Boys Like You

Monroe made a weird noise in the back of her throat, and I was surprised to see a hint of a smile on her face. “That’s lame.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Brent chuckled, his eyes moving from Monroe back to me, and I saw the question there. Brent was a player. Big-time. I narrowed my eyes in warning. There was no way he was going there with this girl. Mrs. Blackwell would have my butt in a sling.

Brent was all about getting laid, which was pretty much the one thing most guys I knew thought about every single day. But him? Girls had been throwing themselves at him since he was twelve, and the ones who fell for his lame-ass lines deserved what they got.

But Monroe was different. And she didn’t know him like I did.

“So, Monroe,” Brent said carefully, cocking his head. “You want something to drink?”

She shook her head. “I’m driving.”

“Right.” Brent looked at me. “That means you’re not.” He grabbed a can from his back pocket and tossed it my way. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of guitars.”

I popped the can open and took a long swig. The beer was lukewarm and not my favorite brand, but whatever, it was something to drink. Something to hold onto. Something to keep my hands busy.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Monroe said carefully, cocking her head to the side in a way that made a chunk of that dark tangled hair fall over her face.

I took another long drink and then wiped my mouth. “I’m not sure of anything right now.”

For a moment, I thought I saw a small smile lift the corners of her mouth. I blinked and it was gone.

“Are you going to play for me?” she asked. Her eyes glistened; little sparks from the fire reflected in their depths.

“Yo, Nate.”

The three of us turned as Chuck McDaniel strolled over with his girlfriend, Gina. I’d seen them earlier, at the festival, and wasn’t surprised they had ended up out here. It’s not like there was much else to do on Saturday night in Twin Oaks.

Gina’s eyes narrowed on Monroe, her glossy lips pulled tight in a fake smile as she flexed her claws.

“Where’s Rach?” she asked, though her eyes never quite made it to my face.

“Not here,” I answered.

“I can see that.” She snapped her gum and smiled. “And who are you exactly?” That was for Monroe.

“No one,” Monroe answered, before tugging on my arm. “Are you going to play for me?”

“Come on, Everets. What’s a party without some tunes?” Brent said.

“I don’t know, man. I haven’t picked up in forever.” I took another long swig of beer and then crushed the can before shoving my hands into my front pockets. “I’ve probably lost my calluses, and knowing the way you’ve got your action rigged, my fingers will kill tomorrow.”

“Pussy,” Brent laughed. “Get your ass over here.”

He was near the fire, and Monroe was two steps behind him. For a second, my eyes rested on her perfect round ass. On the way her hair swung down her back and how cute her feet looked with her green toes.

She turned, ignoring all the curious stares, and looked directly at me. For that one moment, it felt as if she was looking into my soul and she knew how badly I wanted to play.

“I want to hear you, Nate.” Her voice was soft, so soft, like a whisper inside my head.

“Sugar, if you sweet-talked me up like that, I’d do anything you wanted,” Brent said with a laugh as he bent closer to her. “Anything.”

He turned to me and held out a beat-up Epiphone. Trevor’s beat-up Epiphone.

“He’d want you to play, man.” Gone was the laughter from Brent’s face. “You need to play.”

I stared at the guitar for so long that my eyes blurred, and when they began to sting, I knew this had been a bad idea. I should never have come here.

“No,” I said, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets before I turned away from them. “It’s not gonna happen.”