Koby Greyton wasn't the smartest guy, but for sixty bucks and a half carton of cigarettes, he was more than willing to look the other way as we raided the convenience store's backroom for beer.
Standing five-six, the guy hung back against the door in all black and attempted, like always, to make conversation with us. As if a group of seventeen-year-old guys would want to be his friend outside of the exchanging of alcohol. My best friend, Remi Clark, called it a depressing attempt to reclaim his youth, stating it was obvious Koby wasn't the coolest guy in high school and definitely spent more time crying at home than out getting laid.
Thumping me on the back as he passed by, Clark promptly signalled Koby's first attempt at conversation.
"I caught your race last Friday," he called out to Tommo, who did little more than grunt back. The guy was a bruiser, closer to seven-foot than six-five, with hair he refused to let grow out beyond a buzzcut. I doubt he'd ever said more than five words to Koby, yet the dude kept missing the hint to piss off.
I cut in before Koby continued, dusting my hands off against the off-white jumper my Mom desperately wanted to throw away. Sure, the thing had more holes than I had body parts to fill them, but it was comfortable as hell.
"I thought said you logged off six crates." I cocked a brow at Koby, gesturing at the weak pile by the door. There stood two boxes of bottled Heineken that had seen better days and far better storage facilities. I knew for a fact the store's back freezer was faulty, with a fire alarm that tripped at the barest gust of wind.
Koby swiped a thumb along the side of his nose before squinting around the floor. "Did I?"
Clark rolled his eyes, not in the mood for any holdup. Jessica Andrews' party started in an hour, and if we were late that meant she'd be in a pissy mood and most likely spend the night ignoring him. I still had no idea if they were dating. Clark iced me out every time the topic came up. Which was odd, since in the ten years we'd been friends the guy never clammed up about girls. He was good looking enough that his love life was more a revolving door of chicks than anything else. Jessica though, she was a surprising constant of the year, holding his interest for over two months even though she played hardball and mainly called him over for beer.
Like this evening.
"We don't have time, man," Clark said, shoving his way through littered boxes and into Koby's space. "If you don't have the rest, know that means business is done."
He didn't mean it.
Koby was the only idiot in town willing to sell to minors on the DL, so he was our only feasible hookup. Anyone else in town who caught me trying to buy alcohol, well, they'd rat me out to my Dad before I could even pull out a twenty.
That was the one issue about having a hotshot brother, everyone was on your ass twenty-four/seven and had expectations. Didn't help I never met said expectations.
"I may have some in my office, let me go check. No stealing," Koby teased, slipping out the room and toward his office.
I upended a crate of candy, sitting on the box to stretch my legs out. They were still sore from a late-night helping the guys run drills. I rubbed at the back of my neck, fighting back a huffing yawn I could feel tickle at the back of my throat. Not for the first time that night I wished I was home already, half-conscious in bed.
Clark gestured for Tommo to take what we had to the car, making his way over to me. In the burnt-out light of the storeroom he looked tanner, his eyes a more chocolate brown than normal. I swallowed a little as he squatted in front of me, arms draped on my knees like it was nothing, natural almost. I knew from his body language he wanted something. Something that would most likely come to bite me in the ass, but then again I had never been the best at telling him no. He knew all my weaknesses.
Well, almost all of them.
I glanced back at his arms, then out past his shoulder, listening to Tommo stomp out the backdoor.
"What do you want?" I cut to the chase.
Clark gave me an unimpressed look. He never liked when I cut his fun short.
"Don't be snippy, Bow-Bow," he scolded, and I flushed at the nickname. It was what my sister called me when she was annoyed, something Clark to this day still found hilarious enough to copy.
"I was just wondering if you were keen to take a little detour tonight before the party?"
I arched an accusing eyebrow at that.
The entire day Clark had been rushing me, ensuring we would make it to Jessica's on time.
"Why the sudden change of plans?"
Clark rolled his eyes, waving his phone in my face.
The screen was lit with a myriad of text messages from 'Jessy' against the backdrop of our school's baseball teams huddle.
I knew from memory Clark stood in the middle, mooning a rival team's coach with SUCK IT printed in green along his ass. Sure, it was a little self-centered to have a photo of yourself as your lock screen, but the picture was a good moment. They'd won their qualifiers, and Clark always got carried away after a good game.
"Jess pushed the party back an hour. The bonfire's busted so Tony is trying to fix it before everyone comes," Clark explained, spitting Tony's name so fast out his mouth I wasn't entirely sure he hadn't just performed an exorcism.
It was no secret he hated the guy, more for the giddy looks Jessica made at him than anything else. She had drunkenly confessed to me she'd lost her virginity to Tony, something she made me swear not to tell Clark.
Part of me wished I'd blurted that tidbit out to him immediately, get him to drop Jessica for the dead weight she was. But I never did.
"Okay..." I said, still unsure.
Clark's face broke into a grin and he surged up to force eye contact.
"I swear it'll be fun. A nice adrenaline rush before we drink the night away."
Before he and Tommo drank the night away was what he meant. I was the DD. Actually, now that I reflect on it, I was always the designated driver when our trio went out. Tommo for some reason liked running everywhere and Clark flunked drivers ed twice, refused to walk, and was barred from public transport for indecent exposure after he fingered Greta Myer's on the bus to the annual ski trip.
"Adrenaline rush?" I caught on when he pulled back enough that I could no longer feel his breath hit my face. The scent of the spearmint gum he spat out an hour ago still lingered and the depraved part of me just wanted to surge forward and taste it.
Jesus Christ, the stuffiness of the room was making my head run wild.
"Tommo can't know, stickler for the rules. Asshole," Clark scoffed, pinching my knee quickly when he caught me drifting off. "I told him to start walking while we packed up the rest. He'll get to Jessica's house by the time we do if he gets a move on now."
I frowned.
"You can't make him walk, her house is miles out the way and it's freezing. Let's drop him off and then circle back to whatever craziness you have planned."
Clark huffed, punching my shoulder before collapsing his arm back down. "You're no fun. The wind's harmless. If we drop off Tommo first Jess will see us and make us come in. We won't have time to do this later."
A queasiness sunk into my stomach at his insistence and even though I knew whatever it was he had planned would most likely not be in my best interests, I said "Okay."
"Great!" Clark perked up, gripping my shoulders before surging forward, whispering in my ear, "and I didn't even need to blow you to get you to say yes. Progress."
Pulling away he gave me a wry smile, scrambling to his feet.
"Now, stop being such a homo and get up. Koby's probably done by now," he called over his shoulder, rounding the door frame.
I stuttered to my feet, ignoring the buzzing in my chest to join my best friend's side. I couldn't help but stare at him out the corner of my eye as he talked a mile a minute about Jessica's party.
How he wondered if it would be packed.
What she would be wearing.
If she'd let him slide a hand up the back of her skirt again.
What color lipstick she'd wear, and if it would stain his mouth as much as he hoped it did.
I, on the other hand, for the millionth time wondered if he truly knew.
About me, about how I felt about him.
I let the backs of our hands brush and immediately he pulled away, swinging his arm around my shoulders, jostling me close.
He didn't know.
I was glad he didn't know. I forced myself to believe that as we split to enter Koby's office.
We let Koby help us load up the crates. Slamming down the hood, Clark and Tommo reclined against it as Koby began his usual drill of asking what the beer was for. He always asked when we were packed to go, his last chance at interaction.
I waited in the driver's seat, engine running to warm up the seats. When Tommo clapped Clark's shoulder and began heading off, I kicked the front door open and called for Clark it was time to head out.
"Until future service is needed, I bid you goodbye," he clowned, shaking Koby's hand, quickly ducking into the passenger seat.
"What're you, spastic?" he said, slamming the door closed. "Drive, Beau."
I hit the gas, swinging my door shut as we cruised out the back parking lot and onto the streets. Under Clark's lazy directing we ended up parallel parked in the suburbs. The place facing us was classic Newport, prim hedges lining a tidy walkway. The house was short, with fresh paint and a metal door garage to its side.
Squinting through the dark, since Clark refused to park near streetlights, I panicked when I made out the name slapped on the mailbox.
"Mr. Barkers' place? How the hell do you know where he lives? Why are we here Jeremy?" I hissed, immediately winding up my window and cutting the engine.
Clark rolled his eyes at my dramatics, kicking his feet up onto the dashboard.
"Don't worry about the how, Bow-Bow," he said, stretching in his chair as if he hadn't just pissed on my leg and called it a Christmas greeting.
"Jeremy, I'm serious," I said, repeating when all he did was snort and flick on his phone. At his full name, he frowned, opening up a file on his phone before thrusting it my way.
A spotty photo of a sheet of paper came into view, the image taken too hastily to catch any of the words in detail.
"I broke into his office after hours a couple weeks ago-"
"Jeremy!"
"- trying to get a glimpse at the English test he's planning for next Thursday," he continued on, as if he hadn't just confessed to breaking the law. He fixed me a look, daring me to comment. "He was supposed to be at Yoga – that's right, Mr. Brittle does Yoga – but he showed up before I could get a good picture. Almost sprained my goddamn ankle jumping off the second-floor window onto the astroturf. I went back but the guy must've taken the files home with him."
Suddenly his demand to leave Tommo behind made sense. I balked at him, a hot flush filling my cheeks both at my own stupidity and in anger that yet again I had unintentionally let Clark rope me into his shit.
"I am not breaking into your teacher's house."
Clark rolled his eyes, muttering "pussy" under his breath before perking back up.
"It's hardly breaking in. I have it on good authority he leaves the back door ajar for his cat. God, the man is such a sad middle-aged cliche... Anyway let's go, he should be asleep by now."
Before I could respond Clark was out the car, leaving the door beeping behind him as he ran to the backyard's fence, hoisting himself up and over it.
Gaping, I scrambled to get out the driver's seat, locking the car, and following behind him.
Mistake number one of the night.