“Awfully quiet today,” I explain.
“What? Does my sister not want you to use her to wet your dick anymore?”
Dax stays silent, face stoic.
“Oh my god. She ended it?”
“Fuck off, Maverick,” Dax fumes.
“Shit, I’m sorry, man,” I offer.
“Guys. Let it be. I’m fine,” Dax convinces but seems he’s talking more to himself than anyone else.
We all nod once though and respect his wishes. To Mav’s wants and needs, we switch the team up. Dax and I play vs. Clayton and Mav. They won this game. Mav cheers like an idiot who doesn’t realize he only won because Clayton scored most of the points.
“Take that, motherfucker!” Mav banters, dropping the racket like it’s a mic and he just had some profound moment.
“You only won because Clayton is on your side,” Dax points out.
“Fuck off. I helped!”
Going up to the net, I look Clayton in the eyes. His eyebrow quirks with a questioning look.
“You’re going down, pretty boy. I was being nice.”
“Yeah, right. Give me all you got.” Clayton teases.
“Oh, I’ll give you all I got,” I say, winking at him.
“Gag. Get a room. Or a tent. Somewhere that isn’t in front of my innocent eyes,” Mav says, making a gagging noise and sticking his tongue out.
I smirk, stepping back to the edge of our drawn up court. “Let’s go, mother fuckers,” I say, throwing the birdie in the air and whipping it over the side of the net. Mav flails his arm, missing completely.
“Point one,” Dax calls out.
The volley begins and we go back and forth before the birdie drops on our side, my racket missing it by just a hair. Games go on and on until Mav finally tires out. We tried to quit about three games ago but he was determined to get better. It didn’t work.
Cleaning up the game, we put all the supplies away and head back to the camp site where we make sandwiches, shoving chips between the layers, cracking open cans of soda, and relaxing until it’s time to hit the fireworks.
The sun is gone, the moon up high in the sky. It glistens against the water’s surface, making it look white. Mav and Dax are sitting down at the dock, feet in the water, waiting for the fireworks to begin. Clayton and I are further back, closer to the camp site. His parents have their lounging chair at the edge of the water, sitting at the shore with their feet getting splashed by the waves crashing on to the shore.
“How was your day?” I ask him.
“It was the best day. How was yours?”
“I agree. The best day.”
“Thank you for having me and having my friends, too.”
“Accepting you is accepting them. Plus, they’re funny and not that bad. Maverick is a hoot.”
I laugh, exhaling through my nose. “Yeah, he is, isn’t he?” Leaning my head on his shoulder, I take in the scent of him. He smells like sweat and the lake and smoke.
We had a fire as the sun went down before coming to watch the fireworks.
They start. Blues and red and greens bursting in the sky, the pops echoing for miles. The colors reflecting off the lake.
“You want to go closer and get a better view?” I ask Clayton, not taking my eyes off the sky.
