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“I’m a friend of his. Can I talk to him?”
“Sure.” The phone was transferred and I heard Geezer croak, “What’s up?”
“Hey, Geeze,” I said softly.
“Tartar!”
“You hangin’ in there?”
“Oh yeah. Yeah, yeah. I’m not high, so it’s total suck-age, but other than that, hospitals are awesome for picking up chicks.”
“You getting frisky with your nurses?”
“Some of ‘em. Some of ‘em.” I could hear the laughter in his voice, but I heard him hiss in pain the next second.
“How long you going to be in the hospital?”
“Oh. Not sure. They want to keep me for observation, something about my lung.”
“My parents showed up today so I gotta go play ‘nice daughter,’ but then I’m all yours, okay.”
“Good. Good. I’ll see you then, Tartar.”
I hung up and relaxed in my seat, hearing Tray on his own phone.
“Hey,” he spoke monosyllabic. From the other end, I could hear someone talking. “Yeah. Meet me at the diner in about twenty.”
Seeing Carter’s house come into view, I was amazed again. The place was just not meant for one person should live in. Seriously. A movie star would buy a place like that.
“Carter’s parents live in Europe. A lot of it’s just guilt,” Tray murmured. He must’ve read my thoughts.
“And yours?”
“My parents live in South America.” He flashed a grin, pulling beside my parked car. Mine wasn’t the only one there. There were at least a good dozen cars, scattered up and down the road.
Must’ve been one hell of a party.
I unclipped my seat belt and opened the door.
“Hey,” Tray called out.
Pausing in the door, I looked back at him and waited for him quietly. .
“Call me tonight. If you want to, I don’t know, come over and watch a movie or something.” He rolled his eyes.
“Thought we were just messing around.”
“Precisely.” Tray grinned, one might classify that grin as wicked, but not me. That was just him. There was a little bit danger mixed in with him. It was there. I’d gotten glimpses of it, just little flashes though—but I saw it again. And it made me wonder, as I closed the door and climbed into my car, when I’d see the full face of what was just simmering underneath his façade.
But I didn’t dwell on it too much. As soon I pulled up outside my home, I breathed a quick sigh of relief—the parents weren’t home yet. Hurrying, I swept inside and up to my room where I grabbed my robe before heading into the bathroom. I could hear Mandy in her room, probably on the phone because she was talking to someone, and Austin was probably hibernating in his room—anywhere to keep away from us.
After showering and changing clothes, I wandered down into the kitchen, now more relaxed. Austin was poking around in the fridge, his lanky form wearing basketball shorts and a Rawley jersey.
“Hey, kid,” I spoke up, reaching around him and grabbing a yogurt.
He raked his eyes over my form. “Showering doesn’t hide your recent lay.”
“Excuse me?” I muttered, startled. The kid was in eighth grade.
