“My bad!” I shove the door forward and rush outside.
It’s quiet except for the ball thumping against the pavement and the crickets chirping. He’s on his own planet, just like at practice. It’s just him, Marcus’ ball, and his glass of Hennessy. I don’t think other people exist on his planet sometimes.
Sweat leaks through his t-shirt and his earthy cologne floats in the air. I breathe in deep while another welt rises on my right inner thigh.
Sometimes there’s this weird feeling I have for him and whatever happened back in Los Angeles. I’m split between him and the girl he left in shambles there. When I see him on campus, I don’t know who I should feel sorry for—him or her.
“I thought you got lost in there,” his deep voice rumbles. “What’s wrong?”
My feet get stuck because apparently other peopledoexist in his world.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he turns around and dribbles toward me. Sweat dances in his low curls and his eyes are even heavier than they were at dinner. He smiles like he can read my mind and another welt pops up on the back of my neck.
I want to tell him there’s a lot of shit that’s wrong: I’m sure Mama dumped her hamburger in the trash when I turned my back, Marcus won’t stop disappearing, and I think I hate and likehimat the same time.
Before I can try to say something, he pushes his glass of Hennessy to my lips. “Want some?”
The bitter smell makes me gag and I push it back.
“Oh.” He smirks. “Mom don’t let you drink?”
If she did, I would be as drunk and happy as they are and brave enough to stare into his eyes while he’s towering over me.
I’m the closest I’ve ever been to him besides when we were in the kitchen and my body goes stupid. Welts, wet panties, and a mouth that forgets how to tell him that nobody in this house has ever let me sneak a sip of their wine, Hennessy, or Bud Light, no matter how many times I ask—but he already knows that. It’s written on his face. And the only reason he’s this close to me is because he’s drunk. I’m not brave and chatty like Brandy. There’s nothing about me that screamsinterestingorinterested.
He clutches the glass with a smile that’s always there—even when I see him eating in the cafe by himself and when he’s wandering around campus in his expensive clothes with his blasé Californian attitude. Before I can try to talk again, he’s back in my personal space with the glass of Hennessy.
He brushes my braids to the side and grabs my neck before I can freak out over him touching me. His hand lands right on top of the welt he caused. He scrapes his nails against it like he already knew it was hiding there and my knees turn into mounds of jello. I should stop him.
“You ever tell Mom about the shit you called me at practice that day?”
No, because she’d beat my ass. According to her, the only curse word I knowis“ass” because it’s in the Bible.
“Nah? I think you know better than that. I doubt she’d like the shit that comes out your mouth when she’s not around.”
I did, just like I knew better than to fight whatever hold he has over my body.
He swallows with a grunt. “Ilike the shit that comes out your mouth though. I like the way it sounds. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that because your lil’perrois territorial.”
That wet spot turns into a lake even after his slug at Bryson. Ireallyshould stop him and whatever he’s doing because tomorrow when he sees me on campus, I don’t want to see the regret in his eyes. Guys like him are always regretful.
“Or maybe I just like your mouth.” He chuckles, shaking his head.
He likes something about me? Scary me? Little ole’ me that’s never had a boy talk to her like this?
“Can you open your mouth for me?”
My lips fall open just like my legs moved to open that window in the kitchen. A quiet whoosh of air comes out of his nose as if he’s breathing a sigh of relief that I follow his directions without questioning them.
He pushes the glass back to my lips, and I smell him on the rim.
“It’s nasty,” he mutters, tilting it up. “But it’ll make you warm and make you never want to take another sip of it again.”
When it splashes against my tongue, it doesn’t taste as shitty as I expect, because he’s still talking and soothing the welt on my neck with his fingers. The taste is bitter like his words, but his tone is soft and the flavor twirls across my tongue. My stomach cramps as he pulls the glass from my mouth just when my body warms up like he said it would. His finger replaces the glass, and he swipes it across my bottom lip like he’s wiping away any evidence of what we’ve done.
“You warm yet?” He chuckles as if I’m the funniest girl in the world, even though I’ve never even talked to him directly. “Now you shouldn’t be curious about it anymore. I took all the mystery away.”
His voice jumps up and down like he’s teasing me for being silly enough to think he would let me drink with him.
