The old grandfather clock in my living room strikes 6 and the chime echoes throughout the mansion; Tommy arrives shortly after.
"Arnie," he grins, as soon as I swing open the front doors. There's that promised bottle of whiskey in his hand and even a bag of ice.
I'm not much of a drinker myself, but it might help me get through this talk.
I step aside and he walks in looking around in awe. "This place looks much better."
Compared to the last time when it was crawling with drunk people and littered with garbage?
"Yeah, follow me," I answer, wanting to reach the glasses as quickly as possible and toss back their contents just as fast.
When we reach the kitchen and Tommy fills our glasses with ice and liquor to the brimming point, said talk begins.
"I'm sorry."
Hmm. "What for?" I ask.
He takes a large gulp of his drink, leaving very little left with the ice in the glass. "I'm sorry for..." He grimaces. "For being a fucking dick."
I chuckle, tilting my glass to salute that and then manage to get down a decent sized drink.
"I'm serious," Tommy continues. "I did a lot of dumb shit to you and I don't think you deserved any of it. I was a dick, man. I have no excuse for it, I just needed to apologize. I like you."
Crossing my arms, I eye him. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the gym incident right? Because I'm not sure I swing that way."
My cock won't swing any other way but Prescilla's at this point, even if I did entertain the idea. I think I could be grinded on for hours and still not get hard for another that isn't her.
Tommy laughs. "No man, but hey, that's also something I wanted to talk about."
I watch him refill his glass and knock it back in one motion as if it was nothing more than a sip. Fuck. At this rate, he's going to be passed out on the floor before he can even make it out of the damn driveway.
"You want to talk about my cock?" I joke.
"I think plenty of seniors are doing that," he says, pouring another drink and consuming it as fast. "And though I may not be opposed to enjoying all human anatomy, I actually meant that I want to talk about Pre."
My hand tightens on my glass as I raise it to my mouth. "You want to talk about Pre," I repeat, dissatisfaction clear in my tone.
Tommy looks at me nervously. "I want to be your friend, Arnie. I know you and her have something going on and that's why I want to clear the air between us."
There's a moment of silence between us and then he confesses, "We fucked once."
Despite the fact that Prescilla is mine now, hearing that still pisses me off. Not because she had a history before me, but because someone else had gotten a taste of what's mine and it was my fault for not growing a pair and pursuing her before that could happen.
I'm glaring and gripping my glass so hard I'm surprised it doesn't cave under the pressure and shatter all over the floor.
"Not saying that to get under your skin!" Tommy blurts. "I thought that might help smooth things over a little. The only reason we were ever together was when she needed a distraction. Make outs, little touches between was all that happened after."
I could hit him. Except part of his explanation alerts me more than anything. "Why did she need a distraction?" I ask.
His face scrunches in thought. "I'm not sure why. Pre isn't very open until you ask her about things point blank. I never did that because I knew it would be crossing a line between us."
"She tagged along to parties mostly," Tommy explains. "Got drunk when she needed to. It was something we had in common." He pours another drink, his movements a little less steady. "I know you're a good guy, Arnie. But I do care about her, I just wanted to apologize and make sure you know that."
There's warning in his tone that I find myself thankful for rather than jealous over. Someone else is looking out for Pre, and that's fucking fantastic. Though I have no intentions of hurting her, not when I feel the way I do.
Noting Tommy's deteriorating state, I pour us a last drink and gesture for him to follow me into the living room. We take adjacent seats, the only difference from the kitchen being the likelihood of a two hundred plus pound jock passed out on my floor.
He leans back and rests his head on the back of his chair, slurring out, "Thanks for having me over, man. I needed this."
Tommy stares at the ceiling for a long moment, giving me the feeling that I won't be getting much more intellectual conversation out of him. Though his drunken words are a hell of a lot more sensible than shit he's spewed in the years that I've known him. It's strange.
Reaching into the cushion under me, I dig until I feel the spine of my journal. I pull it out and start a new entry, mumbling half-hearted responses to Tommy as his babbling starts up again.
Dear Diary,
You know how today started. I was anxious and worried as fuck that the girl I want more than anything in the world just didn't feel the same.
I couldn't have been more wrong...
"I don't know what I'm doing. Every time I try to get it out, a distraction comes up," Tommy rambles.
I give a non-committal nod, writing a few more paragraphs before I begin jotting down some of the more stimulating events from today. Like what happened in the back of Prescilla's last class of the day...
My fingers were buried deep inside her, the teacher none the wiser of our activities as the class watched the slideshow play in the dim room.
Tommy makes a noise that I assume is meant to be a scoff of some kind but is executed like a sound of pain. "I just need to get high. You smoke? I know a guy who can hook us up." His head rolls forward as he asks.
I shake my head and put down my pen.
His eyes lock onto it and he tilts his head. "You keep a diary?"
I nod. I've kept one since middle school. At the time, it was sort of a coping method for my home life and the less than amusing pranks at school. Once I stopped giving a shit(freshman year in high school when the jocks stole my clothes leaving me forced to strut through the school halls naked to my car)I just kept writing. I found that I actually enjoyed it.
"That's cool. I almost took that up a few times too, but—" he scoffs— "Hard to keep a rep while carrying around a diary. Wouldn't that be a sight. A jerk with a diary."
"Anyone can keep a diary, Tommy. Besides, your 'rep' isn't exactly going to exist much longer," I tell him.
I know that he's gotten a scholarship for a pretty big shot college. He'll be at the bottom of the food chain and I doubt that anyone is going to give a second glance at his high school social status.
Tommy's brows furrow as he thinks over what I said. "Yeah, you're right." He chuckles. "I don't even think I care anymore, either. Maybe I will take up the whole diary thing." He tips his glass to me and drinks. I do the same, then pick up my pen again.
Feeling her clench around my fingers, her juices sliding all the way down over my knuckles was beyond erotic. And the fact that any of the students present could have looked back at us— seen her sitting in my lap with her face hidden in my neck as she tried desperately to hide her cries of pleasure every time I made her cum.
I was so fucking gone with her that I almost fucked her right then and there. It would have been the easiest thing. I would just take my throbbing cock out of my slacks, flip up the back of her skirt and slide right into home.
I snap my journal shut when my cock starts to ache all over again. Fuck. I really will never get enough of her.
At the sound of a pained groan, I look over at Tommy. He's hunched over in his chair, clutching at his stomach and has the green expression of a motherfucker who's about to upchuck on my floor.
"Shit. I think I'm going to be sick," he says as a gag racks his body.
Suppressing my own at the sound, I run to the kitchen and grab a bag, pocketing my keys so I can take him home. Because he's obviously not fucking capable of taking himself.
"Thanks dude," He grins, as he holds the bag up to his mouth.
"Yeah," I nod. "Let's get you home."
Tommy barely manages to get himself in my car, and on the drive to his house—that he directs me to chaotically—he vomits everywhere. Most of it ends up on the floorboard and his shoes instead of inside the bag.
As I'm helping him to his doorstep, one of his arms over my shoulder, he mutters, "Thank you so much, Arnie. You're a good friend." He is too damn close to my face with that vomit breath of his.
It's a relief when his weight is gone and he opens the door to his house. "I'll see you tomorrow," he waves.
I nod and head back to my car. Just as I'm leaving, movement in the upstairs window of Tommy's house catches my attention. There's a flash of Tommy chasing a girl with long blonde hair that makes my chest tighten from how familiar it looks.
She isn't even in town. Besides, there are a number of blondes in Oakwood, my inner conscience scolds.
I still can't help but watch the house disappear as I drive down the street. I don't know what I expect to see, but I don't see it and that lightens the tension in my muscles just the littlest bit. The smell in my car, however, does not.
I flip on my blinker and head in the direction of the nearest gas station to rid the smell of vomit from my car. The moment I'm parked next to the little cleaning center, I get out and make quick work of scrubbing the puke out. All that lingers by the time I get back in the driver's seat is the smell of chemicals and a new car freshener.
I decide to message Prescilla because I can't seem to get the tension monkey off of my back even after the task I just completed.
Hey, you make it to dinner okay? I text.
It delivers, but she doesn't open it straight away so I get back out of my car and start cleaning the rest of it to distract myself. I scrub every inch of every surface until it's practically shining, all while anxiously waiting for the phone in my pocket to ding or fucking vibrate with some type of response from Pre.
A car pulls up on the other side of me just as my phone finally goes off. I get back in my car and pull it out. The screen is lit up with Pre's message on the display.
Yes! Sorry, I can't talk right now. I'll see you later. Xo
I let out a whoosh of air and start my car. A tap on my window stops me from doing further.
It's a cop. Not just any though, it's the one that had busted the party last week and escorted me home after finding out about my grandfather's passing. The earlier tension returns at full force. This same cop is Prescilla's dad and hadn't she said dinner was with her parents?
Maybe he's just running late, my mind excuses. Yeah, that has to be it. Quit being so fucking insecure, Arnold.
I roll down my window. "Hey Arnie, how you been?" Jeff asks.
I smile. "A lot better."
Jeff nods and then his eyes flick to the empty passenger side sight. His brows scrunch in confusion. "Prescilla isn't with you?"
"I thought you were having dinner together?" I practically gasp.
He shakes his head. "No. She cancelled, said you two already made plans together a while back."
I struggle not to let my emotions show through my exterior and do my best at faking a laugh. "Oh yeah. We're meeting here soon, I just thought she might go to dinner for a bit..."
"You know how the ladies are," Jeff jokes. "Got to give them time to get ready. I'll see you around, Arnold."
I nod, fighting a frown as I start to make my way home.
I can't get the image of Prescilla and Tommy out of my head. Yet, I think back to Tommy's apology and wanting to be friends. He had seemed sincere, a big difference of the guy I've come to know and—he has every reason to lie to me.
This would be the prank of the fucking year, rivaling every single one in the past. Make the nerd think he has a chance with the popular girl in school and then after he's fallen, tear it all away from him.
Even though the idea makes the ache in my chest grow fucking immensely, I put it aside. On the off chance that it wasn't Pre in Tommy's room, that still means she lied to her dad and me. Her stepfather's a police officer, so I get that. But me?
A new feeling outweighs any tension in my chest.Worry.
If Prescilla isn't with her parents, with Tommy, or me... Then where the fuck could she be?