Page 13 of Finding Delaware

“Yeah, congratulations,” his girlfriend purrs, flinging blonde strands over her shoulder as her eyes dip down my body, but I pointedly ignore her as I shove Christian off me.

“Thanks, man. We partying tonight or what?”

“Fuck yeah.” He dramatically looks around before leaning in closer. “The foam pit is fixed.”

I whoop out a laugh, pumping my arms. “No fucking way!”

“Yep. It’s all set up for us, homie. And my mom’s working a double, so we’ve got all night.”

Yes. I need this.

Christian’s mom supervises a mattress factory two towns over, and she’s always bringing home defective strips of foam they can’t use. We’d filled an old above-ground pool with the pieces years ago to jump our bikes into. But shortly after the wedding, I’d overshot during a flip and landed my bike on the rim. Not only did I fuck up the pool, but my axle too.

And that had been a fun conversation with my dad.

Absently, my hand comes up to rub my ribcage as I think about the day he pulled me out of school and hauled my ass to his shop to fix it myself while he screamed at me the entire time. And then he kicked me so hard, I’m pretty sure he re-cracked my rib because weeks later, it still aches at times. I’d started a fight with Huck that night at the track just to be able to explain the bruises.

We don’t fight at the track, asshole! This is Delaware!

Fucking no geography knowing dumbass.

Ever since that week when we had the house to ourselves while our parents were on their honeymoon, things have been awkward between us. He caught me in a vulnerable state with all the shit going on, and I was nice to him. We bonded over Lasagna—the cat, not the pasta. Things got weird. Not like, in a gay way, but we shared some emotions about our moms, and the intimacy of it made me feel nauseous.

A pit opens in my stomach when I think about the night we watched a movie together.

“What are you watching?”

Huckslee jolts from his place on the couch, scrambling to pause the movie with Lasagna and a bowl of popcorn in his lap. Even in the dim light of the living room, I can see how nervous he is, and I’m not gonna lie—it’s kind of adorable.

“I-I thought you were staying the night at Christian’s,” he stammers, frowning over where I’m leaning against the archway, and I shrug nonchalantly.

Staying the night with my best friend had been the plan. I should still do it. But after spending a few hours doing jumps and getting high in his backyard with the guys, I just wanted to see Huck without being scrutinized by our parents or peers.

“He’s busy,” is all I say, shoving off the wall to grab my cat and plop down on the far end of the sofa. “You didn’t answer me. What are you watching?”

Huck’s silent for a moment, blinking over at me with a frown on his face, and the way his shoulders tighten tells me he really doesn’t want to share what movie is paused. With a smirk, I reach over and pry the remote out of his sweaty palm, little jolts of energy skittering over my skin when our fingers brush and push a button to bring up the title screen.

“Across the Universe?”

“It was my mom’s favorite,” he grumbles, nervously running a hand through his curls. “She was a huge Beatles fan, and we used to watch it at least once a month. And I know you’re gonna say some shit about it being a musical, but don’t, okay? It’s just a comfort thing. I didn’t even know you’d be here tonight, or I wouldn’t have even—”

“You’re fucking cute when you’re flustered,” I blurt out, cutting off his rant, and my smile grows when his lips part at my words. His dark eyes widen, twinkling like a starry nightsky as he flounders like a fish for something to say. I enjoy the sight for a few more seconds before pressing play. “I’ve never seen this one before.”

He scans the side of my face, completely taken aback, but I curl into the arm of the couch with Lasagna and focus on the TV. He’s still tense like he thinks I’m going to make a joke about his dead mom’s favorite thing, and I hate the way my stomach revolts at the thought. I can be a cruel bastard when I have to, but that would be downright unforgivable.

Plus, in all honesty, the movie isn’t half bad. Pretty trippy, which is great because I’m stoned as fuck right now.

After a bit, Huckslee eventually relaxes, settling into the cushions, and we fall into a peaceful silence. He even passes the popcorn bowl to me at one point, offering to share his snack, which I accept even though I’m not the biggest popcorn fan. Any excuse to keep ‘accidentally’ bumping my knuckles with his, I’ll take.

Between the high I’m riding and Lasagna purring on my lap, I must have fallen asleep because sometime later, when I crack my eyes open, the title screen is back on again.

I’m lying on my side, stretched out on the couch, my head inches from Huck’s thigh, and…his fingers are in my hair, playing with the strands.

His movements falter as he inhales sharply, both of us freezing, analyzing the situation. When I make no effort to get up, Huck slowly resumes massaging my scalp.

It’s lovely. Different. Soft. I like it. My entire body relaxes, and I’m asleep again within minutes.

When I wake once more, hours later, I’m alone. The TV is off, the house dark, the couch cold.

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