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I try not to look at him. My eyes might get stuck.
"You ready?" he asks.
I nod, and he opens the front door for me.
"I'm taking my car,” he says as we move onto the porch.
"Don't trust my driving?"
"Might not stay long."
"If you don't want to stay, I'll take you home." I tip my head back, and he arches a brow.
"Oh, I bet I know.” I laugh. “You want to smoke."
"Nah." He looks down at his feet. I notice his shoulders are shrugged up near his ears, his hands in his pockets. His forearms are thicker than I thought they would be, and they’re dusted with hair. I like forearms, so I force my eyes to move back up to his face.
"Think my music sucks?"
He gives a shake of his head. "I'll just follow you. Go slow."
He starts down the porch steps first, and I see a black Jeep parked in a weird spot, not quite on the driveway. I’m surprised I didn’t notice when I got home; must have been the throbbing headache. It throbs a little bit again now as I focus on the violent song of what sounds like it must be all the summer bugs in Alabama.
The air feels hot and heavy as I slip into my Jetta. I watch in the mirror as he cranks his Jeep up. Then I hit the pedal, wishing I could fly down the driveway and leave him behind.
Four
Josh
Mason lives out in the boonies. His family used to be in farming—like, for generations—but they got a big payday a few years back when they were bought out by some corporation. Some of that money was used to build a badass pool which, just a month ago, was filmed for some kind of best pools ever TV show. The thing's got four huge slides and a floating lagoon encircling the pool itself.
I didn't mention swimming to Ezra. Didn't even think about it. Now that we're parking—in an old peanut field, alongside about two dozen other cars—I feel kind of bad about that. I've got trunks in the back seat that I could loan him, and I could borrow some from Mason, I guess.
I look through my passenger door window, and I can see Ezra sitting in his black Jeep, looking down at what must be his phone. I'm still surprised he said he'd come along. I think he did it just to fuck with me.
I remember something as I open the back door to scoop my trunks out: Ezra left me in a boat alone. After I got knocked out. What the hell does that mean? Is that a normal thing to do? Is he some kind of psychopath or something?
I glance up and see him leaning on his Jeep door. My stomach dips hard as I walk around my car to greet him.
"Hey, man." I'm trying to think of how to explain the pool—which I can hear people splashing in, from out here across the lawn—when he starts walking toward the red dirt driveway.
Yeah, the guy is moving fast. Like he doesn't want to talk to me.
I pick up my pace, and he keeps going, right toward the front door.
"Ezra?"
He looks over his shoulder. I notice his hair looks straighter now, a longer, blond piece hanging over his forehead. And he looks annoyed.
"Yeah?"
I open my mouth, but what am I going to say? Don't you want to walk with me? Dude already accused me of having fuck-me eyes or something, and he said God hates fags.
"Just wanted to give you these." I close the distance between us, holding out my black trunks. "Swim trunks," I say, and he takes them with what seems to be reluctance.
"Okay." It sounds sharp.
"Unless you want to swim in your shorts."
He hands the trunks back to me as his upper lip curls. "Not gonna swim."
"Okay." I fall in step beside him as we walk up the steps and to the door, which is slightly open.
"Mason's parents went to Mexico,” I tell him. “Things might be a little crazy."
He sneers at me. "You need an early bed time?"
"No, but you might." Asshole.
He looks surprised and gives a harsh laugh. "You think so?"
I shrug. "Seem like an early to rise kind of guy."
"That right?" He leans in till his face is so close I can smell the gum he’s chewing.
"Looking at that gash you gave me?" I taunt.
"Bullshit. You're the one who followed me up."
"After you almost drowned?"
He laughs like that's outrageous. "Almost drowned? I got choked, but I was swimming till you put me in a headlock."
"You jumped off a bridge that's more than a hundred feet above the water. With your shoes on. I thought you were gonna die or something."
He laughs again. "You're dramatic."
"You're full of shit. Fucking liar." My eyes dart into the foyer, and I’m relieved to find it’s mostly empty; no one can hear us.
