Page 16 of Getting It Twisted

I walk up to them. “Hey.”

Nathan turns around, and immediately I can tell he’s not sober in the least. His eyes are drooping, his movements unfocusedand unrefined. The shrewd smile he had on when talking to the biker goes stiff when he sees me.

“Hello, Daniel. Didn’t pitch you for a Moe’s fan.”

“I’m not.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Didn’t you tell me to stay away from you?”

“Who’s he?” the biker asks.

“You can piss off now,” Nathan tells him with a dismissive wave.

The biker snorts and sets up another game of pool.

Nathan reaches for a glass of whiskey by a nearby table and downs it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“How many drinks have you had?” I ask.

“Dunno. Haven’t kept count.”

“Did you plan to drive home?”

“Well, I did haveotherplans.” He points his thumb in the biker’s direction. “But now I guess I have no choice but to drive.”

“You won’t. I’m taking you home, come on.” I jerk my head toward the exit.

For a moment, Nathan just looks at me blankly, suspicion behind the drunken haze of his eyes. Then he sets down the glass. “Lead the way, officer.”

We emerge out of the stuffy, sleazy atmosphere of Moe’s and into the parking lot. Nathan settles in the passenger seat of my car with his arms crossed, pissed I stole his night with that biker, no doubt. My hands clench around the steering wheel at the thought of what he would’ve let that man do to him. I shouldn’t care, but I guess this is yet another thing to throw on the pile of shit that hasn’t changed.

I witnessed it time and time again. Nathan and I would arrive together at parties, but soon enough he’d find some guy to hook up with, and he’d disappear. Thirty minutes later, he’d emergewith ruffled hair, ripped-up clothes, and a satisfied smile on his swollen red lips.

With time, it turned too painful to see him like that. Especially after the unfortunate kiss we shared during that stupid game of spin the bottle.

Senior year of high school, we attended a party at Harper’s house. We sat in a circle with maybe ten of our classmates. Among them was my then-girlfriend, Kayla. And so came Nathan’s turn to spin that godforsaken bottle, and the mouth of it pointed straight at me.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” everyone chanted.

Nathan shuffled over to me, completely unbothered. I, on the other hand, felt like my chest was going to explode.

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine . . .It was just a kiss. To refuse would be even more suspect.

He leaned into me, and I closed my eyes. First a simple press of lips, more like a peck than a kiss. Then he grabbed my cheeks and went in again, deeper this time, his hot tongue probing for entry. I parted my lips and let it plunge inside. He tasted like vodka and the sweetness of the pop we’d chased it with.

My vague awareness of the crowd’s giggles and cheers drowned in the sultry motion of Nathan’s lips against mine—self-assured, indulgent, and with not a small amount of showmanship. Hand on my thigh, he ended up almost in my lap as he kissed me, and kissed me, and kissed me . . .

Too late—or too early—he pulled back. With an embarrassed jolt, I realized my crotch pulsed with heat. I recoiled and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, not quite able to muster up the disgust I knew was expected of me.

Our classmates let out a collective “Ooooh!” while Kayla stared at us with slack-jawed shock.

That kiss changed something between us. Not only between Kayla and me, who were living on borrowed time to begin with,but between me and Nathan. The looks that before had meant nothing were now tension-filled and charged with an energy I couldn’t make sense of. Attraction? On my part, maybe. But Nathan, on the other hand, seemed . . . pissed off.

Our hangouts grew further and further apart. He stopped answering his phone altogether. Stubborn as I was, I stopped contacting him too. Finals were coming up, and I took the chance to catch up on the schoolwork I’d missed, cramming several months’ worth into a few weeks.

Next thing I knew, I heard rumors he’d started hanging out at Joshua Tennyson’s place. Final term meant graduation was coming up, and I—

“Well?”

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