull her hair, then I’m doing it.
“Stooop,” Tiffani whispers with a laugh as she pulls away from me. Her blue eyes are glossy and bright, and I know she is enjoying this.
“Babe.” I grab a fistful of her blouse and pull her against me again, and then I kiss the corner of her mouth as I begin to undo the buttons. I trail my lips down to her jaw, and then her neck, where I close my eyes and get to work.
“What is that you’re wearing?” she asks, her voice breathy. She tilts her head to one side and pulls on my hair with both hands. “Is that Montblanc? It smells like it.”
I wish she would stop talking. “No, it’s Bentley,” I say. “Come here.” My mouth finds hers again, and I push her back against the wall of the cubicle. Right now, I definitely do not feel hungover. I am kissing my super-hot girlfriend in a damn American Apparel fitting room, and I’m enjoying it. I would be fucking crazy not to.
My hand is under her blouse, my lips are planting kisses all over her chest, we are stumbling. She is grabbing my shirt, one hand still slung over the back of my neck. I can feel her breathing deeply into my hair as she rests her chin on the top of my head.
