Page 51 of Lost Boy
“Good point,” I tell them.
“Okay, fine. I guess you’re probably right. Um. Let’s see.” Gracie taps her pointy nude nail against her lips before beaming at Fallon. “Hey, Fallon. Do you know any Ed Sheeran?”
He lights the blunt he just placed between his lips, stoking the cherry to life before answering her with a quick nod.
Gracie and Alexis both name a song, but Fallon doesn’t know either. He hits the blunt two more times before offering it to me, but I pass it to Jamie. I’m not big on smoking, so I take a swig of my beer before it turns warm and tastes like piss.
“‘Photograph,’” Fallon says, and it takes me a second to register that he’s naming a song.
“Oh yes! I love that song so much! Alexis, let’s alternate verses. I’ll go first. You sing the chorus, and I’ll harmonize with you.”
“Sounds good! Ready, Fallon?” Alexis asks him, sweeping her long braids over her shoulder and tugging her hot pink cropped jacket tighter around her slim waist.
“Yeah,” is all he says, but his eyes are half-lidded now. He looks like he’s about to fall asleep or fall out of his seat, but instead, he begins strumming away. The melody is calming, and the lyrics are raw as Gracie starts singing low and breathy, building her voice before Alexis joins in for the chorus. Fallon doesn’t sing since there’re already two of them, but he glances at me several times in between. I watch his fingers slide up and down the strings, fascinated and dying to feel his touch on my body again. I take a big swig of my cold beer, hoping to cool the raging fire building inside. I can’t get a boner at the bonfire. That’s weird.
Just as the song ends, cheers and claps erupt from everyone enjoying the mini concert on the shore.
I wonder if he’d ever sing for me?
The thought has me chewing on my bottom lip, thinking about how sexy it would be if he did it in just his underwear. My eyes drag over his body, practically undressing him.
Jamie clears his throat, lifting one eyebrow in a ‘be careful’ way. He comes over, squatting next to me and tipping his beer back. “You’re staring at your possible future step-cousin again. Like you want to push him down into the dirty sand and mount him like a horny dog. Cool the come-fuck-me look, ’kay? Or you’re going to out yourself.”
Jamie’s words are blunt yet spoken with zero judgment. They’re also sobering as fuck. I need to be more careful. I can’t risk basketball, and I don’t want to deal with any pressure from Dad to be myself. Or any bullshit from my mother.
My best friend knows what I need and has another beer ready for me after I chug my current one.
Fuck.
I want Fallon, but I don’t think I can have him. At least not in public.
“Another song!” Taylor shouts, but a raindrop plops on my hand and then another. I stare at the lake, squinting and barely making out the tiny ripples in the water as each raindrop makes contact, peppering the surface with little bullets.
“Ahh! It’s raining so soon! The party just started!” The girls squeal, worried about their hair and shoes, and Ezra grabs the guitar from Fallon. Everyone makes a break for their cars, and we tag along with Ezra, not waiting for an Uber.
“Move it to my house! Spread the word! We aren’t ending the annual kick-off party early! A little rain won’t stop us!” Cole shouts, and I guess his parents are out of town again. Not surprising.
* * *
“You an academy kid?” Jackson Evans asks Fallon with eager excitement, and my hackles rise. He’s known for beingveryfriendly toeveryone. I left Fallon alone in the kitchen for two minutes to use the bathroom, and I come back to see Jacks looming over him, one hand on the wall above his head, caging him in. I know Fallon’s uncomfortable with it, even through his expressionless mask.
“Hey, Jackson! How you been, man?” I ask casually, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “I see you’ve met my friend, Fallon. He’s Coach Rivers’ nephew,” I inform him, hoping he backs off. I don’t need to puff my chest out, Jamie’s words circling back to me, but fuck do I want to. I want to drag Fallon upstairs to an empty bedroom, pull his pants down, bend him over, and bury my face in his ass.
Fuuuuck me.
I swallow thickly and crack the cold water open, guzzling half of it to cool my heated thoughts. I’m getting too drunk and apparently too horny.
I don’t have to worry about Jackson much longer because Raphael, one of my teammates, comes bursting into the kitchen in a drunken stupor, demanding we make a victory cake.
“Our school colors. Just to fuck with all the Jefferson kids,” he snickers, either not realizing Jackson is right here or not giving a fuck.
Before I step in and stop the inevitable mess and definite fire hazard of Raph’s drunken, manic idea, a commotion at the front door distracts us both.
Dustin and Rich stroll through the open-plan living room, and I clench my jaw hard, nearly cracking my wisdom teeth.
Why would they come here?
Cole struts into the living room next, a beer in hand and a look of pure delight etched across his face.
