Page 20 of Past the Broken Bridges

When I get home that night, I cross another item off my list.

Make new friends

Chapter Eight

Banks

Dawson slams the Xbox controller down on the coffee table and stands up. “What a fucking dick. Can you believe that?”

I look at the screen, where his character was killed by whomever he’s up against. He’s never been the best at any video game we played, so Icanbelieve it.

Right before he peels off the headphones, he says, “Don’t talk about my mom like that!”

He tosses the expensive gaming equipment onto the couch, ears red when he catches me gaping at him. “Dude,” I say slowly. “You realize you’re probably fighting with a twelve-year-old boy, right?”

Dawson turns the TV off. “Whatever. He cheated. I’m sure of it.”

Unlikely, but I go with it. “So what are your plans for the night? You said something about drinks, but then you got distracted by like a squirrel or something.”

He helps himself to a bottled Coca-Cola in my fridge, using the edge of the counter to pry off the cap, and ignoreswhere it lands on the floor. “I’m taking our new neighbor and one of her friends to Lafitte’s over in New Orleans.”

Why is he taking them all the way there when there are bars nearby? “Wouldn’t it make more sense to take them somewhere around here? We both know how you get when you drink. I don’t think taking anybody to the city is the best idea if you’re going to indulge.”

He guzzles half the bottle before belching, smacking his chest. “Lafitte’s has the coolest vibe though. It’ll be funny to see if the ghost messes with them.”

Lafitte’s is said to be one of the most haunted bars in the French Quarter of New Orleans. The building used to be a blacksmith shop where the Lafitte brothers did illegal smuggling and are said to have hidden some of their treasure. Once in a while, people claim the piano will start playing when nobody is near it, and others say they get touched when nobody is around. It’s a running joke that Jean Lafitte is just a horny ghost who likes attention from women and men.

An equal opportunist, I guess.

Dawson’s eyebrows wiggle suggestively. “Plus, they’ve got Queen Voodoos.”

What exactly is his plan? Those purple drinks are strong. I can usually handle my alcohol well, but those fuckers knock me on my ass. “Not even the locals can handle them.” The drinks don’t taste like alcohol, which makes them dangerous. I’ve seen tourists get screwed up so bad, their buddies have to help them walk out of the bars before they’re even done with one. “I doubt you have to get them drunk to sleep with you if that’s your plan.”

The thought makes me feel like a jackass. I don’t know our neighbor or her friend, but I do know college girls.Usually, it doesn’t take much more than some charm and a flashy smile to get them where you want them. I’m enough of a dick to admit I’ve used the combo a time or two to get girls to warm my bed for a few hours.

Offense takes over his face. “The fuck, man? I can get laid without the help of alcohol.”

I hold up my palms. “I wasn’t saying you can’t, buttheydon’t know that. These chicks don’t know you at all. Maybe take it easy on them the first time you go out.”

I can tell I pissed him off, but one of us needs to be smart. His track record with partying is more infamous than his stats on the basketball team. I don’t want him going down a path he can’t come back from when he’s worked so hard to get where he is now. Especially not with Sawyer in a city she’s not familiar with.

Scratching the back of my neck, I lean against the counter and cross my arms. “Are you going to be good tonight? I know it’s been a year, but I want—”

“I’ve been good,” he cuts me off, mouth twitching to fight a scowl. “A few drinks won’t hurt me.”

How many times did he say that last time? A few drinks turned into a six-pack, which turned into a twelve-pack, which turned into him agreeing to a lot of other dumb shit that involved rolled-up dollar bills and white powder.

“Marco is gone anyway,” he mumbles, guessing what I’m thinking. “He’s not around to influence things anymore. The frat has a new pres who’s trying to clean up his mess.”

We both know that there are plenty of people still around whom Marco probably talks to. His father and uncles were all presidents of the same fraternity, making Marco a legacy. I’m sure they probably donate to events when they need funding to keep their doors open after Marco was arrestedfor possession and distribution last year and expelled.

Dawson got wrapped up in that mess when he was rushing the frat, doing whatever Marco wanted him to. I’ve seen him do a lot of stupid stuff in our years of friendship, but he went down a dark path the second he started using what he was supposed to be selling.

I won’t pretend like I haven’t seen the way he scratches his nose or rubs his eyes or zones out in the middle of the day like before. I learned to read the signs, to keep an eye out. That’s why I went to a few of the meetings with him after shit hit the fan and Marco was kicked out for good.

Dawson stares down at the Coke before setting it down on the counter. “Come with. That way you can keep me on my best behavior. It can be like a double date. Plus, Sawyer said you owe her a taco. We can stop on the way back and absorb some of the alcohol.”

“She told you about that?” I ask, wondering if that’s why he got all weird about if I’d met her yet. It was hard not to run into her in the hall, but I tried. Because I felt her eyes on me whenever we did cross paths—felt the way my skin buzzed from the attention I didn’t ask for whenever she was around. I couldn’t explain it and didn’t want to try because I knew Dawson wouldn’t get it.

---