Page 21 of Home Game

Bumpingloud music, with bass that reverberated all the way to my driveway.

Okay. Maybe tiger mode was going to startright fucking now.

The back gate to Storm’s yard was wide open. I walked through to see a full-blown party happening in his backyard. A huge, neon pink inflatable pool had been set up at the center of the grass, and there were dozens of gorgeous women inside, half of them naked. There was a temporary fire pit that had been put up across from it, and a bunch of other people surrounded the tall orange flames, drinks and marshmallow sticks in their hands.

And up on the patio deck, just above it all, was the source of the loud music: a karaoke machine next to a big projector, casting the lyrics of Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation” onto the side of Storm’s house.

He was there with a microphone in his hand, singing the lyrics of the song with all his heart.

“I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation! I've never been afraid of any deviation! And I don't really care if you think I'm strange, I ain't gonna change. And I'm never gonna care 'bout my bad reputation!”

He was wearing a tight-fitted white T-shirt and black jeans, and it was as if he was a punk-rock James Dean as he sang.

And I was going to sock him in the goddamn face.

I walked over, tripping a little on some uneven stones at the side of the patio.

“Storm,” I called out as the karaoke song ended, but too many of his friends were talking and hollering. My voice was drowned out. “Storm.”

I walked onto the patio and noticed an older woman sitting on one of Storm’s lounge chairs. She had her leg in an ankle brace, and her grey-white hair was up in a bun.

“That’s my boy!” she called out, grinning wide and clapping along. “Somebody get me another beer!”

“All yours, Mom,” Storm called out.

He only saw me because I was apparently standing next to the big cooler full of beer bottles.

Storm caught my eyes and immediately gave me his mischievous smile.

“Emmett! Want to sing a karaoke song?”

“Are you out of your mind?” I asked him.

“I mean, I know you couldn’t doBad Reputationlike I can. It’s kind of my signature song. But you could probably rock some Frank Sinatra or something. What do you think, Mom?”

“Well, look at you,” his mom said, glancing over at me. “You look like you came dressed for a formal dinner with the queen. Snazzy. Mary Rosling, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

I reached out my hand to shake hers, shoving away my anger with Storm for a moment. “Emmett Waycott. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mary.”

I was never going to be rude to someone’s mother, even if I had a problem with Storm himself.

Storm passed his mom a beer and then walked over toward the fire pit. “Emmett. Come grab a marshmallow.”

I came up behind him and grabbed his hand, pulling him over toward the side of the yard. “Can I talk to you over here for a minute?”

“Ooh, goodness,” he said. “Are we going on a romantic stroll? Need to get me alone, Emmett?”

“Shut up,” I told him.

We walked over to the edge of the lawn, into an alcove between the side of his house and the fence that backed up to my yard. It wasn’t exactly fully private over by the gate, but it was as good as it was going to get, and nobody was in earshot.

Storm casually put one hand in his pocket and ran the other hand through his hair. I pulled in a long breath, trying to compose myself and not blurt out every frustrated thought all at once.

Being alone with Storm always activated something in me.

“You feeling okay?” he asked in his velvety voice.

“Not really,” I said, opting for honesty.

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