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“Need what?” My lips curl back as I glare at him. “To get laid? Is that all?”

“Who’s getting laid?” Christian appears around the corner, long hair damp as he tugs on a shirt. Anyone else would question why he’s showering when he doesn’t play any sports, but we all know he’s the oldest of five siblings, and their house only has one bathroom. He showers here regularly.

I fling a hand out toward my best friend. “Matt’s back with Val.”

His brows raise, tongue smacking disapprovingly. “You’re an idiot.”

“Come on, guys,” Matty whines with a red face. “She’s not that bad.”

Christian disagrees. “I’ve stuck my dick in a lot of crazy hermano, and even I wouldn’t touch that.”

They argue for a bit, Taylor joining in once he finishes his shower, and I shift uncomfortably on my feet, not having anything to add to the conversation because I’m the only one out of the group who hasn’t stuck his dick anywhere unless my fist counts.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy getting off because I do. Sometimes. But the thought of doing it with another person? Eh. Not interested.

Which is why I don’t understand what Matt could possibly see in someone as insane as Valerie. What’s so good about her, anyway? Her vagina? Big deal. They sell those online now for fifty bucks. It definitely can’t be her personality because she’d have to have one of those for him to like it.

So what is it? What’s so special about her?

What does she have that I don’t?

“I’m done talking about this,” Matty sighs, exasperated, before turning his attention to me. “Are we riding home together or not?”

“Not.” My jaw tightens as I tug on the sleeves of my jacket. “I’ve got some stuff I need to do at home.”

His eyes flash, tracking my movements while he stiffens, and we share a silent conversation.

Don’t do this.

We both know that I don’t have a choice.

“Alright,” he says slowly, dropping his blue-eyed gaze as he grabs his wallet and keys. “But I’ll see you later, right? When you’re done?”

So that you can cuddle me after you’ve been inside her.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Giving me one last glance, my best friend says his goodbyes before leaving the locker room, taking all the sunshine with him when he goes. I decline Taylor and Christian’s invite to smoke, knowing that going home smelling like weed would only make things worse. Not that I give a shit what my Aunt Pearl thinks. Not anymore.

Hopping into the Subaru that Matty’s sister sold me, I gun it out of the school parking lot, blasting “fleabag” by YUNGBLUD to keep my thoughts from spiraling toward Matty. It’s not long before I’m pulling up in front of the cottage-style house where I grew up; our town of Gville is small as shit.

Pulling into the driveway, I take a few moments to collect myself, knuckles white against the steering wheel, when I spot Pearl waiting in the front yard. Tending to her hydrangeas, like always.

She’s pruning them, whispering lovingly under her breath as she gives them more care than she ever showed me. When she spots me idling, her soft features harden as she wipes a bead of sweat from her brow.

As she grabs her bag from the porch and limps toward the car, I exhale slowly, scratching my arms and bracing myself when she opens the passenger door.

“You’re late,” she snaps, sliding into the seat, and I bite my cheek.

“I had a track meet today, I told you.”

She grunts, pulling a perfume bottle out of her bag to spray at me. “Tanga. Can’t even tell time.”

Ignoring the Filipino insult, I throw the car in reverse, backing out to head toward the dialysis clinic in Salt Lake City like we always do three times a week.

I hate this. Part of me wishes she would just die and leave me in peace.

It’s a forty-five minute drive on the highway, and she berates me the entire time, slapping my hand when I try to turn up the music.