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“Dude, is there hot grease in that thing?”
“It’s hot in here.” He nods. “Won’t hurt you.”
I make a yeah right face at him, and start through the trees. I was so distracted earlier when I got out of the Jeep, I left my Marlboros in there.
I don't need the cigarettes, though. Every second I keep moving toward the Jeep takes me farther from DG and that fuck Arnie. Who names their kid Arnie? What kind of college dude comes home on weekends to chase someone younger? Wait—but Arnie might not be chasing DG. Maybe he's just here, being a small-town loser.
Walking through the woods alone at night, hearing the pine straw crackling under my shoes... It reminds me of other shit. But there's twangy country music drifting through the muggy air, and I can hear the noise of people talking on the big porch that’s tacked on the back side of the cabin.
I grab my Marlboro Lights, plus my lighter. I think of DG in the car when I climbed in from smoking by the roadside. Telling me I smelled like a fucking ashtray. Goading me. Because he hates that I'm a liar, or because I said the shit with us is over?
I light a cigarette and smoke as much of it as I can before I step into the clearing where Greene is working on the catfish. He motions me over, wanting to show me how the frier works. I try to act interested even as I'm gritting my molars. Then it's back inside to find that my plan didn’t work. The pool table has been commandeered by Cara, Landry, and some of their friends; Brennan and DG are nowhere in sight. As soon as the girls see me, Cara waves me over.
"Listen," she says softly, as I search the room for DG. "James is here, and I can tell he's jealous. Landry told him you and me are a thing. Can you play with us and do some flirting?" she asks. The word sounds like flirtin' in her accent.
"Sure." I try not to let her hear me sigh. We start a new game. She says, "Pretend I'm a bad shot and you have to help me."
I wink and give her a rakish grin—right at the moment a door at the back of the room opens, and Arnie, Miller, Marcel, and a couple others come through. Marcel's hauling something: a card table.
They start playing cards. The game is loud, and it gets louder as they go. James comes in and joins them, and he's watching Cara and me as I give him the show Cara asked for. DG looks up when I'm standing slightly behind Cara, helping her adjust her pool stick. I can't help brushing my lips over the nape of her neck.
She shivers, and it's totally real. Then she's laughing. She turns her back to the card game, wraps her arms around my neck, and she says, "Ezra Masters. That was naughty. Downright dirty. You...scoundrel."
Over her shoulder, I see DG. Dude's looking in our direction. I wrap my arms around Cara, giving her a hug I probably need more than she does.
She beams up at me like I'm her hero. It feels good to be the nice guy for once.
"Is he looking?" she whispers.
"Oh yeah." I haven't been keeping a close eye on James—I was too busy scoping out DG—but dude is definitely glaring at us right now.
Landry, as it turns out, is pretty good at pool. I guess she’s been holding back to give James a chance to see me helping Cara, but she must be bored now because she starts sinking all the stripes. I have to go after the solids. I pretend my back's not sweaty underneath my shirt. That my hands don't want to break the fucking pool stick.
Arnie's re-located; now he's beside DG.
The next time I look, DG's got his cheek in his palm, his elbow propped on the card table. He looks tired. When he gets up a second later, disappearing through a door I figure must be a restroom or bedroom, I try not to stare a hole in Arnie. Don't you do it, fucker. When a few minutes have passed and Arnie's still playing cards, I excuse myself and try the door DG went into.
It’s a bathroom—hunter green tiles and a green and brown duck shower curtain. There's a door at the other end of the small room, and that door is open. I move through the lamplit bathroom into another small room, a dark space that makes my fucking stomach flip so hard I almost can't step forward.
"DG?" He doesn't answer, but I think I hear him breathing. "That you?" I ask, stepping toward the soft sound. My eyes adjust, and I see...a couch? Yep. He's sitting on a couch that's pushed against the bedroom's back wall. Something tightens just below the base of my throat as I take another slow step toward him.
