Page 22 of Bad For A Weekend

My teenage heart is in pristine condition. I haven’t had a breakup. I haven’t faced rejection. I haven’t even had sex yet. I’ll be damned if I let an unrequited romance be my first scar.

Ziggy goes back to watching Katina’s public humiliation, laughing and throwing in his commentary. I pretend to pay attention, smiling and agreeing with him, but my eyes are locked on the rearview mirror, studying the brow of the man I’m crushing on.

He’s so different from the boys at my school. Years of experience and sun are reflected in his skin tone and texture, and I realize maybe I haven’t connected with boys my age because they’re too immature and naïve. They have nothing to back up their bravado.

But Owen does. He knows things, he’s experienced things, and maybe life wouldn’t be so scary if I were with someone who could foresee dangers I can’t. Not to mention that a night with him wouldn’t be amateur hour with a fumbling teen who doesn’t have a clue where my clit is located.

My cheeks heat, and my pulse pounds. Owen’s gaze flicks from the road ahead to the rearview, locking on mine as if he knows what I’m thinking. The moment is brief but intense. At least to me it is. To him, it’s probably nothing more than making sure I’m being a good girl.

God, I want to be his good girl.

“Bay?” Ziggy waves a hand in front of my face. “Where you at?”

Shit. My cheeks redden for a whole new reason now. What the hell was I thinking? A good girl? That’s some crazy kinky stuff I didn’t even know I was into. Or am I?

I write it off as a momentary lapse in judgment and give Ziggy my full attention.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, I’ll bet Katina is dating Clint by the end of the day. She’s been stringing him along for months now.”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah. It’s either that or drop out and homeschool.”

“We’re not that lucky,” I say.

We pull up to Ziggy’s house, and he gathers his things. “Snap me later.”

“Yeah. Okay. See ya.”

He leans over and kisses my cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” I smile and wave as he gets out of the SUV.

“Are you two a thing?” Owen asks as we drive away.

“A thing?” I wrinkle my nose.

“Dating or whatever?”

“Why?”

“Just wondering. If he’s going to be around all the time, I should probably know.”

It’s a lame excuse, and I wonder what his real reason is. In my still-wandering mind, I pretend it’s because he’s interested. But realistically, it’s probably because he doesn’t want to have to look out for two kids at the same time.

“We’re not a ‘thing.’”

“Huh. Seems like you are.”

“Owen, Ziggy’s gay.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” I say.

“Oh.” There’s a lightness to his tone now that I pretend is relief in knowing I’m single. God, I’m spiraling out of control.

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