Possessive Best Friend

Immediately I hate it. I’m drinking this awful, lukewarm beer. People are going wild though, and I can’t help but laugh. I get maybe a third of the way through before I have to stop, but before it spills too much, Dean grabs the other end and finishes it off.

The crowd goes wild. I laugh as people congratulate me, even though I didn’t get close to finishing. Dean walks over and throws an arm around my shoulder, handing the funnel away to someone else. We hang around the crowd for a few minutes until he steers me away from it.

“Okay, that was really dumb,” he says. “I’m going to regret that tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Hell, yeah. I have to work.”

I laugh. “Your dad won’t give you the day off?”

He shakes his head. “Not even if I had the flu. He’d make me come in, sit in my office, and puke in my trashcan.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Yeah, my dad’s a lovely guy. You remember him.”

I do, though not well. He was always quiet and seemed perpetually angry.

We sit back down and don’t get new drinks. He leans back on his elbows and I can’t help but look at his body. He’s so muscular and lean, and I have the sudden, stupid urge to touch his chest. He tilts his head toward me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring at me.”

“Sorry. I think I’m drunk.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just admiring me.”

I snort. “Hardly.”

“Suit yourself. I’m just saying, you’re not so bad looking, Lora Lofthouse.”

“Really?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know it. You’ve always been one of the hot girls.”

I laugh. “I’ve never been described as hot before in my life.”

“Maybe not to your face. But I’ve been saying it behind your back for years.”

I push him and he laughs at me. He sits up on the edge of the truck bed, his feet dangling. I get up next to him.

“Don’t get the wrong idea of me,” he says, his voice low. “All this… it’s just a birthday thing. I don’t do this normally.”

“Really? You’re not normally out with a bunch of friends and their trucks tailgating?”

“Nope.” He stretches, showing off more lean muscle. “Mostly keep it low-key.”

“Hey, Dean!” A big guy with a heavy gut and an Iron Maiden t-shirt calls out from across the fire. “You gonna do some shots or what?”

Dean laughs and waves him off. “Honestly,” he says, and I just laugh at him.

We catch up for a while after that. I feel lightheaded and happy, probably because of the beer, and I don’t drink any more. I notice that he doesn’t either, despite people continually trying to get him to have some more. He keeps waving them off with a smile or a joke, like it’s no big deal.

But he’s confident. I notice it right away. He’s so confident and easy. He’s always been charming, but that confidence is new, and I have to admit that I find it really attractive.

I tell him about college, about getting a degree in art history, about realizing that I did the most cliché rich-girl thing imaginable.

“I mean, come on,” I say, “art history? Only people that don’t need money major in art history.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he says, laughing. “You’re not what I think of as a cliché rich girl, but yeah, that’s some rich-girl shit right there.”

“Right?” I sigh and shake my head. “Now I’m stuck with this dumb degree and I have no clue what I’m doing with it.”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Might beat being stuck working for your dad.”

“At least you have a purpose.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t my purpose.”

I watch him for a long moment. I forgot how hard it was for him to go to work for his dad. He didn’t want to do it at the time, really didn’t want it, but his father was insistent and he knew he couldn’t afford college without his father’s help. So he moved back to Loftville from our fancy private boarding school, and I went to college and we didn’t see each other again, until tonight.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be. I like it now.” He grins at the look on my face. “Honestly, I do.”

“You like living in Loftville?”

“Well.” He hesitates. “It’s not so bad. I mean, it’s a small town, but the people are good for the most part.”

We watch as two guys race their dirt bikes down the pitch-black path. One skids out and goes spinning into the mud. Everyone laughs.

He sighs and shakes his head.

“Mostly, anyway,” he says.

“I have nothing against Loftville.” He gives me a look but I keep going. “It’s just that, I don’t know. You always said you wanted to move away.”

“I still do,” he admits. “But my father’s expanding, and now that he’s on the town council, I’m taking up more responsibility. He thinks I’ll take over one day.”