Page 129 of Toxic Wishes

He lifts his head with his mouth hung open a little, squinting his eyes as he tries to block the sun as he looks up at me.

He continues to catch his breath as he rises, his gaze hovering above me now.

“Have you ever been to Blakes's room?” He asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, not this room, obviously, but the one he lived in when he was living with my dad and his wife of the year?”

I straighten my shoulders and stand taller, not sure where he’s going with all of this.

“Yeah, once.” I cleared my throat.

He gives me a look as if to say, thought you guys never had sex.

We didn’t.

“An idea popped into my head, maybe a bad idea, but it needs to be done. Should have been done years ago.”

“Okay.” I say, elongating the vowels.

“It hasn’t been touched in four years, and maybe it’s time. But I need help.”

“To clean?”

“To set foot in it, again.”

I lapsed into a contemplation of silence. He just watches me.

“So what do you say?”

I squinted at him, and he squinted back.

“I’ll pay you,” he snapped.

“I’ll do it for free,” I say flatly, then frown at him. “I’ll do it if you let me teach Bodie how to play the guitar. Just a few lessons, to see if he likes it. You shouldn’t limit him because of fear.”

“Really? You agree that sex, drugs, and rock and roll go hand in hand?”

“For some, I said for some.”

“It’s why you told me you never pursued the music career thing.”

“No, I said it’s because I wasn’t pretty enough.”

“Which is the biggest crock of shit I’ve heard, but my point is, all musicians are susceptible to drugs and being assholes just like jocks are susceptible to women and being assholes. It’s what you said.”

“Okay, fine, let’s pretend I did say that, but if the world had to boycott assholes out of their artistic menu, people would be starved for movies, books, songs, and entertainment.”’

“Whatever you say, sweetheart..”

Silence fills the air as Colt looks over my shoulder at my car.

“So, you guys have been hanging out in your car?”

“Yeah, I figured you wanted some alone time with your dad, so I brought him out here. My parents didn’t give two shits if they argued in front of me, and sometimes I wish they did.”

He runs a hand through his wet hair, and I can’t help but notice how his damp shirt clings to every muscle.

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