A grin pulls his mouth wider than should be humanly possible. “So, change your plans. Come to the dance with me.”
I start up the sidewalk again. “I can’t. I’ve got a sort of job I need to be at.”
His brow creases in confusion. “A sort of job?”
“I’m looking for a real job, but this one’s temporary until I find something else.”
“What sort of hours you looking for?” he asks.
I shrug. “My sister’s making me go to school, so it would have to be weekends or afternoons.”
He looks at me, those puppy dog eyes full of curiosity. “You wouldn’t be in school if your sister didn’t make you come?”
“No. It’s pointless.”
“Huh,” he muses, scratching his head. “Never really thought school was a choice.”
“That’s the problem. It’s not. I looked into getting my GED, but you have to be eighteen and within six months of when you’d have graduated if you stayed in school, so…” I flick my wrist up the hill toward school. “Here I am.”
He’s still scratching his head, as if his motor program got stuck. “What about your parents? They don’t care if you’re in school?”
I huff out a derisive laugh. “They’re in jail because the only thing they cared about was getting stoned.”
His eyes widen and his hand drops. “Oh.”
When I realize we’re nearly to the bottom of the hill I glance at Jon. “I haven’t seen you walk home this way before.”
He gives his head an exuberant shake. “I have football practice after school. My car’s in the lot.”
“Then what are you doing here?” I say with a wave toward town.
He grins. “Getting a date to the Homecoming dance.”
I stop and heave a sigh. “What time is the dance?”
His hand goes back to his head and scratches, and I realize he really is part puppy. “After the game, so around nine thirty.”
“Can you pick me up?” I ask, knowing if I don’t have a ride, Bran will insist on bringing me.
He gives me that same manic nod. “Where?”
“Downtown, at Sam Hill Saloon. You know where it is?”
His nod gets more exuberant and his grin pulls wider. “I’ll jump in the shower right after the game and come for you around ten?”
I lift my brows at him. “Should I feel special that you’re showering for me?”
His expression tugs into a comic grimace. “You don’t want to smell me after I come out of that uniform.”
We reach the fringe of town and I can see the end of the block where our apartment is. I guess Bran would be happy I didn’t walk home alone.
Jon’s feet slow. “I gotta get back. We’ve got a team meeting and Coach will have my ass in a sling if I’m late.”
“Ten,” I say.
He grins and nods again, and I wonder that his head doesn’t fly from his neck.
“I need you to wait for me in your car.” I want Bran to know I’m going out with someone else—maybe cool his jets a little—but I’m not quite ready for him to know it’s a high school guy. “I’ll find you when I’m done. What do you drive?”
“White mustang. I’ll be out front.”
“Good luck at the game.” I turn and head home without looking back.
?
I’m at the bar by seven and spend the next three hours trying to ignore that Bran’s gaze is burning me alive. When he lifts the rum bottle on my second and third refills, I nod. I’ve never done a high school dance and I’m really dreading it. But I need this…a distraction. A little before ten, I go to the bathroom to straighten myself up, then head back and start packing.
Bran comes around the bar. “It’s early. Where are you going?”
“I’ve got a date,” I answer without looking at him.
“A date.” It rolls out of his mouth and thuds heavily onto the bar between us.
I tip my head at him. “Is that a problem?”
He takes a deep breath and holds it, as if to steady his temper, before blowing it out. “You can date whoever you goddamn please.” He leans closer and his voice purrs in my ear. “But when you’re done with your playthings, you will come looking for me.”
I laugh and try to keep the shake out of it. “The size of your ego is staggering.”
I down the last of my rum and Coke, grab my tips from the jar, and head to the door. Parked at the curb is a shiny new white Mustang with the headlights on. I duck down as the window rolls down.
“Hey, beautiful,” Jon says, pushing my door open.
I slide my guitar into his backseat and climb in, and as we pull away from the curb, I look back and find Bran watching from the door.
“How was the game?” I ask, hoping he didn’t see my shudder.
“Won easy.”
I roll up my window. “Great.”
He smells good, like soap and some decent cologne. He’s in a hoodie and jeans, and he really is pretty good-looking. The rum has loosened me up some and I decide this is going to be okay. Maybe even fun.