Damn him for calling my bluff. Cooper’s an anomaly, so is Bane, but for argument's sake I say, “I trust him as far as I can throw him.”
Rex smirks, reaches out and tucks the errant hair that’s fallen between us behind my ear. A classic movie-boyfriend move. All that’s missing now is the big kiss. I lean closer until our shoulders touch. The fire of his skin on mine burns through the sleeve of both my shirt and sweater. Rex’s head tilts angling down and to the side. I feel my heart everywhere—stomach, eyes, even in my toes.
This is a bad idea.
Bbbbrrrriiiinnnggg! The bell screams and I don’t know if I’m more relieved or disappointed that it interrupts our almost kiss. Rex grunts and leans back against the tree eyes closed. He stands a moment later, smiling down at me like nothing happened, and extends his hand. I take it, letting him help me to my feet even though I have no plans of leaving.
Rex dips his head again. His baby blues lock onto my grays once more, sucking me in. I lick my lips, unintentionally, and his gaze falls to my mouth. Our eyes meet again a split second later. He leans closer, his breath tickling my ear. I breathe him in. He smells of clean laundry, aftershave, and mint. Much better than last time.
“Offer stands. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner.” Rex pulls me against his chest. I wrap my arms around his waist, enjoying what it feels like to be held for the first time in almost a year. My ear rests against his chest, listening to his racing heart.
All of this happens in less than a minute. A minute that lasts forever yet flies by too fast at the same time. I want to feel Rex’s body against mine a little longer. There’s no pressure or needles or any of the usual discomfort my anxiety creates. There’s just Rex.
4
Rex
I walk out onto the back patio for the second time tonight and shut the double-paned doors behind me. Bodies are everywhere—dancing, drinking, laughing. People make out on my Mother’s olive green lounge chairs and hook up in the shell-shaped pool. There’s enough semen floating in it to make another football team of self-entitled pricks. The girls swimming in there are practically asking to get pregnant. Thank God for chlorine.
Mother spared no expense in this house moving me—not us, me—here. She never does. Instead of transporting all our possessions from one place to the next, like a normal person, she stocks the house with shiny new things. Insisting that each home be perfect in the unlikely event we decide to visit one on a whim, which has never happened.
But come on. Who needs eight houses spread across the country fully furnished and stocked with enough clothes to fill a department store? Apparently, we do.
More people, whose names I don’t care to learn because in a little less than seven weeks they will be obsolete, gather around a plastic table procured from the pool house. A pool house my guests felt comfortable enough to go in without asking. That’s what happens when you throw three parties a week every week since January.
Why? Because a house full of strangers is still better than an empty one. Besides, who’s gonna stop me?
For almost everyone here, I’m the story they’ll tell their college buddies. They’ve been to country singer Kip Montgomery’s house. Were best friends with his son. Hung out with him every weekend.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
No one gives two shits about me. It’s all about my dad.
Story of my life.
Even my mother doesn’t care about me. When I was four, she left me at an airport. I don’t know if she did it on purpose but somehow in the midst of grabbing her purse— which I don’t actually remember, she always has a bag comparable to Mary Poppins only a thousand times more expensive— she got up and left without me.
Mother of the year right there.
I remember falling asleep, because it was nap time, and waking up by myself. I wasn’t scared, that’s usually what happened at home. But then I realized the faces around me were different. Four-year-old me was still pretty chill because I was a cool motherfucker even back then. But a kid can only be calm so long.
I walked for what felt like forever, the bubble of tears in my throat building, until I couldn’t take it anymore. I collapsed on the floor in a fit of liquid distress. Eventually some lady stopped and asked the questions you’re supposed to ask when you find a young kid all alone.
What’s your name?
Where are your parents?
Are you okay?
I didn’t answer any of them. I may have been freaked the fuck out, but I still remembered the golden rule—don’t talk to strangers. Eventually an officer came and took me to a secret room, the staff lounge. It was sheer luck someone had a magazine on the table open to an article about my dad. An article that just so happened to have a picture of me in it.
Airport security reached out and got ahold of my dad’s PR person. Hours passed before anyone came to get me. The shit thing, the person who showed up wasn’t my mom. It wasn’t even anyone I’d even seen before. My parents sent a strange woman with tired eyes and a sad smile to claim me like I was lost luggage. A woman I later found out would be my nanny for the next fourteen years, Gretchen.
Moral of my story, my own parents don’t give a damn about me. I sure as shit don’t expect the strangers who fill my house to either.
“Hey, Rex.” Thin arms wrap around my waist as someone’s chest presses against my back. I recognize the voice and turn to find Sarah Archer, one of the few names I do know, smiling up at me. Sarah’s a nice girl. The doodle my last name on her notebook type, but still nice. We have statistics together. She flirts shamelessly in class, but I’m not interested.
My mind’s been on one raven-haired girl since moving to this fiery pit of hell four months ago. I’m not saying that I haven’t hooked up since moving here, but that’s all those girls were. An easy way to pass the time and Sarah’s too sweet to fuck and forget. She links her fingers with mine, pulling me closer. I take a step forward, entertaining her desires, if only for a moment.