“No.” Cline places the bag on the counter and shakes his head. “No. Just no.”
“What else do we have to do?”
“There’s plenty of stuff to do. We can play video games. Or … eat. Or play video games and eat. We can do anything other than go hang out at the lake with Audrey Byrd.”
“What if you meet a chick?”
“No.” He pulls the beer from the bag and sticks two in the freezer.
“What if I meet one?”
He pauses, fingers wrapped around the door handle. “Maybe. It could certainly help your perpetual state of puss-itis.”
I ignore his attempt at getting under my skin and counter with, “What if you get laid?”
He hangs his head and presses his face to the door while it closes. “Fine.”
The bottles go back into the bag, and the two of us get into the car. One short stop at a store to buy some more beer, and we are on the road for the hour-long ride to the lake.
“How do you know her?” I turn to face his profile in the dark cab of the truck. The obvious answer is that they were neighbors, but he’s acting like there is more to the story.
I swear I see his jaw tighten before he answers. “That’s the thing. I don’t know her anymore.”
“Okay, but you did, right? Did you used to be friends?”
His eyes narrow, and he shifts in the seat, never looking away from the road. “Audrey Byrd and I were best friends from the time we were four years old until we were fifteen. And then one day she morphed into a psycho bitch who thought she was better than everyone and starting treating people like shit.” He nods once. “That includes me. So, were we friends? Yes. Are we friends now? No. And I have no idea why she even came over to ask us to come to this thing anyway.”
The whole Audrey thing seems like a pretty sore subject, so I drop it. He is quiet the rest way there, and I don’t bother him. When the lake comes into view, I reach over and turn the radio down. “There are a ton of people here.” I’m in awe. I was expecting something small. Maybe ten people at the most.
“Yep. Apparently she has a bunch of friends now.” Sarcasm is dripping from his tone.
At least forty are outside of the house, drinking, talking by the bonfire or out on the dock, their bodies rising and falling with the sway of the water. I see Audrey standing with a handful of people, her head tilted back in laughter while she cradles a wine bottle to her chest. There is a moment where her eyes are closed, and I pause to study the way her face softens before her lids open again and her attention lands on us.
Cline makes a sound that is a mix between a sigh and groan, pivoting toward the house with the beer under his arm. I wait, watching Audrey cross the back lawn to make her way toward the house, where she comes to rest, a foot away from me. The wine bottle is a third of the way gone, and her cheeks are bright pink, leading me to believe she’s had all of it by herself.
“You made it.”
I shrug, tipping my chin at the house. “It was a hard sell, but I talked him into it.”
Her eyes trail to where the door is open and she sighs, curling the bottle into her chest.
In a move to avoid the house—or Cline, I’m not sure—we start walking in the direction of the fire, and my palms begin to sweat where they’ve been shoved into the front of my hoodie. She hands me a beer from the cooler, and the cold can takes away all the heat. “Does he hate you or something?” I take a small sip and wait for her to answer.
She grins and then arranges her features into a serious frown. “He’s probably still mad about that time I took his virginity when we were twelve.”
The drink catches in my throat, and I turn my head to spit it out on the ground instead of at her face. I can’t stop coughing, and she just stands there, smiling at me, while I struggle to breathe.
“I’m just kidding. He’s probably still a virgin.”
I shake my hand to get the beer off of it and clear my throat. “I can attest to the fact that he most definitely is not a virgin.”
Her jaw goes slack, and her dark eyes go wide. “You’ve seen it.”
“The sock fell off the door. It’s really not my fault.”
Audrey keeps eye contact as she tips the bottle back to take another swig.
“He’s surprisingly limber for a guy his size.”
That time, she chokes on her drink. “Oh, no. This story is horrifying. Given the type of girls at Brixton, I can only imagine who he brought back with him.”
“You know about Brixton?”
Her eyebrows draw together and she laughs. “Yeah. I go there, too.”
“I’ve never seen you.” The beer is going down easier than before and, without having to ask, she hands me another one.