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“Sorry, someone wasn’t satisfied smelling like a dozen cologne samples and apparently needed to spray his other wrist with about a dozen more.” Brooklyn rolls her eyes toward Cameron who stretches his arm out toward me. I don’t need to get closer to smell the musty scents emanating from his body.
“Dude, you’re Ubering home. Either that or you ride on the roof racks.” I wave my hand in front of my face to clear the rich odor from my path.
“Is that a thing? You have roof racks on that thing? Because I’m in,” Cameron says. He’s always been a little off and into daredevil shit. Part of me wants Brooklyn to give in to him and let him do it. His body is an allergy nightmare right now.
“I’m not getting a ticket because you’re a dumbass,” she says, shoving him away from her as he pretends to sulk.
“We’ll put him up front and let him hang out the window,” James says, suddenly at my side. The four of us head through the exit and into the parking lot, the crisp air nearly erasing every remnant of heat left from James’s earlier touch. But before the last vestiges of physical proof leaves my body, his palm grazes the curve of my back, his touch growing firmer as we near Brooklyn’s SUV, and he doesn’t pull away until he ushers me into the back seat. He gives me one more dose of attention—a reminder that his attention feels nice, and that it’s not about anyone but me.
Chapter6
James
Idon’t think my dad has ever been waiting for me to come home from anywhere, not once in my entire eighteen years of life. Not even when I was ten and coming inside after playing football with the boys under the yellow glow of the streetlights until the neighbors shouted at us for making too much noise.
Trust was always there.
And I did my fair share of testing his trust. There were keg parties by the docks with the guys, and of course the time we decided to paint our chests with our school’s crimson and navy colors and streak across our rival’s soccer field during the girls’ soccer season wearing nothing but our boxers. Even the nights I was out until the sun came up with my ex, Neveah, whom my father reminded me on the daily he did not care for, he still trusted me to be out on my own and make smart decisions. He said he believed mistakes were good for growth, reasons to learn, and the way I would be shaped into a man.
All of that makes his presence in the Welles student parking lot at nine at night even stranger. It’s clear by the way his arms are crossed and he’s leaning against the tailgate of his truck that he’s waiting for me. As we pass, he pushes away from his vehicle and takes methodical strides towards Brooklyn’s parking space.
“Oooooh, you’re about to be grounded, daddy’s boy!” Cameron twists in his seat to tease me around the head rest. I smack the leather back and make him flinch.
“Hey, relax, man. I was kidding,” he says, his hands up by his head, fingers flared. I can feel the heat of everyone’s stares on me in the car, and Morgan’s body recoiled a little in my periphery. I look like a hothead.
“Sorry. It’s just that . . . something must be wrong. This is weird for him,” I say, my hand on the door handle. I exit before Brooklyn is fully parked and swing the door closed behind me, wanting to get to my dad before he gets too close to the rest of us. My pulse speeds up with my irrational thoughts that something’s wrong with Mom.
“Good evening,” my dad says as we close in on one another, his eyes over my shoulder toward my friends.
“Coach,” Cameron responds.
“Hi, Mr. Fuentes,” Brooklyn adds.
I turn in time to see Morgan smile shyly and offer a little wave in hello.
The five of us linger in the parking lot for a few seconds until my dad drops his hands into his pant pockets and he shuffles his feet in a clear indication that he’d like to talk to his son alone.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Cam—” I reach a fist toward Cameron, and he pounds the front of it with his own. “Game ready, buddy,” I throw in.
“Yuh!” he grunts, slapping his chest like Tarzan.
“Keep that fire, Cameron. I like it!” my dad says, pointing to him with approval.
I mimic my dad’s posture, dropping my own hands into the front pockets of my jeans, pushing my fists down as I lock my elbows and scrunch my shoulders in an effort to kick off this heavy feeling suddenly weighing on them. Morgan is the last to turn around as my friends walk away, offering a small scrunch of a wave down by her hips where her pinky fingers are now looped in her pockets. She mouthsbyeand I do the same, my insides swirling with the aftereffects of earlier.
“Please say you all were not out breaking school code and drinking again,” my dad says, his focus still on my friends as they walk away. I turn to face him and wait until our eyes are square because I want him to look into my clear eyes and apologize for assuming the worst.
“We went to the mall.” My voice is flat.
He doesn’t give an inch, instead meeting my stare with his own.
“Good. Because you have eyes on you, and if you pull anything like you did earlier this week, I won’t be able to help you.” His tone is flatter than mine. It’s enough to kill the few remaining butterflies in my chest from my evening with Morgan.
“I’m guessing that’s why you’re stalking me in the parking lot?” I lift a brow.
My dad spins on his heels and nudges his head for me to follow as he heads back toward his pickup truck. His hands are still in his pockets, his body stiff, and muscles in that ready flex, as though he’s anticipating a fight. I’ve seen him like this at practice, usually when our team was on a losing streak, and he was trying to keep his temper in check.
As he pulls the driver’s side door open I take the hint and move to the passenger side. We both climb in and close the doors. My dad fires up the engine, backing us out while I buckle up and he does the same.
