Page 34 of The Finish Line

“Brown liquor brings out the worst in men.” He takes the seat opposite me. “That’s what my dad says—well, what he used to say.”

Like me, Preston is an orphan. His dad was a congressman who died of a heart attack relatively young. His mother followed shortly after a double mastectomy couldn’t save her. The difference between us is that he was fed from a platinum spoon and is the benefactor of not only his deceased parents’ fortune but the generations before them. Old money in abundance. He’ll never have to work a day in his life, which makes him aimless, and from what I’ve gathered, a little reckless. Newly nineteen, he embodies the realization of the American dream. Yet because he is the way he is, I can’t hate him for it. He doesn’t treat me like a charity case, but through small gestures and shared stories, I can feel his empathy, and it grates on me at times. Even when you do your best to mask poverty, it can be painfully obvious.

“I was shipped to France on the advice of my tutor and educational planner to broaden my horizons and get some world experience. My semester’s over, man. I’m going home tomorrow completely unsatisfied with the size of my horizons.” His grin indicates his intent before he puts words to it. “We’re going to change that tonight.”

“What could possibly go wrong?”

He taps his finger along the leather seat next to him, and I still my own fingers as he graces me with another smug smirk.

“Fuck off,” I grumble.

“Let’s get you relaxed.” He grabs the spare trench on the seat next to him, leaving no doubt he brought the one I’m wearing for me. He pulls a silver case from one of the inside pockets, opens it, and plucks a joint from it before sparking it up.

“We’ll start with dinner,” he says on an exhale as we pull away from the curb, “a minimum of five courses. We’re going to have a gentlemen’s night.” He pulls a tie from another pocket and tosses it on my lap. “There’s a dress code.”

Thumbing the silk, I nod and stare down at it as heat creeps up my neck.

“I—”

“Say no more, my friend.” In seconds, Preston manipulates the necktie with sure hands into an adjustable noose before tossing it back to me.

Hooking it around my neck, I pull it tight at the base of my throat and glance over at him. He gives me a sharp nod of approval. It’s both humbling and humiliating how much I presume to know and how much I’m reminded daily of just how much I have to learn. Spending time with guys like Preston reiterates that for me, which at times can be infuriating. Knowledge is power and key, but so is experience.

Preston has that advantage. He had a mentor in his father until he was sixteen. I wasn’t so lucky. The idea that Roman Horner walks around freely, just as privileged, while I agonize over a necktie has my blood boiling. When the time comes, I don’t ever want him to have any advantage. For now, while my resentment grows, I’m an observer, but one day, I won’t be. That day is what keeps me aware, eager to learn as much as I can. Roman has the advantage of knowledge, age, and experience, and there’s only so much I can gain from a book. But more than that, like Roman, Preston seems to already know who he is.

“For once, King, I want you to let me be in charge. I’m not letting you waste another second of our youth.”

He’s full of shit with that statement, and we both know it. Preston came in on a tidal wave, with his unavoidable personality, grabbed my hand and took me with him for most of his ride this semester at prep. We’ve been a force to be reckoned with for the last couple of months, mostly due to the attention of our skirted coeds, which only made us more noticeable and got us into a few fights, mostly his, because he loves a challenge.

For some reason, I trust him, and I trust myself with him. He doesn’t have that edgy look in his eye; he’s into this purely for sport, not self-destruction, and that appeals to me. Nothing pleases me more than pushing the limits of what I can get away with.

The few times I’ve turned down his invitations were to study to maintain my GPA or because I had to fly back home. But we more than made up for lost time with matching hangovers. His is the easiest and most low maintenance relationship I’ve ever had. With him, I’ve allowed myself a freedom I’ll never have back home. And I know for a fact that once he’s gone, I’ll go back to my reclusive ways.

“Last night, King,” he says, plucking two rocks glasses from the stocked bar and dividing the rest of the gin between them. “Let’s make it count.”

He extends one glass to me, and I clink with him.

For the last few weeks, I’ve been... off. Though my grades are stellar, my high GPA is no guarantee, and I’m going to have to push myself to be ready for the entrance exam to HEC next fall. It’s all up in the air at this point as my efforts to find old contacts of my parents for help and guidance have proven to be fruitless. My birth father seems to have ruined my chances with his past behavior. No one wants to deal with Abijah Baran’s son. My list is almost exhausted at this point. With each door that gets slammed in my face, the more I’m beginning to think my presence here is a mistake. An expensive mistake. I’m getting nowhere, and between the stress of worrying about my brother, his safety, and our dwindling finances, while making no progress here, I need all the escape I can get.

“I’m in.”

Luniz raps “I Got 5 On It” as heavy bass thunders at my feet. Angelic-blonde hair blocks my vision, tickling my nose before a heart-shaped ass takes up the rest of my line of sight.

“Tu me vexes.” You’re hurting my feelings.

Attention fully drawn back where intended, I’m rewarded with the upturn of her full, bright-pink painted lips. “Te voilà.” There you are.

“Pardonne-moi.” Forgive me. Tracking her movements with appreciation, I tuck one of the bills into the string of her thong.

“On ne touche pas.” No touching.

“Pardon.” I lift my hands as the bouncer standing guard next to our booth steps forward with a look of warning. In my defense, her pole and elevated stage sit barely a foot from our table, making it prime real estate, and for me, a good excuse to take a closer look.

“Est-ce ta première fois dans un endroit comme celui-ci?” Is this your first time in a place like this?

Neck heating from transparency, I decide there’s no point in lying. “Oui.”

“Ah, mais un homme comme toi ne devrait pas avoir besoin d’être ici.” Ah, but a man who looks like you shouldn’t need to be at a place like this.

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